This is what I’ve come up with:

1. Workout, post-baby. I’m currently enormous, breathless and generally not wanting to exercise. But that doesn’t mean I don’t dream about being fit again and able to wear something besides leggings, maternity jeans and butt/belly/boob-covering tunics. I’ve even found a source of inspiration: Jennifer Nicole Lee.

Jennifer Nicole Lee before and after

Sure, she’s a little too tan, her breasts look uncomfortably hard and her style borders on cheesy/skanky, but good lord, the lady is tight! Look at that before photo—she weighed 200 lbs. after having given birth to her second kid. I hope I don’t start tipping the scales at 200 by the end of this pregnancy, but whatever happens, I’m plastering pictures of this woman all over my house to jumpstart my postpartum exercise regime. (And yes, I know I should be exercising now. I am trying to walk more and do yoga. It’s just a lot easier to eat a piece of chocolate.)

2. Blog more frequently and precisely. I know this is a repetitive mantra of mine, but I do plan on blogging more this year—and I want to make it less haphazard, theme-wise.

3. Get a job/make money. I’ve made what I think is called “passive income” the past couple of years, meaning I wasn’t actively working for it. It was residuals or fees for music I’ve already made—which is fantastic, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not enough to live on and though I’m lucky to have a Dman who works hard to provide for his family, I’m tired of not having my own regular paychecks. I’m an independent woman, dammit! And though I often tell myself, “I’m wifing and mothering, not mooching,” I still want to have some sort of steady income. Of course, that begs the question, “What kind of job am I going to get?” Well, if I don’t figure it out, look for me in your local Paris Starbucks or Mickey D’s. Either that or I’ll become the next mompreneur who designs something so stupidly simple and successful that homemakers everywhere will envy me.

4. Wake up and go to bed earlier. We are seriously blessed to have a toddler who sleeps til 10 am every morning. In fact, we quake in fear at the thought of her going to school next September, which means she has to wake up early to be there by 9, which means we have to wake up early to get her there! I’m sure it’s a pipe dream of mine to think that I’m going to get any sort of solid rest with a newborn on his way, but my general feeling is that getting up earlier (and subsequently sleeping before 1 am) will lead me to more productivity and life organization.

5. Meditate and journal more. I know I’m using “journal” as a verb <groan>, but I also know that taking the time to meditate and/or write in my journal makes me feel more focused, more patient, less depressed and overall happier.

6. Write. Write. Write. I’ll be starting school either this fall or next winter so in the meantime, I’ve got to keep up my chops.

7. More culture. Less internet.

8. More style. Like I said, I’m sick of the leggings and roomy shirt look, probably because it started before I even got pregnant. It may be silly and vain, but I want to be chic again!

9. Socialize. It’s so very easy to not go out, not network and not do much but eat dinner in front of the Apple TV when you’re a stay-at-home mom to a young child. I mean, the day is exhausting and sometimes nothing looks more appealing than plopping down on the couch and zoning out in front of the TV or computer screen once the kiddo’s asleep. But this doesn’t make me a particularly happy or interesting person. I love seeing and meeting new people and I’ve become a hermit since my move to France and motherhood. Someone posted this quote on FB the other day—yes, I see the irony of finding this online after what I just wrote: “Our social and cultural life shapes our biology.” If that’s the case, I’m Darwining my way into  the sloth kingdom, but things are gonna change around here! Invite me somewhere—please—I promise to come.

10. Do things that make me happy. I think all my resolutions this year are geared toward that—doing the things that ultimately make me feel good about myself. It’s amazing how easy it is to forget how to do that. I can’t remember the last time I picked up my guitar… I think if I do only one or two things a day for myself that make me happy, I’ll be doing pretty great this dragon year.

I’ve read all the literature that says it’s best to give the proper names, i.e. vagina and penis, so your little ones don’t think it’s weird that the other body parts, like arm or leg, don’t sound cutesy like “wee-wee” might. I think that’s assuming a lot. It seems to me that words are words, especially to a toddler. Personally, hearing “vagina” all the time from my two-year-old would probably freak me out. I guess I’m immature like that. Then again, hearing “vagina” constantly in everyday conversation from anyone would probably freak me out. And let me tell you, there’s a lot of talk about the “vagina” when you’ve got a potty-training kid.

