Let's chat Animö with Carö

 ''Who will I eat lunch with ?'' This was the silent question, not even admitted to myself, that arose upon arriving at a new school, at a summer program to learn English, at a part-time job, or starting university, and not knowing anyone. And there was an even more dreadful question: ''will anyone notice me if I eat alone ?''  This is not an uncommon experience. We almost have the self-consciousness of a dandelion growing alone from a sidewalk crack (assuming the dandelion is self-conscious and concerned of what other dandelions think of it !). A friend of now 35 years once admitted she had hidden in the bathroom to eat her sandwich in order to not be seen eating alone. I wish we had learned sooner to not care so much about what others think. Also because what we think of what others think (especially of us) is often a projection of our own opinion. What I mean by that is that we attribute our own (usually negative) thoughts towards ourselves to others...

Me at 15 yo. Not every child's or teen's potential is expressed the same way as anyone else. Therefore, we see a wide distribution of grades and performances in the report cards. There are three scenarios that should worry any parent or educator though: very poor grades that cannot be explained by a developmental delay or learning disability, sudden drop of grades after a typical baseline of good or above-average performance, and track record of outstanding grades. Yes, you read me right. Even the kiddo who is at the top of the class. Why should we worry about a student who does consistently excellently? Because this could indicate an overcompensation for low sense of self-worth, stressful home environment, or strong internal or external (parental) pressure. Going through adversity (poverty, violence in the home, abuse, neglect) can affect grades in various ways. We can easily see how stress can lead to poor grades, but we have to be aware that good grades can also mask that. I...

Back-to-school night for two of my sons was the 26th of August 2024, or the last 8-8-8 portal of this month, if you are a numerology geek (honestly, there are worse geekinesses to have). As I wander among other parents, trying to find my way on campus, I can't help but reminisce about my own back-to-school days, or ''rentrée scolaire.'' I also cannot resist comparisons, as if to justify my feeling of being so out of place... And in all honesty, I cannot imagine my boomer parents doing a version of this intellectual treasure hunt, year after year, times three... The weather is at least a solid 32 C, and even if not particularly humid, despite my minimalist attire (light summer dress and flip-flops), I feel like the air is a flaming cape around my body, which is also concomitantly experiencing both a mirroring adolescence by having its period AND hot flashes from peri-menopause. Not fun. So I imagine what it is like to be a student at that school, changing classes at ...

Sweet, wet, shy, warm, passionate, minty, ominous, clandestine, eye-opening. Regardless of how we classify it, un baiser or besito  rarely leaves anyone indifferent. The first portion of my adolescence was spent dreaming about my first kiss. I dreaded pretty much everything about puberty. But thank goodness for kisses ! From a young age, my fascination for kisses and my belief in their magic were to the point of believing that parents made babies that way. After hearing the shock of how babies were really made after a friend had popped my bubble in kindergarten, I had nonetheless remained enthusiastically obsessed with kissing scenes in movies, anticipating that culminating moment when two people would finally reach that juncture of the lips, as if to seal their mutual love in an embrace of smiles. And I cannot tell you how many times I created scenarios that would include a kissing scene between Barbie and Ken. I still vividly remember my first kiss with a boy named Patrick. I was...

Earlier this month, I attended my middle son's middle school promotion ceremony. In the middle (just felt like adding this adjective a third time here, LOL) of all the cheering parents, I simply felt immensely proud of him that he made this through these three years during a pandemic. In addition to the well deserved diploma, there were awards that were very different than medals and trophies I grew up with and it was so refreshing. I was quite low profile compared to my siblings who played baseball and hockey, and medals were ubiquitous as I witnessed my sister's athletic prowess. I was the booky one, not at all well versed in sports like my sister and my oldest son, who reminds me so much of her. Andreas' promotion gave me hope. The school rewarded compassion ! I didn't anticipate my son would get it but in my heart I silently gave it to him. I know he deserves tons of awards. They are just not in this tangible world... This is a huge shift for me, and I hope you can ...

  Dear son, As I am writing these lines, 17 years ago, I was doing the final sprint in a labor that had started over 15 hours prior. A lot had happened that beautiful day of May in San Francisco, starting with the nocturnal rupture of membranes that led to a spectacular gush of your pool of 9 months (like we see in the movies). The contractions became immediately painful, as if the liquid was some kind of attenuator to the sharp burning pain. In the afternoon, in the tub, no back rubbing or breathing would do. Between two deep breaths, I begged for the epidural. A male resident came and started it. I think it was too strong because I couldn't even move my legs. I started being scared I would be paralyzed forever. The resident said nothing when I expressed my concern. But my worst fear was when the midwife turned me on my left side and injected my butt with a tocolytic agent to stop the labor. She did that based on what she thought were decelerations of your heart from the fetal car...

  Dear son, Hard to believe you are at an age I found, if not dreadful, quite ordinary at the time. We had just moved into a new home, after my parents had gotten a divorce and my dad kept my childhood home. We were mostly at my mother's, visiting my dad and his girlfriend every other weekend. I didn't particularly find my life exciting. My two younger siblings were loud and annoying, there was never peace and quiet for me to study, and it took another year for me to get my own bedroom, since the basement was not finished, so I was sharing a space with my mom. Her most recent boyfriend was the father of one of my classmates and I was not too thrilled about that. I was not caring much about my appearance nor the expression of my femininity yet, wearing sweatpants and a Garfield t-shirt to school, keeping my hair short, not really combing it. I didn't understand why the optometrist would call me ''ma belle'' (''beautiful'') during the maddenin...