Destination: Paris | Part Deux

As soon as we landed at the Charles de Gaulle airport, I got the opportunity to present my passport for the very first time. I handed it to the cute guy behind the glass; he rolled my name around in his mouth a few times with that dang French accent that makes my name sound more "Chanel" than "Janelle"; then he looked at me, and said, "Chanel...I want to keep you."

And I giggled like I was 14 and skipped away off to the rental cars because hearing that in French is far less creepy than it is hearing it in English.

In the back of our BMW, my body finally started to feel tired. And I felt the irony of the fact that I couldn't force myself to fall asleep on the plane TO France, but now that I was finally IN France, it was like I relaxed. It was a raging battle of mind vs. body during our drive to the hotel. I wanted to see all the Parisian things I could possibly fit into my view. There was no time to blink, let alone sleep.

Our hotel was a 15-minute drive away; it was too short and far too long all at the same time. My body craved rest but my mind was so stimulated by the architecture alone. Fountains and obelisks pepper the city, some thousands of years old. But they were all very new to me.

1. Waiting for our luggage at Charles de Gaulle airport!
2. Waiting for our rental car in the Paris sun.
3. I'll take the Audi, thankyouverymuch.
4. My French lover for the week - my bed.
5. Our hotel with its amazing staff!
6. Our sweet ride during our stay!

We arrived at our hotel - Renaissance Paris Le Parc Trocadero - where we received a warm Parisian welcome and wedged ourselves (and our huge suitcases) into the small elevator. A lovely suite awaited me...and a bed that eventually proved too inviting to resist. We met downstairs in the beautiful hotel garden to enjoy a little tea in the afternoon (but what felt like the middle of the night) sun. We were so, so happy, but so, so tired, so we agreed to set our alarms, give in to the exhaustion, and then reconvene.

I almost burst when I was told the Eiffel Tower was walking distance away from our hotel. If it hadn't been for the crazy European drivers, I probably would have broke into a run. But there is something about strolling down those Parisian streets, peering into shoppe windows, leaning over to smell the fresh bouquets of flowers, and stepping around the small trios of bistro tables and chairs.

We took in the Trocadero and finally got to see her. For the first time in my life, I got to see her. I was breathing the air around her; the beautiful lady I had surrounded myself with for most of my life but had never actually met was finally standing right in front of me.

And instead of fighting exhaustion, I was now fighting tears. Because dreams-come-true are for Disney, not for silly girls from Idaho...right?

I could've taken 1000 pictures, and they all would've looked the same to anyone who wasn't me. So I just stared at her, looked at all the other tourists around me, and kept wondering when and how this was supposed to feel real. To add further consternation to the already-surreal experience, two models and a photographer showed up and I sarcastically (and silently) said to myself, "Welp. This doesn't help AT ALL."

7. The Trocadero
8. The first time we met!
9. Us in front of the Eiffel Tower!
10. Sidewalk chalk artist.
11. Bread!
12. A toast to our arrival! We're here!
13. Escargot.
14. Scallops.
15. Sole.
16. Raspberry/pistachio macaron w/raspberry sauce.
17. Nutella pizza.
18. The Tower is the most beautiful photo-bomb.
19. In her evening gown.
20. Me. Overjoyed.

Our destination for dinner that first evening was an incredible restaurant called Le Coq (The Rooster). It was also on our way home, so we just walked there, too. It was perfectly in-between our hotel and the Eiffel Tower. We sat at a table outside, trying to absorb as much of the spring sun as we possibly could, listening to the sounds of the street, breathing in fresh baked bread, and toasting our trip with peach and raspberry champagne. (And all the rumors and stereotypes are true - bread and butter are just better in Paris.)

I enjoyed the most amazing escargot I've ever had, followed by scallops, and then my sole fish. I managed to resist the mashed potatoes in the swimming pool of butter. Must have been my vulnerable and emotional state because oh...my...gosh. It was a very good thing, though, because during French dining experiences, the wait staff refills your wine and your bread like they're water. Keep in mind, dining goes on for hours over there.

