At sixes and sevens

For those not familiar with this idiom, it means a state of total confusion and disorder, or of disagreement between parties. I hesitated calling this post “six feet under or in 7th heaven”, but the other one definitely fits better. Had I called it the latter, I would have had to explain: No, not the television series. Sadly, no. Although you might think that with all this time on my hands over here, I’d either be fresh out of new episodes for having watched every one of them – from all of the series in all the land – or I’d have memorized all 700 pages of my study book and the accompanying lecture script. Well, still no. Don’t know where time goes over here. I can seriously contemplate writing a post about my day in the evening and already forget what I did that morning. Just like color and rationality, it all goes missing in some black hole this country makes up. Which leads to this, the epiphany of every procrastinator: summing up the week-end on a Tuesday.

So I’m guessing I got up, at some point, on Saturday morning. I think it was rather early, actually, and my mom wasn’t even up yet, but the little one was. So we ate breakfast together until our mom joined us. Since my older sister was coming that day, my mom and I talked about how we were going to approach a certain subject we wanted to discuss with her. When was the best time, considering Christmas coming up and that she is supposed to leave with me on the 29th, should we talk to her together or would she feel like we were ganging up on her, do we talk straight forward or beat around the bush to avoid upsetting her, etc. As you can imagine, this took a while. By then it was noon and time to get dressed. We were expecting my sister at about 13h, but it turns out that’s about the time she got up. Later, she fell back asleep, so she got here only at about 19h. This was probably due to the fact that she works crazy hours, still goes out at night and – to top it off – has a nasty cold she’s been dragging around for some time. It didn’t help that she had her office Christmas party Thursday night, even though she had to be at Roissy (an airport on the other side of Paris) at some ungodly hour the next morning. As is to be expected, they all got hammered at the party (open bar, go figure, at a place where normally a cocktail costs 30 euros, I kid you not), she only slept three hours, didn’t have time to grab a breakfast or wash up, and then worked that Friday again until 20h. What fun a working life is in France!

So she was recounting all this to us that evening, showed me the pictures she took of the little ones birthday, I showed them the Amsterdam pictures (albeit half of them somehow went missing in the transfer) and we generally caught up. Until it was time to catch up in the series, which is why I lugged my external hard drive here in the first place. Yup, 200 GB of vicarious living were waiting upon us, it was time to get cracking. And that’s what we did, until I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore and decided to call it a night. She probably went on until 3 in the morning, her usual schedule.

The next day I managed to get up at a fairly normal hour, which can’t be said about my sister. Which is to be expected, I guess, since she’s on vacation and was now even sicker because of finally getting some rest. I spent the time finishing my book (yay!), playing with the little one and completing my family tree. I now have 118 relatives in there, dating all the way back to the 18th century. All pure-bred Germans, all from the same neck of the woods, until my parents came along and had to mix it all up.

Speaking of traditions, it was also the fourth Advent this Sunday, and even the little one knows the words to the German song we usually sing while lighting the candles. We had it all prepared – the ring of four candles, home-made Glühwein, Lebkuchen, Spekulatius, Stollen, the whole shebang. A nice family feast. Until my mom had to invite her guy and ruin it all. I thought at least when my sister was here that he’d stay away – she thought that he would come over less often as soon as I was there, even the little one (and she just turned seven!) asked us why he was there so often, and that she would rather see him less. I at least made it clear to my mom that I would like Christmas Eve and Day to be just between us. I made this time bearable for myself by chugging down a mug of hot Glühwein and calling The BF. He says, when I’m here, all he hears from me are complaints. He’s worried in what state I’ll be coming back. I told him I’d be wearing a straight jacket – becoming, yet practical.

The only odd untouchable number

Friday was a slow day. I got up really late – or at least that’s what I thought, since there was bright sunshine coming through my undraped window. When I went upstairs to get breakfast (oh yeah – I should have mentioned my room is in the basement, one reason for its Siberian temperatures) my mom was just about to leave (to meet you-know-who for who knows what). So I was alone in the house again. No biggy, thought I, my breakfast can also be comfyly taken in front of an episode of Lost (!). After that I got dressed (duh… first tip of exciting blogging: do not write the obvious), made me some nice hot tea and got crackin’ on that book I have to read for my upcoming exam (700 pages, yay!).

After a short yet nerve-racking intermission in which my mom and her guy showed up unexpected “to grab a cup of coffee” – which means they set up camp in the kitchen, next to the living room where I was, to make disgusting smooching noises and pretend I wasn’t there – I decided it was time to take my dog for a walk in the forest. It was much nicer this time, since I didn’ t leave in a hurry, which means we had plenty of time to wander little winding paths, and the sun was shining, which is always a pleasant companion. Still, my dog is an expert in finding puddles. He seriously hunts down every single one of them along our way, not to drink from them (which he occasionally does), but to wad through them. The muddier, the better. In conclusion, his whole lower half was wet and dirty. Now this doesn’t bother me, since I come prepared with jeans that can be shaken against and footwear the equivalent of a four-wheel-drive, but can you imagine the moms at my little sis’ school, when I was standing there waiting for her to come out? Priceless fun! One actually screamed at her kid to not go near us. I’m guessing that means I’m a good influence on the little one.

The evening was then spent eating a heated-up meal by my mom, some more series and some more reading. In between all that: a call to The BF, who is sadly very tired and breaking out a cold. I wish I could be there to cuddle him and make him feel better, but alas all I can do is miss him.

When angry, count four; when very angry, swear (Mark Twain)

Thursday was a day for which I actually set my alarm. Got up at nine, was ready to leave by ten, because that’s when my mom said we would be driving back into Paris. I should know by now that that means we leave at half past. But anyway, I took it upon myself to endure the crazy french driving (getting worse every day) and the stressful city, because we were going to a shop called Thanksgiving. It’s run by Americans and sells food from back there, which we needed to buy as a preparation for our Christmas dinner. Unfortunately, my mom also told me that if I wanted anything I should get it. Maybe she was just tired of hearing me say: oh look! They have this… and this! …. and this! Needless to say, we left there with two bags filled and a lot less cash on our hands.

After that, she thought we would go walk around in the nearby quarter of the Marais and find someplace to eat. I thought we would just be in and out, which is why I was so glad I found the right street right away and a parking slot right next door (also, it was drizzling). We finally made a compromise and decided to go to our “usual” Chinese, whichwould be on the way to our next stop (which I didn’t know we were going to either). It was very yummy, and the people there are very nice. It also gave me the opportunity to have a serious (albeit surprisingly pleasant) talk with my mom (about her moving and relationships) and I could bring back a wall calender for my little sister (which she was very excited about), but it still took out a bunch of time. Then we still had to go to a mall (which I thought was totally out of the way, but whatever) to pick up a picture my little sister had taken with Santa Clause (which she thinks is the real one – isn’t that cute?) and where I had to convince my mom that I wasn’t interested in going shopping (as usual). Especially since by then it was rather late, and all I could think about were all the pages I had wanted to read for my exam that day.

Stop four, at four o’clock, is always back home, since then it’s time to pick up the little one from her school. With the pleasant side effect of scaring the poised and superior look of the faces of the other moms, when they see me coming to pick her up with my fat, docile dog. Oh the horror! All the while he was surrounded by at least eight hands eager to scratch his ears, all tripping over themselves and stepping on his paws, but just sat there, panting from the walk. When we all got home, I was pretty pooped too, but also excited about finishing my family tree. I spent the rest of the evening typing the names and dates in and trying to find the towns on Google Earth. This also conveniently gave me an excuse to not have to interact with my moms guy, since he was over to visit (again…) and staying for dinner.