Even Oprah calls it a “vajayjay!”

What did you call me?

I’ve gone with the word “coochie.” I think it’s cute, simple and innocuous enough. Little D’s been using it since she could talk, for a year or so now. For the penis, I call it a “pee-pee.” In France, I think (though no one can seem to give me a clear answer) both boys and girls call it a “zizi?”

Anyway, I felt alright about little D and her “coochie” until I was spending some time last summer with a few good friends at their country house. They have a pool so little D would go swimming naked and spend most of the day naked. She came over to me one day in all her birthday suit glory and said something about her “coochie.” One of my gay friends, who was sitting with me, was shocked. “Maggie, that’s what she calls it? I don’t think that’s the best word for it.” “Really? But doesn’t it sound cute?” “No, I think it sounds kind of dirty.”

Oh. And uh-oh?

Well, I haven’t come up with a better alternative since then and it seemed it would be strange and confusing to start calling it something different altogether. I really toyed with “vajayjay” (hey, if Oprah endorses it), but thought that would sound even weirder. Can you imagine? “Mama, I peed. Now wipe the vajayjay.”

So “coochie” it is, but please let me know if there’s a better alternative, in your opinion. Does “pee-pee” work for boys since the next one is, yep, a boy! What have you taught your kids?

And an old MK song (not called “Coochie” but “Coo”) which you can download here, if you’re so inclined:

UPDATE: Following suggestions, I decided to introduce the grownup “vagina” today, telling her “coochie” was the baby word. Little D seemed to think it was alright, shortening it to “‘gina.” I can probably live with that.

Our problems often stem from Dman’s hectic travel schedule. He’s gone about half the year and while that didn’t bother me back when it was just the two of us, being a single mom of soon-to-be-two  for six months out of the year wasn’t something I’d envisioned or planned for. But here we are and we’ve got to make the best of things, for the sake of our relationship and our family. And let me to tell you, it’s not an easy place to get to when you factor in egos, conflicting desires, the tedium and stresses of everyday life and the little resentments that start building up into blowout fights.

Marriage (especially with kids) is mostly not sexy, glamorous or romantic and I wish everyone could have a clear picture of that before marching down the aisle. I don’t think I was so starry-eyed when I got married myself. I was in love, for sure, but I was old enough to know that “til-death-do-you-part” might sometimes involve thoughts of strangling your significant other to get to the parting part.

So why do it at all if it’s so sucky and boring and sexless?

Because a longterm, committed relationship like marriage contains a lot of sweetness and happiness, too. I’ve never felt particularly tethered to anything on this planet–I’m an ultimate air sign with my sun, moon and rising all in air, for you astrology followers–and I kind of liked it. But it can be lonely and isolating, too, to feel so detached from everything. Being tied to Dman and then to little D has grounded me and made me a better–kinder, gentler, less selfish, more generous–person. They surround me with love on a daily basis and provide me with a sense of security I never thought I needed before. It’s funny because my longing for attention and approbation from strangers, fans and random men has really subsided with the real-time connections I share with my husband and child. (Clearly, something I should have seen a shrink about before. I think it was classic middle-child syndrome, but I digress.)

Since Monday of Love is ostensibly about advice, I’ll do my best, though I feel like my expertise lies more in dating than longterm relationships. But here’s what has seemed to help in the last few years of trial, tribulation and, yes, tenderness:

1. Communicate. Everyone says this because it’s true. Despite my swift ways with the written word, I’m less-than-articulate when it comes to talking about problems. I’m a classic stonewaller who shuts down when things get too emotional–except when angry, of course. Shouting I do extremely well. Anyway, I don’t need to tell you this is bad. Very bad. Dman refuses to accept my cold shoulder and forces me to say what’s upsetting me and that is good. Very good. You need to speak to air grievances, ask forgiveness, and make plans to move forward together. And it goes without saying that you need to be honest and state what you want while all this communicating is happening.