A table near ours had the most amazing dessert I had ever seen, so I tried to order it by pointing as politely as I could and mumbling "Macaron, s'il vous plait." It was raspberry & pistachio flavored and it changed my life. Ok, maybe not, but I would've let it if it asked. Gilly had a mild freak-out when we discovered that Nutella is around every corner in Paris and comes in pizza form at Le Coq.

Because we were sitting outside, very near the street, the sounds of people and cars and horns were abundant, but quickly became white noise. Except suddenly there was a change in the sound. A very low purr, followed by another low purr, resonated behind us, and then lowered to a stop. We turned around to see a couple sets of butterfly doors opening on a couple of Ferraris that had parked behind the most beautiful Porsche. It was fairly ridiculous. I mean, really. BUT. SO. AWESOME.

Our evening wound down with customary tea as it grew darker. By this time, it was around 9 p.m., if memory serves me. And I was informed that from 8:00 until midnight, every hour on the hour, the Eiffel Tower would sparkle. And my brain and heart finally exploded.

I didn't think she could be more beautiful, until I saw her in her evening wear.

We finally tore ourselves away and walked back to our hotel. I turned the water on in the walk-in shower as hot as it would go; I sat on the cold tiles and let it pour over my back until my skin turned red as I tried to figure out how one life - my life - could change in a matter of hours.

And this was only Day 1.

(Worth noting - I always sleep with a fan on. The white noise puts me to sleep in an instant. So, I brought a small one with me. And then proceeded to try to start an electrical fire by plugging it in. European voltage > American voltage. Also? THAT SMELL.)

Destination: Paris | Part Un

The Airport & Flight

Saturday, May 3, 2014, I found myself in the back of a black Mercedes, cruising down the freeway as we headed for the Salt Lake City airport. Gilly and I were enjoying the ride, Youtube-ing songs and karaoking along with them between bites of jerky.

It was sunny and beautiful and we were in complete denial.

Because how are you supposed to fully digest the concept of your life changing forever in a matter of hours while belting out 90s jams?

YOU CAN'T.

So we sang and laughed and talked.

And then we got to the airport.

1. In the back of the car on our way to the airport. Stoked but still fairly unaware.
2. At the airport, grabbing something to eat.
3. & 4. Trying to coordinate an exuberant jump in front of the Eiffel Town poster and failing several times.
5. Goofing off with Nutella in the Delta Lounge.
6. A picture of the Delta Lounge. Small buffet of food and snacks and a full bar. So nice of them to not kick us out.
7. Some of THE FIRST to board our gigantic plane!
8. Our seats were a little separated though.
9. Not a bad view for the first part of the flight.
10. Watched Bridesmaids and ugly-laughed for a couple hours.
11. I really loved being able to check our progress on the screen! We were going so far away!
12. The packaging makes everything look so sterile but I was pleasantly surprised!
13. Reunited because a sweet lady was willing to switch me seats!
14. Landed, deplaning, and beginning to freak out!
15. Entering the Charles de Gaulle airport and freaking out!
16. Getting a grip and ready to rock!

Gilly was able to doze off for a little bit during our 9.5-hour flight, but I was, unfortunately, awake for the entire thing. We were traveling overnight and I really should've slept. And I did try! But my mind was whirring with excitement and thoughts of the city I have loved my entire life. And, if I'm honest, I didn't want to miss a thing - not even a second of my first international flight. So I eventually embraced what I knew to be true of myself and started watching Catching Fire.

As we began our descent into Paris, and the pilot began an announcement, all movies stopped. And that left me with 10 nervous-&-giddy minutes of being stuck in my seat (and in my own head) as we got ready to land.

This girl had arrived in the City of Lights.

Single-Parenting: If You're Happy & You Know It, You're Doing It Wrong

I don't even know why I'm blundering into this post.

It is not going to be inspirational.

Only a handful of people will be able to relate.

Maybe not even a handful. Maybe only, like, two.

So awkward. And yet, here we are.

