French Twist (6 page)

For one thing, the French see cord blood as a national resource, and so parents are encouraged to donate their baby’s cord blood to a public bank at birth (we have them here too, by the way). But it’s not really clear how effective the stored blood and cells can be for treating the child later in life. In fact, in many instances of disease, a child’s own cells are the last ones that should be used for treatment.

Had I a keener eye on the French when I was pregnant, I would have been much more serene about the whole thing. Those Frenchies are all about keeping it simple. I wish I could go back in time with more of the French approach in mind. I imagine enjoying Gruyère more (Pernoud especially recommends this delightful cheese for pregnant women) and needing a push-up bra less.

Chapter Three
 

I can guess what you’re wondering: If the French are so relaxed, why are their children so obedient?

While French children in Brooklyn are well behaved, the French kids in their native land politely run circles around them. On my most recent trip to Paris, I was, once again, shocked to find that I had to specifically look for them (to study them!), because most of these little citizens are truly seen and not heard. I traveled amazed on a silent metro car after realizing that there were many children on board. They were just sitting there, not fidgeting or demanding toys and snacks. Just sitting. The same goes for the museums: The few times I encountered a tantrum, it
was invariably coming from a pint-sized tourist, not a French child. I thought for sure I’d get some action in the supermarkets—I mean, what kind of kid can resist the temptation of shelves of treats? Apparently, French kids. And their decorum in restaurants? An army of
petit
, curious Julia Childs. It’s almost enough to make you stab their happily unbothered parents in the throat with a steak knife. Almost.

So how do they do it? How do French parents manage to keep their children so well behaved?

The answer is a bit complicated, but parental attitudes on child psychology play a large role. For instance, the fact that multiple French parents have told me that the terrible twos do not exist in their country makes me wonder if it is such an enormous deal here because we American parents consider this stage in development a fait accompli.

Yes, you read that right: NO SUCH THING AS THE TERRIBLE TWOS! When I first heard this, I thought my French informant was, well, uninformed. But then I heard it over and over. I even had to explain the concept to a few of my French contacts. One, my friend Paul, was mystified when I translated the meaning. “Really? You have this with your children? I have never heard of this condition.” It should be noted that Paul said this while he was baking a fresh peach tatin
with my children
.

Before I gave birth, I was well versed on this phase, because practically every book I read warned of its inevitability, some going so far as to explain this “developmental stage” in scientific terms. Even my own father-in-law (a
psychiatrist admittedly obsessed with brain function) had me deeply perturbed when he described the “chemical brainwash” that would take place when my sweet unborn baby entered her third year of life and her brain experienced a growth spurt leading to hormonal chaos as nerve connections fired inside her forming brain. I can’t say that I ever really understood what anyone was talking about; the only thing that sank in was that I should be afraid, very afraid.

So, on cue, when Daphne and Oona developed into two-year-old lunatics, I chalked it up to those unavoidable terrible twos. How could I fight with nature? We just had to endure—at least that’s what I believed. In hindsight, this left the turbid threes and frightful fours totally unexplained.

But back to the “complicated” answer. There is the reality that the French still rely heavily on extended family in the raising of their kids. In fact, throughout my investigation, I found that new French parents are much more likely to turn to their own parents and grandparents than to books or websites for child-care advice, as we do here, and this has everything to do with the fact that their extended families often live nearby and play a significant role in bringing up
les enfants
. Even
waaay
out in the countryside, the French are less nomadic than we itinerant Americans. A friend of a friend, Simon, lives in the Vosges mountain range on the northeastern tip of France. That is to say bumf*** nowhere. Although he is an Englishman, he has been living in France for decades and has a daughter
with a French woman. Simon noted that the people in his village don’t tend to move very far from their families. “I’ve had the same postman for eight years,” he marvels. He also mentioned that he can’t remember the last time he saw a child throw a tantrum, “excluding my trips home to England, that is.” This will never cease to amaze me.

America is the land of independence and entrepreneurs—we stray from the coop in significant ways, be it for jobs, love, or dreams. When we land, we are often completely removed from where we started (just look at me, a California girl who has clocked nearly fifteen years in New York City). One of the reasons mothers’ groups and mommy blogs are so popular in this country is that we use them to fill the void of familial support. These Web havens haven’t captured the imaginations of French parents in the same way. The results of these different approaches are fascinating to behold. I remember urging my sister (who lives three thousand miles away) to cut the cord with the group she began attending after the birth of her first son because it seemed as though the aftermath of every meeting involved her calling me with a new set of concerns about her baby. Rather than bringing support, this particular gathering became a breeding ground for worry. I know that not all such groups have this effect, but it’s certainly more prevalent than in France. My own husband tried to elicit a pledge from me to stop with the blogs, because he noted a similar pattern. I think it was when, after about two hours online, I’d awoken him in a panic, utterly convinced that one of our kids had colon cancer. It turned out to be a severe case
of pinworms, by the way. When the French need a solution to a particular problem, they tend to consult one source, not fifteen different friends or chat-room chums. This has the effect of cutting down on anxiety—and does wonders for just about every aspect of parenting. Unfortunately, it’s something we Americans are far from mastering.