2. Be positive. Especially about your partner. It is so easy to see everything that’s bad about your mate: the snoring, the sloppy, the lazy, the inconsiderate behaviors. That can so easily turn into a vortex of viciousness where there’s nothing left but bitching, moaning and “what was I thinking marrying this asshole”-ing. Try, really try, to come up with at least 3, even better 5 or 10, things that are (or were) pretty great about your spouse and that you’re sincerely grateful for. Why not write these stellar qualities/deeds down for a few days and look what you come up with? If you’ve got nothing, then see Dooce/Heidi above. However, I’m pretty sure you were not high on a possibly lethal combo of ecstacy and oxycontin in Vegas when you got hitched to that greasy-haired dude who bought you a drink at the blackjack table three hours prior–at least, I hope not–so there are bound to be some things on that list. Isn’t it better to remember the good things and times (like when he bought you a drink at the blackjack table), and the reasons you fell in love in the first place, so you can start liking and loving the dolt again? But again, if you got nothing, you’re either a self-centered ingrate or probably need to see a lawyer stat.

3. Praise. Now that you’ve got your list and are (hopefully) feeling some warm and fuzzies again, tell your partner how great they are and how much you appreciate them, especially when they do XYZ. It’s called positive reinforcement and it works not only on animals and small children, but the rest of us. Who doesn’t love to be praised–and who doesn’t love the people who praise us, especially if they’re sincere (and sometimes, even when they’re not)?

4. Give kisses, hugs (and booty). It’s really, really important to keep sex alive in your marriage because it’s really, really easy to become roommates who happen to be raising a child and paying off a mortgage together. I know that when you’re tired and resentful, the last thing you’re thinking about is givin’ and gettin’ some, but physical intimacy connects you in many ways and letting that part of your relationship die out will probably lead to other parts dying, too. So even if you’re tired, try to make some sexy time effort. In my experience, the more you do it, the more you want to do it. So get to it.

5. Reevaluate. There’s a quote by Antoine de Saint-Expury that basically says love is “looking in the same direction.” I’ve always loved this quote because I think it’s what true commitment is: A collaboration to build your life, and perhaps create new life, together. Your vision and your values need to be in synch to have a solid relationship. If they’re not, maybe it’s because you’re not totally clear or honest about what your vision–or theirs is. Maybe it’s because both your visions have changed. Whatever it is, you need to evaluate and reevaluate so you don’t wind up feeling that you’ve been shortchanged or that you don’t know who this stranger in your bed is. If it turns out you want completely different things, then maybe a separation is the only solution.

I certainly don’t have the answers or the secret to a long and happy marriage. I’m trying like everyone else and sometimes failing at it. But marriage and child-rearing are the most serious and difficult things I’ve taken on and if there’s one thing Dman and I agree on, it’s that we have to do our best possible to make this a happy marriage, not just for ourselves but for our little one(s). It may be ridiculously idealistic (self-sacrificing, stupid) of us, but divorce is not an option–or at least not one we’ll take without trying everything else under the sun–because we want our kid(s) to have a fighting chance at being part of an intact and joyful family.

Any advice to add, you happily marrieds (or nots) out there?

Much like I don’t possess a green thumb, I’m not exactly a model homemaker. What’s worse is that I see close friends and family members who blow me away with their baking, sewing and general handicraft abilities.

For example:

Kiki's Hello Kitty cake pops

Ryn's train car cake

Cousin Sol's Hogwarts sweater

Cousin Jen's Hello Kitty cake

Real women—not professional pastry chefs or knitters—created these amazing things. And I’m related to two of them! I can say right now with almost 100% certainty that anything Hello Kitty-related in my house will be purchased, not made, especially if it’s in the form of a cake. I just don’t have those kind of mad DIY skills, unfortunately.

Today’s despair arose from this post about elegant new ideas for wrapping your Christmas gifts. As I scrolled through the different, lovely ways to wrap gifts, I couldn’t help thinking, “There are people who put this much effort into the outside of the gift?!” and then “Why aren’t I one of them?” I mean, if I can get the edges straight on the box I’ve wrapped, I pat myself on the back for a job well done. But I have friends who make these wrapping ideas look amateurish (I’m looking at you, VR!) and I was wondering if/hoping that one day I could be as creative and good with my hands.

A girl woman can dream, can’t she? Or make a new year’s resolution, I suppose…

P.S. To my wonderful subscribers, I’m sorry about the picture that got sent out to you earlier today. The quick-post format here on WordPress got me all confused and published before I was ready. Happy Holidays, everyone!