In an attempt to alleviate some of the potential awkwardness, I'll start with an introduction. Hi. I'm Janelle. That's me off to the right, the woman dressed only in hibiscus flowers. I'm a divorcee and a single mom. And depending on who you are, that's 2 strikes against me. However, I do believe I qualify for several reality TV shows and I count that as a win.

I think.

I was in an abusive marriage. Please do not refer to me as any kind of "survivor" because it evokes pity and sympathy and doesn't that just sound like a party. I also managed to get myself into that mess. I stayed as long as I had to and then got the hell out. And that's why my divorce is a victory and I celebrated it with cake. If you'd like to know more surrounding the situation or why I felt I had to stay, please feel free to ask. Until then, feel free to withhold judgment. Or I will feel free to throw bits of real panther at you. (It stains.)

I have a son. And due to the aforementioned events, he's been the man of the house for half of his 8.5 years. I am not counting the men I've dated since my divorce. Until they live in my home, they don't yet qualify. But his skinny, sweet little body has changed my life for a second time.

I'm going to talk about dating. But not because I'm lonely or feeling a void or lacking fulfillment or am desperate to find a "father-figure" for my son. I love my life. Some may argue a little too much. The single life suits me in many respects. But regardless, I'm not against getting to know someone I am initially attracted to.

However. (Heh.)

Being a single mom changes things. Almost everything, really. Because it becomes astronomically easier to disappoint people. Like, seriously, EVERYONE. Even your laundry is eventually like, "Oh, you think you can just remember the fabric softener this time and that's supposed to make everything ok?" The disappointment is unavoidable. Either you're out too much (not necessarily dating) and "neglecting" every. single. other. thing. Or you're not being social enough, not meeting new people, not enjoying new experiences, not finding the next potential Mr. Right, etc. These are other people's mindsets that are thrust into your somewhat-flailing-but-otherwise-happy world. And no matter how ridiculous or irrelevant or offensive those comments are, don't you hate that it still makes you stop and pause?

Why do I have to be disappointing someone? Why is my life not enough for them?

Try saying those things out loud and then you'll really be able to hear the crazy.

Because, if for one second, they could see the war your heart and your mind are fighting all. the. time. maybe they'd pipe down...take a second before "fixing" you.

The long-term relationship I had after my divorce opened my eyes to the fact that I can juggle. Or at least I can make you think that I can. Dating someone you aren't ready to introduce to your child yet is like infidelity. You want to spend time with both parties but oh-my-gosh-they-can't-know-about-each-other-because-it-will-mess-everything-up. I can see it in a man's face/eyes how he truly feels about me having son when I tell him. And so, no matter how much chemistry/attraction/potential is there, it all hangs on Eric (who is blissfully unaware, praise Jesus.) And Head says, "You need to tell Mr. Right Now. It's time. He needs to know and only then will you know if this can move forward." And Heart is all down here like, "Why are you having such a hard time telling someone about your own son? Your pride & joy, light of your life, your reason for living? Hmmm? You should be shouting it from the rooftops! Are you ashamed of him? Embarrassed? He's only kinda the most important person in your life right now. GEEZ."

And this is my reality. Welcome. BYOB.

And thus begins a series of internal battles that never have a victor. Not to mention the external battles brought to your doorstep by well-meaning and/or meddling individuals who don't think you're doing it right.

Whatever IT is.

To those individuals - take comfort in knowing that I know. I know I'm screwing up. I worry about it constantly. How I have such a sweet and forgiving son is nothing short of a merciful act of God and those mercies are what I continuously fall back on. It would be totally awesome if you would extend me some mercy, too. I would totally celebrate that with cake and ask you to be my friend. Or you can go on your way, happy to know the struggle is real for me because, after all, I got myself into this mess, didn't I? But be it known that I will spit in your general direction.

To those individuals worried about the social side of my life - take comfort in knowing that God knows. He allows people into and out of my life and has had pretty good control of things thus far. I currently have an incredible bunch of people in my life that I absolutely love to spend time with. And you never know who's on the horizon. I may cry, I may learn a hard lesson, or I may fall out-of-my-mind in love, but unless you're the reason behind any of those three things, chill out. Your world shouldn't be too rocked by any of it.