When I tried going to a typical French source for solutions to specific behavioral transgressions, however, something was often lost in translation:

The French don’t like that? I don’t like that!

Unfortunately, I was not always able to find a French-inspired solution to the attitudinal shortcomings of my kids, because many of their behaviors simply don’t exist in the same way in France. The real trick—listen carefully, all you parents who have yet to spawn or who have very small children—is to create the proper relationship with your children from the very beginning. Remember, YOU ARE THE CHIEF. When I consider my own parenting trajectory, the main reason I wasn’t able to discipline my kids effectively is that I did not want to inhibit their wonderful, budding personalities. I didn’t want to tread on their individualism. This strikes me as a very American approach, and there is much merit to it, but perhaps not to the extremes that we have taken it. In France, everyone in the family has a job. The parent’s role is to be the chief, and the children have the job of obeying their leader. French children are raised with this in mind, so there is much less debate and resistance. As in the previous chapter, when my pregnant friend was chastised for not taking her rightful place at the front of the line—“It’s the law!”—and fouling up the rules, French kids know that their business involves obeying adults. Ever since this was explained to me, I have been dropping it on my own daughters. It is kind of fun to say things like, “You will get in the car now and put on your seat belt, because I am the chief and I said so.”

The crazy thing? It works. Initially I was afraid that they would become resentful of my new assertions of
power and tightened discipline, but that was not the case. They were so used to debating and arguing about everything—because I had raised them to think that their opinion on
everything
was important—that they seemed almost relieved to have a real chief take charge.

I like being the chief, but to do it effectively I have had to become more strict, which is the hardest part for me. I have never been much good at saying “no” to my kids, and I have always gravitated to those in the parenting world who talk and write about “the power of yes” and how important it is to respect children and their feelings. With two daughters, I’ve long held visions of the three of us as a happy little clique when they grow up, laughing at a café and swapping stories. Like a scene from a Nora Ephron movie. Cheesy, I know, but, hey, it sounds nice. I just really want them to like me. Now, French moms are pretty firm, yet from what I have seen they more often appear to have wonderful relationships with their adult daughters. Possibly this is because they have maintained some dignity in the eyes of their kids by not always seeming desperate for acceptance. One French mom broke it down for me in simple terms: “Your job is not to be their friend. That does not work with children. You need to be their mom and teach them well. I would love to spend my day holding my child, but I know that is not good for him.” I have spent entire days holding my Daphne, congratulating myself that, at the very least, I was reducing the risk of her becoming a serial killer. Of course, I had read
The Attachment Parenting Book
, by Dr. William Sears, so avoiding raising murderesses
was the very least I was going for—I was promised kids who would be more secure and smarter than those whose heartless parents had not elected to
wear
them. They would be easy to discipline, respectful, and a whole bunch of other wonderful qualities. Perhaps there’s another reason for it, but the endless attention and energy that I bestowed upon my girls as babies and toddlers ultimately produced clingy and demanding kids (as well as one strung-out mom). Practically every French mother that I have encountered insists that enforcing discipline and cultivating self-restraint in children is the truest expression of love.

Most of the French parents I spoke with divulged that they read few if any books on parenting. However, the author that many of them turned to is a doctor and psychoanalyst named Françoise Dolto. Dolto, a bit of a brainiac who worked with Jacques Lacan, preached the importance of children having separate lives from their parents. Amen, sister! Recently my husband’s cousin arrived from out of town, and the only thing I wanted was a little separation from my kids so that I could catch up with the in-laws. But, alas, darling Daphne was in a full-on French relapse, and it wasn’t until after I took her to bed that any of the adults could meaningfully converse. Sadly, I was relegated to the bedtime ritual, so I missed the heart of the homecoming. Too many American kids—mine included, no doubt—are brought up thinking that their every utterance is precious and worthy of an audience. As one French father explained to me, “Where I am from, we refer to the child whose parents
hang there on everything it says and does as
l’enfant roi
. I think it is like your spoiled brat, maybe, but not so bad. It is not the child’s fault that the parents treat it like a king.” I wanted to give my daughters confidence and a healthy sense of self-worth by validating their achievements, but now they thought that running around the dining room table with three stuffed animals in their shirts was fascinating to everyone. I had ended up with a couple of showboats who didn’t know how to sit and participate in a discussion without being the center of it. I love them dearly, but there is truly nothing amazing about putting a couple of Stuffies down one’s front, and I want my kids to know it. Perhaps in the future, if this developed into a more compelling performance piece (with, like, the Coen brothers directing and a cameo from Jeff Bridges), then we’d have something. However, from the beginning, my daughters have known only the approval and attention of grown-ups, and it is hard for everyone involved to just shut off the spigot. We are certainly working on it and making strides—leaps, really, with Oona.