I’m of course guilty on all counts and so is almost everyone else I know. Years ago, I was dating a guy who none of my friends liked and I constantly heard, “Why are you with him? He’s not good enough for you!” In hindsight, they were probably right; after all, if he had been right for me, I wouldn’t have broken up with him. But for who and where I was at that particular point in my life, I couldn’t have “done better.” This dude was what I felt I was worth and that’s why I was with him, despite concerned friends believing I was better than that/him.

I’m thinking about this because I spent some time with a couple whose relationship I just can’t understand. To me, the woman has it all—looks, intelligence, kindness, if some basic self-esteem issues (but who doesn’t have those?)—and her man seems like a world-class jerk. “Why doesn’t she leave him?” I couldn’t help wondering. “She could find herself a really nice guy.” And that’s when I had my big realization that we are with the people we feel we deserve.

Bear with me because it’s a new theory and I don’t think I’ve ironed out all the wrinkles yet, but as I was thinking about this woman and her boyfriend and how she could be with someone “better,” it became obvious that she can’t. I may see her sterling qualities and the opportunities I believe she has out there in Dating Land, but she can’t/won’t/isn’t ready to, so she’s going to stay with her not-good-enough-for-her partner. Even if she found a nicer/better guy, until she’s at a place where she believes she deserves that, she probably wouldn’t remain in that relationship. Who wants to feel unworthy of someone they’re with? It’s a vicious low self-esteem cycle that’s really hard to break out of.

I don’t think most of us do this consciously. I know I didn’t with Bachelor #9 there—until the point came where our glaring differences were hard to ignore (even in a cloud of low self-esteem and equally low self-awareness) and I felt worthy of someone more my match, as my friends had been telling me the whole time.

So what can we do when our friends are with people we think are jerks and losers? First of all, we probably don’t know the whole story of the jerk/loser in question. Nearly everyone’s got some good qualities and if we truly care for our friends, we owe it to them to figure out what they are. And if there really is nothing redeeming about him/her, well, all we can do is support our friend in feeling good about themselves so they come to the realization themselves. No one wants to hear that they’ve made a wrong choice, especially when it comes to who they’re dating, so maybe we can all do ourselves a favor and strike the “You can do so much better” phrase from our lexicon.

And if you often find yourself the recipient of this unwanted commentary—and you A) don’t like it and B) secretly agree with your friends—it’s time to do some self-inventory and figure out what the hell’s going on with you. An old drummer of mine gave me some relationship advice that I’ve never forgotten because it seemed so simple and obvious:

1). Make a list of what you’re looking for in a partner.

2). Study the list and become that person yourself. Like attracts like so once you become everything you’re looking for, it’s going to be that much easier to meet your match.

3) Never hear “You can do so much better” ever again—and become the envy of all your friends and family.

God, what's he doing with her?! *

* Celebrity photo for generically illustrative purposes only. He’s apparently a wonderful person and she’s refreshingly not obsessed with looks.

It’s a little Charlie Brown-esque because the branches get so sparse up top. But it was the same thing with our tree last year, which was a good two feet taller. I think French sapins just aren’t as chubby as American ones, but that’s to be expected, I imagine. (Next best-selling diet book: French Christmas trees don’t get fat!)

This year, Dman and I almost avoided the entire “Christmas trees need water/No they don’t” argument. I say almost because I was prepared to put it in the stand we bought last year, but no matter how much Dman hacked away at the little wooden log the tree is jammed into, he couldn’t get the damn thing off, while complaining to me that the tree would be fine without water. So I decided to do the whole thing French-style—and let the poor tree slowly dehydrate. I’m really turning Parisian, what can I say?

My picture doesn’t do the pretty justice because despite its minimal demeanor, our little sapin does light up our house and make it merry. Next year, though, I’m going to make sure it’s a fat one and I’m going to find a proper 360-degree star to put up top. You can take the girl out of American consumerism…

So very many things to be grateful about. For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to think of at least three things I’m grateful for before going to sleep at night and I don’t know if it’s because of that practice, but I’ve been a lot happier lately.