*****************
Three articles recently crossed my path and inspired me to dust off my blog again. If you can relate, I recommend checking out all stinking three of them. If you can't really relate but want a laugh, then just check out the last one:

1. Dating After Divorce
2. Why Moms Need to Have Something of Our Own
3. My Friends Are Married...And I'm Just 25 & Drunk

This Gym Membership Not Suitable for All Audiences

For most of my adult life, I have been asked how I stay so thin.

It ain't because of the gym.

But I don't avoid the gym simply because I don't "need" to go there.

Have any of you noticed the epidemic sweeping across the fitness world? It's hard not to, though you may not recognize it in terms of "fitness".

Let's try "Adult Entertainment". Or "Must Be 18 Years or Older". Or "Soft-Core P*rn".

Because when you sign up for the gym, read the girl-you-FIIIINE-print, and sign the contract, it becomes apparent that you didn't just sign up for a gym membership. You signed up to star in Golds Gym Productions (or Crossfit Media or Look How High I Hiked Today Entertainment, you get the idea.)

In case you're considering this, or managed to inadvertently sign up without actually reading the technical stuff, here's what you need to expect:
If using the facility and its various machines & equipment does start giving you results and you begin to look quote-unquote "hotter", you will be given a smartphone and toddler clothes. (The occasional set of "casual headphones" may be included, depending on your facility.)
Once you (and 3 of your friends) have managed to forcefully apply the children's clothing to your body, you will be asked to step in front of a mirror. Any mirror will do.
And then you take several nearly-nude self-portraits in poses of varying levels of promiscuity.
Bonus Points awarded for any of the following:

• Posting to Instagram & FB within 47 seconds of each other.
• Using 3+ filters and/or collage settings.
• Duck face.
• Booty shot(s). (Collage setting encouraged here.)
• Posing with protein shake and/or kale.
• Galaxial* Narcissistic Status achieved when you incorporate a random, unrelated "inspirational" quote into any of the above images.

Get it, girl. Just be aware of the inherent danger.
And everyone knows kale doesn't even taste good.


*Galaxial may not be an actual term but I can see it in bold neon letters on a jar of whey protein so that is validation enough for me.

I Met Her On the Internet

I face-palmed myself so well this morning that I was wondering if I was going to get around to actually writing this. Because I should/could have written it years ago.

I have had a lifelong adoration of Paris. I would type that in ALL CAPS to help convey the passion & sincerity behind the words, but the typographer in me says "NO."

As soon as I was made aware that such a place existed on this earth, I was madly in love. Madly, I tell you. Resisting a purchase that involved the Eiffel Tower in some way was like my ex-boyfriend resisting the urge to check himself out in the nearest reflective surface: odds were not good, and if it did happen, it felt horribly unnatural and ohjustdoitalready!

So, I embraced my obsession admiration of all things Paris and everyone lived happily ever after.

I assume, anyway.

My living & dining rooms are Paris. My lamps are Eiffel Towers. Are you understanding what we're dealing with here, people? (A polite nod is fine; withheld judgment is even better.)

But it goes beyond the physical stimulation the City provides. The sexy, long curves of the Tower. The heady, intoxicating aromas of French cooking and wine. The mysterious and alluring twists and turns of the tight City streets. The raw beauty that comes from historical scars. The monuments of pride and passion.

I have an inexplicable connection to the City. She and I have never met but I feel we are soulmates, destined to be intertwined in each others' lives without either of us making a conscious decision about it. I joke that my heart is shaped like the Eiffel Tower. Thousands of miles separate us and yet I feel that when we finally meet, it will be as though we have always been together. It will be comfortable...familiar. I've read that instead of saying "I miss you." there is a French saying that says "You are missing from me." And it makes me sigh sweetly because that is such a better way to describe what this feeling is...of missing someone/something you've never met.

