Here is the link to my Paris slideshow video from my recent trip. It’s best to view it in high quality and full screen. I had a lot of fun making it and think I’ve found a new obsession.

(mini-update):

My stint in Paris admittedly started out a little rough. I have definitely undergone a metamorphosis throughout this first week. Arriving exhausted, not-so-fresh feeling, and unable to communicate effectively can be overwhelming enough. Add to that a feeling of isolation in the chosen retreat, and it is disheartening to say the least. Succumbing to the culture shock, emotional vulnerability and lack of sleep on that first day I wondered why I had left home in the first place. During the initial two days I missed my children so terribly it physically felt as if there was a hole in my heart. I was riddled with guilt and regret. It was one of the most horrible feelings I had suffered in a long, long time.

Yet, knowing they are doing well I realized I had no choice but to make the best of this opportunity. I have been extraordinarily fortunate that Paris has boasted the best weather conditions one could ask for. I also found a new apartment in the heart of the city and, although I suffered grueling misadventures to make the move, have not regretted it for one moment.

I am learning my way around, my French is improving, and I am becoming more confident in this amazing foreign city. I have done more walking/hiking than I think I ever have. If I don’t come back one toned, buff mother I will be shocked! I have made a few English-speaking friends, one of which is an Australian girl whom I have just spent a very lovely 3 ½ days and am very sad that she is leaving tomorrow. She claims to marvel at my abilities where, as she puts it, I can navigate proficiently and have even begun making jokes with the locals in French.

Considering some of the obstacles I have overcome, I know that I will emerge from this experience a stronger person capable of nearly anything that comes my way (which is bad news for the likes of London, Amsterdam and Prague, to name a few of the other cities I someday hope to conquer).

More details to come. Here are just a few random pictures from the week so far:

Wouldn’t it figure that this, being the first really beautiful day in over a week and possibly the most beautiful so far this year, I would be too sick to go out and enjoy it? Today was also the day I was really looking forward to because it’s the only one this week I had wide open without prior obligations.

Last night was absolutely horrid. I was unable to sleep at all except for possibly a few minutes here and there due to (pardon the tmi) the droves of relentless post-nasal drip. I believe I took every legal cold-related product on the market (plus a few illegal ones) without benefit. I even made myself a mug of hot green tea at 3 am which did seem to provide enough relief to allow me about 8-10 minutes of sleeping upright before awakening to the myriad of symptoms accompanied by a kink in my side.

I was hoping when I got up this morning that after taking a shower and another fistful of remedial products I would at least improve enough to be able to meet my friend out for coffee and conversation.

Nope. Still feel like shit.

And I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve popped what because I am having to ingest both the maximum doses of ibuprofen and aspirin every few hours. Since I can’t keep track, I just throw back more pills when something starts terribly hurting again. I am kind of thinking those two aren’t even supposed to be taken simultaneously.

Anyway, in case you are wondering: no, this entry really does not serve a purpose other than lamenting on my pathetic condition. And instead of actually writing 1,000 words, I decided to include a picture. As one would expect after a night like I had, it is certainly not very flattering.

This is me at about 7:00 this morning; unfortunately, with little to no improvement since.

What do you think? Should I make it my avatar?

I now strongly advise that you go wash your hands!

I am a woman who, despite motherhood, wants to live life to the fullest. I reside, however, in a community in which the means I have chosen to accomplish this are often criticized. I am here to provide my perspective, to encourage mothers to self-reflect on their needs, and to impugn the critics of my pursuit. I am optimistic that in time women will reach a balance between caring for others and caring for themselves.

Firstly, the title of this work I imagine to be a foreign concept to some. The terms traveling and housewife do not often go hand in hand. By substituting the latter word with one more befitting, the resulting phrase will conjure recognition. Ah, yes, the traveling salesman! Once upon a time, they were a welcome sight providing the rare opportunity to make a purchase without leaving home and offering immediate gratification to boot. During the fifties, people appreciated the service they provided so much that in 1951 alone, they were a $7 billion industry. These days, however, the majority of us are less than thrilled to find one on our doorstep. Many home-owners even go as far as to affix “no soliciting” labels in plain view to discourage one from ever ringing their bell. Much like a traveling salesman of today, as a traveling housewife I often feel as though I am living in the wrong era, yet we briefly coexist, sharing a tiny dot on the time line–his days numbered to extinction, I preceding the domestic revolution.

In our loss of appreciation for what was once a respectable line of work I find a glimmer of hope. It proves to me that, albeit slowly, we are capable of molding our community sentiment to fit the needs of the times.

Although traveling salesmen are nearly obsolete, harder to shake has been the other role epitomized in the fifties: the oppressive role of domesticity. As I reproach the popular mindset of a bygone era, I challenge the adoption of a new mindset. One in which a ‘traveling housewife‘ would not be the subject of gossip and condemnation. Firstly, we need to nullify the misconception that in order for a mother to be a good one, she must adopt a selfless affect, always ready to serve others, regardless of her own needs.

Perhaps it would help if we consciously appreciated mothers as the world’s most substantial and influential volunteers–volunteers that are responsible for cultivating in the rising generations the confidence, values, and flexibility needed to govern and contribute to society. These volunteers almost always sign on with the support of a donating collaborator and the conception that they are commencing a partnership.  But soon after the baby business takes off she comes to realize that the job is exhausting, frustrating, under appreciated, and comes with little to no time off. Ever.

Is it our wish that those who bear this invaluable responsibility become so depleted they eventually grow resentful or worse, apathetic? The solution is to allow or rather support mothers to intermittently take time to indulge her whims and rejuvenate her spirit in order to maintain a healthy sense of well-being. While it may seem that I would purport such a theory for selfish reasons, in essence, it would come to benefit each member in her family. Furthermore, if implemented by the majority it would perpetuate the betterment of society as a whole.