In no particular order, I’m giving thanks this holiday for:

1) My wonderful little family of 3 (+ 1): Dman and little D really make every day a joy, in ways I couldn’t have thought possible. There are things I miss about my single life, but I’m surprised at how very happy I am to be married and a mother… of (soon-to-be) two. I guess it’s a good time to announce that I’m expecting—and we’re all thrilled and thankful about it.

2) Friends, new and old: Moving to a new country means making new friends and it ain’t easy. But after nearly four years here, I’ve found some fantastic, supportive, fun and fascinating people who’ve become dear to me and who make living in France feel more like home. Of course, the friends I’ve known for decades are always home to me, no matter how far apart we are physically. Here’s to my incredible friends who’ve become family!

3) My in-laws: It sounds pretty crazy considering how in-laws are generally supposed to hate you and drive you nuts (and vice-versa, I suppose.) But I’ve lucked out with a kooky bunch of caring people who’ve embraced this Korean-American rock chick into their family. It doesn’t mean we don’t drive each other crazy, but there’s mainly a lot of love to go around.

4) You: There must be millions of blogs out there so I’m gratified that you choose to come over to this one, leave comments and generally encourage me to keep on… with writing, with discovering things about France and myself, and most of all, with keeping on! You are seriously the best. Thank you.

5) Life: When you’re creating a new life in your own body, you really grasp what a miracle it actually is. It’s easy to get caught up in our problems and our dramas, the things that don’t go our way and the people who annoy us. But the fact that an egg and a sperm got together to make each one of us, with all of our gifts and idiosyncrasies, to live and breathe and love and create anew is something simple and enormous to be grateful for. So how about this Thanksgiving, we let go of the little things and just appreciate everything we’ve got, which if you’re healthy and more-or-less happy, is a lot. Life is grand!

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Je vous aime! Now go stuff your faces like I’m going to.

A reverse mullet?

But what made this haircutting experience more unusual than most is that my stylist decided to start my cut out in the Paris street in front of the salon. You read me correctly, my haircut took place right by the Place Vendome on the street:

The lighting's so much better out in the street, non?

Why on earth would this happen, you ask? Well, for one thing, my hairdresser is kind of a crazy weirdo. For another, the salon has no cell signal and I wanted to show a photo of Scarlett Johannson’s hair that I wanted to emulate. I had to go outside to download it and he started snipping away. A lot of it.

All mine

While this street cutting is happening in front of curious bystanders, an American stopped in his tracks to watch (and eventually film) me getting shorn. He said he was a hairdresser from LA and he was very enthusiastic about the outdoor cut. We chatted about the different young actresses who were also getting choppy bobs and he was flattering enough to say, “Asian girls can pull off any haircut.” Aww, love you LA hairdresser guy.

When we finally got around to introducing ourselves, it turned out he was super-famous stylist, Chris McMillan. He’s the guy responsible for Jen Aniston’s “Rachel” cut from the Friends era and I suppose he does the hair of a lot of those starlets we were discussing. My stylist was of course thrilled that he’d stopped to talk and compliment the cut. I’m just thrilled that stuff like that happens in Paris; I thought these kinds of random encounters were strictly “only in New York, kids.”

And I love my cut, even though I did take a pair of scissors to it myself the next day because I thought it needed to be shorter on one side. Don’t tell my hairdresser, though. I don’t know what pisses them off more, their client defecting to someone else or cutting their own hair!

I wanted it to look like small animals came in the middle of the night and chewed my hair off

I answer, “Hello? Who is this?” to a rude woman saying, “Dman, Dman.” I say, “Who is this? Why are you calling and what do you what?” She stammers, “I want to talk to Dman.” I say, “That’s too bad, you’re speaking to me and unless you can tell me who you are and why you’re calling my home, you’re not speaking to anyone else.” She hangs up the phone. To ring back again in a minute. I answer again. “Dman, I want to speak to Dman,” she insists. At this point, I’m fed up and inform her, “Listen, you crazy bitch. Stop calling our home or I will call the police.” She hangs up again. And calls again. This time, she tries to tell me she’s an Algerian journalist. That’s great, I say, what is your name and how did you get this number? “I don’t speak English well,” she says. “Fine, do you speak French?” I ask her, since many Algerians (and one would think an Algerian journalist) speak French. She hangs up again and our phone goes silent for a good hour.