But it also makes me a little nervous. Because what if I want to live there, you guys? What if I go and the thought of leaving Her is the most painful heartbreak I've ever experienced? A wonderful friend of mine, who is French-born, told me that I will fit in there very well. And my heart soared...and then did one of those cartoon moves where the character looks right at the screen in mid-air with eyes bulging from its head, limbs scrambling to no avail, and then drops straight down out of the sky like an anvil.

I found this image during yet another search on the vast interwebs and connected with it fiercely, despite the obvious fact that I am not French:

Anyway, I am neck-deep in all things French these days, and thankfully, Eric seems to find it interesting. If I'm honest, I think he enjoys watching my facial expressions as I talk about it. And he was so cute (and very proud of himself) as he tried to use context clues to figure out the flavors of the jam this morning...

And just in case you were curious, he chose one of the little jars of honey (le miel) to have with peanut butter on toast.

The same wonderful French friend I mentioned earlier recently traveled to Paris for work and, being the incredibly generous person that he is, brought back a couple souvenirs for me. And I am one happy girl (tres heureux)...

L: Streetscape painting on canvas; R: Chocolates from Petite Marquise

So, cheers to falling in love with a beautiful city and to documenting our fleeting encounters here. May they grow in frequency and intensity.

Happiness Multiplied by Tutu

I talked to my sister today.

LoriAnn.

We emailed back & forth a little and shared enough information that warranted audible reactions. So I called her on my way home...one of the benefits of a foggy 25-minute commute.

She's one of the small handful of people who actually believe me when I tell her I'm happy. She doesn't second-guess, there's no "Are you really?" dripping in pity.

She celebrates with me!

Over the course of 30 years, some people pay off their homes. Some celebrate their child's college graduation. Some welcome their 18th grandbaby.

Over the course of my 30 years, I have become happy with who I am. I have learned my worth.

I do not have everything figured out; I still struggle with mommy-guilt; I am still foolishly impulsive about some things; and as much as I'd like to imagine myself as the prima ballerina delicately floating through life, I know I'm a closer match to Ace Ventura in a tutu at the mental institute.

I have had to be told I am worthless for me to actively search for reasons that I am. And I found them. Some I found simply out of spite. But that "spite" turned into a firmer handshake, better posture, and direct eye contact. And, honey, I don't think I have to tell you that confidence is impossible to ignore.

A girlfriend of mine made a comment a week or two ago that stuck with me because it made me uncomfortable - "Go anywhere and you'll see men look right at you...and you'll see women looking at the ground." I'm not that girl.

I've learned lots of things when interacting with people, especially when meeting them for the first time. But two are currently most prominent:

1. Men are surprised by my quick wit and ability to communicate intelligently.
2. Women are surprised that I'm not the bitch they assumed I would be.

I try to present myself in ways that clear both of those things up quickly so I don't miss out on an amazing relationship. Because when I love you, I tell you. Because none of us have time for anything less, do we? (And don't use the "luv u" or "love ya" or any other sissy-la-la nonsense - SAY IT FOR REALSIES. Own it. You have nothing to lose.)

My home is a place of love, sarcastic eyebrows, boundaries, laughter, frustrated questions, and ninja weapons. And I am providing for the 3 little personalities who live here with me - the ones who see all sides of me and know that just because the high heels come off, my worth doesn't.

Know that you have something to offer everyone you come in contact with. Every single one. It sounds so "blog-ish" to say this, but it is absolutely true. And because you hold that power, you are valuable, even beyond being valued by the "regulars" (family & close friends & those adoring pets).

I read a quote by a child who, upon being asked what he noticed about adults, responded with, "They seem grumpy." And then I died a little inside because HE'S RIGHT. We don't need another person to be happy (someone please tell this to the matriarchs of my church), and you know what they say about mo' money. My remedy for the Common Adult? Smile so much your cheeks hurt like Flight Attendant Barbie, laughing is even better (burns way more calories), dance a little every day (in your car, in your kitchen, on the dance floor - just do it), and when someone shares their good fortune with you - CELEBRATE WITH THEM. Be that valuable person to them while making them feel valuable.

And then walk around meeting people's gazes with an infectious confidence that dares them to get to know you.