While each woman has her own preferred method to rejuvenate herself, the pursuit I have chosen in order for me to ‘live life to the fullest’ is exploring some of the amazing places earth has to offer. Experiencing the world beyond the familiar corridors of this nation is paramount to my vitality. Perhaps a fusion of curiosity, intuition and fascination lead to my affinity to travel. Much of it is the novelty of seeing diverse people, places and customs. One thing is absolute: exotic food, enchanting people, and eclectic experiences generate new insights not found in the comfort of conventional surroundings. These elements together are unequivocally the best means to replenish my sense and sensibility.

Do not mistake me, motherhood is often an immensely rewarding job, the benefits from which aren’t measurable in profits or net worth; indeed they are priceless. Some are able to find that cooking, cleaning, and caring for their family is enough to endow their emotional needs. Notwithstanding the rewards and the tremendous love I have for my children, I long for more.

Because I am so passionate about my travels, it would not benefit my family if I were denied these occasional escapes (98% of my time is spent alongside them). My children have no doubt in my love and dedication to them. Devoting time to replenish my soul only enhances my ability to reinforce those elements. Furthermore, by witnessing my enthusiasm they are rendered the confidence to use their imaginations and ingenuity to follow what gives them joy.

With a more flexible attitude (one in which a ‘Traveling Housewife’ is not subject to scoffing and criticism) toward the stringent role held to us, I feel, in turn, a change will occur. Once we start taking more time to replenish our emotional well-being, happier mothers will begin to emerge. It is cliché, but true, that a happy mom is fundamental to a happy family. Promoting my position from “housewife” to “traveling housewife” has literally saved my family business.

To the faint of heart, please be advised that this narrative does contain some graphic material.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was a bright and beautiful morn with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air of my sun-drenched kitchen. I was happily hosting our quaint little coffee club of sorts that a couple of friends and I enjoyed at least weekly. It was not long after the other two had arrived, for we had just begun enjoying each other’s company and were barely into our first cups of joe when I caught a faint whiff of an odor that was not a result of something I had brewed. If my suspicions served me correctly, it was likely emanating from my not quite two year old son who was playing nearby. Using my keen sense of smell which is bestowed by motherhood and tantamount to that of a hounds, I began turning my head while instinctively sniffing in his direction. The results: affirmative.

Rising from the table I assured my companions that they would not have to miss me for long since I was a pro at this diaper changing stuff. After all, he is my third child and this would have been in the ballpark of my ten thousandth diaper to change (seriously, I did the math). Admittedly, you can occasionally be thrown a curve ball with unforeseen circumstances, like the time a few years prior when I was changing my daughter’s diaper. Upon wiping a stubborn glob of poo that seemed to somehow be affixed, a thin, string-like substance emerged. “What the…?” I muttered. Just like a long strand of handkerchiefs being pulled from a magician’s hat, the more I extracted, the longer this never-ending enigma grew. I was on the brink of freaking out when, suddenly, the light bulb in my head went off.

Dental floss.

Yes. My child often enjoyed getting into my cinnamon flavored floss to suck off the spicy sweetness. As a result of this incident, I learned that it’s never too early to teach them not to swallow. This advice will prove helpful again someday–do not allow them chewing gum until you’ve made this clear!

Since that was my most unusual experience with diapers to date, it’s fair to say that most changes are rather routine and uneventful. Eager to get it over with and return to socializing with my guests, I intended to scoop up my toddler, carry him upstairs to the necessary supplies and free his little booty from it’s annoying stench. He, nevertheless, was less anxious to have the situation resolved. Just as I bent over to snatch him up he beelined to the nearest corner and dashed behind a faux ficus. Since he obviously wasn’t going to come out voluntarily, I decided to be one step ahead and use my infinite motherly wisdom to devise a plan. My fool-proof plot was to fake a right which would undoubtedly force him out the left where I would swiftly and oh-so-cunningly apprehend him.

The plan would have come off faultlessly if not for this:

Close-up of Exhibit A

Ah, the infamous corner. Just as I diverted my body toward the right to make my fake, WHAM! With great force, my brow bone unexpectedly collided into the corner of our entertainment center, shown above. If you have ever heard the sound of bone fiercely coming into contact with something equally hard, then I don’t need to further explain the resulting thud. After the moment of impact, I immediately placed my hand over the source of the pain, and with my head bent down, sat silently, frozen in shock. I was so jolted that I did not shout or scream or even utter so much as one profane word, unlike any other time I have suddenly encountered bodily harm. I was conscious, yet oddly speechless.

After what seemed like several minutes the shock began to wear off and I slowly removed my hand from my head. Before I had brought my hand to where I could see it, streams of blood spilled before my eyes. It was pouring from the cut as well as the reservoir that had pooled into my palm. As I stood up and began making my way to the kitchen, my always calm and rational friend began to panic at the sight–which admittedly, I found a bit disconcerting. As I started explaining what had happened she told me not to speak since every time my face moved the gash on my brow bone widened.

So much for enjoying a cup of coffee.

The other guest then tended to the now-infamous diaper situation. After managing Brock’s dirty deed she teased, “if you didn’t want to change him, all you had to do was ask!”

By the time our coffee club broke for the day Brock had acquired a clean diaper and I a black eye, liquid stitches, a headache, a gash that would leave a scar, and a medical bill.

Now in addition to my right eye boasting a two-toned iris of blue and brown, it also bears a permanent mark that will forever provide a loving reminder of the joys of having a potty-trained child–and of the occasional pitfalls of motherly-wisdom.