That good hour being up, of course the phone rings again. It’s Dman who answers and is actually polite to her, asking for her information, letting her know someone will be in contact with her, and finally telling her not to call this number again. I, meanwhile, am waving my hands and saying, “Why are you talking to this freak?” She must have said something like, “I’m sorry about [bothering] your wife.” To which Dman responds, “Don’t worry about my wife.”

Don’t Worry About My Wife?!

Let me count the ways this has annoyed me to no end, which Dman does not seem to understand:

1) I have dealt with a plethora of crazy Dman fans, who’ve stalked my FB page, sent harassing emails and have left nasty comments on my YouTube videos. I’ve actually had to have YouTube suspend people’s accounts because of the offensive remarks Dman fans have made to/about me.

2) Our home phone number is unlisted. So whoever this person is had to do a lot of digging in order to find it. Dman’s “logical” explanation, “Well, the call center for our phone company is in Algeria, so maybe they work there or they have a friend who works there.” So either this person did something illegal by looking up our number or had their friend do something illegal? And this makes them less crazy?

3) My biggest issue is that Dman answering the phone and actually being polite to this utter weirdo who’s invading our home privacy utterly negates any respect for my wishes, which I think were pretty loud and clear. Don’t give insane people the satisfaction of actually getting what they want, which in this case is having a conversation with Dman. I mean, am I ringing up Christian Bale or Robert Pattinson in their homes—and demanding to speak to them? Also, I think it ruins any kind of unified front we are supposed to have as a couple when Dman decides to play good cop and then says, “Don’t worry about [pissing off] my wife.”

4) Over the years, I’ve had my own share of bizarro fans and I’ve realized there’s no point in speaking to them or being too polite because it only encourages them to continue acting inappropriately. Dman seems to think otherwise, obviously.

5) I would think my previous unpleasant encounters of the Dman crazed-fan kind would make him more sensitive to my sensitivity over this kind of thing—which it clearly hasn’t. Hence my further annoyance this morning.

This is the drama swirling around our home today. Maybe I’m the crazy one, though I patently don’t think so. But in the spirit of fairness and objectivity, I’d like to know what you think about it all. Am I the second coming of crazy? Or am I right to be pissed off?

When “g” comes at the end of some (many?) words, you don’t pronounce it. Simple enough, right?

Examples:

Beaubourg: AKA Where the Pompidou Centre is located. You pronounce this “Bo-Boor.” No “g.” I don’t know how many years I pronounced this “Bo-Borg.” You can apply this pronunciation for all those “bourg” words like Strasbourg and Bourg Tibourg (two of them in one name!) and I’m sure there’s a host of other similar words that I either can’t think of right now or simply don’t know.

Sang: Blood. No “g” again. Pronounce it like you would the word “sans.” Again, this was a word that in all the years I spoke French, no one ever corrected me on—not even a bloody (ha) French professor at Penn. And he was French so it’s not like he didn’t know himself. (I can sort of excuse my high school French teachers because I’m not even sure they’d ever been to France.) Anyway, I distinctly remember one class where we were talking about le sang. I was dropping that hard “g” at the end like nobody’s business and not once did the Frenchie prof point it out. I don’t consider that a kindness when you’re learning a foreign language. It took a doctor’s appointment a few years back when I was with Dman and I said something about a prise de sanG (blood test) and he told me later, “Babe, you don’t pronounce the ‘g’ at the end.” Thank god Dman has no problem correcting me.

This would apply to other “ang” words, too, like étang (pond), rang (row, rank), etc.

I’m sure there must be some universal rule that covers the mystery of the “silent G” but for my daily life, I’m just thrilled each time I say sang and Beaubourg properly. Oh, and porc (pork)! You don’t pronounce the “c”! Seems crazy to me, but it’s “por” not “pork” when you say it in French (thanks to Dman again for that one.)

To make it more confusing—this is the French tongue, after all—there are some words that end in “g” where you pronounce it. Like le smoking (tuxedo). You say it like you would in English with the hard “g” and a French accent, bien sur. But this is some technical phonetical shite that I do not have the wherewithal to further delve into at my current level of Frenchiness.

Bon courage, mes ami(e)s! Watch out for that silent G!!