(Unless it's a French model you met on the internet who is now trying to meet your gaze right outside your window. Then assess how valuable you are and confidently dial 911.)

Valued | Amy

It dawned on me the other day that January brought with it an anniversary of sorts. I could feel it...and I knew it was important to me...but I couldn't pin-point exactly what was stirring up these celebratory feelings. I started flipping through my planners from last year, became temporarily side-tracked as all my little hand-written notes took me backwards through days and months and the things that make up a life, and then I found it:

 Saturday, January 19, 2013
"9:00 a.m. - Java w/Amy"

That is the when & where of the beginning of an incredible gift that has been given to me, one day at a time.

But it's not THE beginning.

Before I explain further, please allow me to introduce my sweet Amy Schutte:

Church youth group and a large gorge in Washington allowed our lives to bump gently into each other. Until I decided my boyfriend was laughing a little too hard at her jokes. And so, like the mature woman I was at the age of 17, I made a conscious effort to dislike Amy. (And that particular boyfriend.)

Time whisked us both away to different experiences so we could become the women we are today. But what I love most about this story is that we now get to be those women...together.

There is something, or maybe 1 million somethings, about Amy that draws you to her. You may not notice it but all of a sudden, there you are, near her, or wishing you could be. The obvious assumption would be her beauty. She is radiant and powerful and smart and feminine and sexy and funny. All of those things all of the time.

She is an anomaly. Or maybe an alien. I love her regardless.

A shared interest in photography was all it took to prompt our morning Java date. And then I knew I was so thankful to have a chance to get to know this girl who had been in and around my life for years, but not yet a part of it.

We soon discovered many other common interests. We have independent & wild spirits trapped in our small-town selves, but we like it here, too. We have fears & insecurities that maybe we just don't want to talk about right now...but if we do, we're making them into a joke because it's easier to deal with that way. Our borderline-obsessive love of Sun Valley in the fall. And an incurable disease some refer to as wanderlust. But one of my favorite aspects of our friendship are the places in which we are opposite and yet still complementary.

Amy's strength & determination has blown my head back more than once. This woman will succeed at whatever she puts her mind to. And what I have been so blessed to see that applied to has been her love for her husband and her role as a bonus mom to her husband's two children. She alone has reignited my faith in what a marriage can be...not just what it should be. Commitment, yes, of course. You don't hear too many people celebrating 30-, 40-, 50-year anniversaries these days. But beyond the commitment...beyond the resignation...beyond the bad marriage jokes, is a fire and a passion and the decision to love someone else to the point of bursting. And it takes 2 seconds to see that between she & Ryan. And I am so thankful to have that in my life. To be able to breathe it in, to see & feel its effects, and to learn from it. That same decision to love is applied to Avery & Mason - the "littles" of Team Schutte. She has made the choice to step in and share herself with them - the best, the good enough, and the hard days - and to show them that it's ok, it's ok to feel however you feel but try to learn from it, and that no matter what - LOVE WINS.
 

 
I know they probably don't grasp the significance of the presence of this amazing woman in their lives right now, but I am predicting some very soggy wedding speeches down the road because of the impact she made.

Amy's brilliant mind & radiant heart are so incredibly valuable to me. This was solidified for me when I went through a tough time this last summer. Her head & her heart are woven together so beautifully that I remember being distracted by it. Every word she said passed through her heart first - no judgment, no cliches, no sugar-coating or condemning...she just let me be. Because feelings are valid simply because they exist. She allowed me to feel however I needed while letting me know that I was still valuable & loved. And that, when she got home from Kentucky, we were going to put on our big hats and allow the sun to penetrate our very bones, because what problem wouldn't that solve?? And now, I am half a year away from that hard time, but immeasurably closer to her.

And I am just left feeling grateful for being given treasured pieces of her - her words, her cheerleading, her perspective, her time.

Amy, on your best days & your bag-over-your-head-in-the-closet days, know that each & every part of what makes you, you, is so, so valuable to me. Thankful for you & loving you a weird amount (and a little more) every day...