Nice is (not) Nice
Nice is (was not ) Nice
Nice, France
Social Media has a way of sugar coating just about everything. While I am guilty of only choosing what I share. These beautiful pictures are always married to my words full of emotion, real feelings, real experiences and real life. Chasing Provence was born out of a need to marry more of my words to these experiences in the past, present and as I make them- the future.
The word “No” stretched out across the Place du Palais du Justice in Nice. Every local, dinner goer and street artist heard and probably witnessed my sweaty, raspberry filled hard parent moment. Raspberry ice cream went flying in slow motion across my face as I prayed it would miss my linen dress. As one hand caught most of it, my other caught my screaming toddler performing the full body throw back in pure devastation move as he decided he did NOT want raspberry ice cream. Suddenly the heat wave in Nice became 100 degrees hotter as my linen dress fell victim to all of the sweat beading off of my body- as I tried to navigate one of the biggest fits he ever gave me. Completely inconsolable, we walked him around and tried to show him other things to try and distract him from his devastation, but nothing would do and tears and sweat were confused for each other all over my shoulders. Finally my husband took him from me and just started to walk down one of the romantic streets of Old Nice as I stood back with the stroller hand covered in raspberry ice cream hearing him scream “mama” all the way down the street until it dissipated into the air. I suddenly wondered what the F*! just happened. The cruelest of moments standing there realizing how quiet it actually was in front of the two quaint restaurants enjoying their patio dinner now that my toddler had left the scene. I could have just had a hat on the floor for entertainment tips like a common street artist. I took a moment to breathe- found those tiny paper napkins that spread more than wipe from the ice cream shop because I wouldn't dare waste a baby wipe to rectify the raspberry ice cream on my hand. I took inventory of my dress and our things and went to push the stroller in the direction of my son and husband only to walk right into the stroller practically flipping over it- like an encore for 60 people watching me at dinner. Forgot to take the brake off. My performance was “Hard parent moment” and the stage was “Nice”.
Nice seemed to be a battleground of difficulty for us at every turn and it was one of those times where you felt like you were surviving as a parent let alone a couple. We managed to share some beautiful moments in between the surviving that I will cherish forever. While we walked down the old streets of Nice I was confronted by old memories of the last time we were there together, a newly engaged couple, my bag absent of backup juice boxes and baby wipes. I could hear street artists instead of my screaming toddler and the streets were romantic rather than a battleground of toddlerhood. And while I walked down these streets with both of my memories, old and new, they collided and I could see all the growth of us as a family stretched out between. While I know this was not Fynn’s best, we still loved him more than ever through that moment and reminded ourselves that we needed to love ourselves through that moment as well. We also reminded ourselves that he preferred strawberry rather than raspberry.
Being a parent is hard, being a parent while traveling somehow feels even harder. The next day seemed new but like every parent was met with a bit of caution and doubt. As I found a moment of refuge on my phone to scroll on instagram for a millisecond and save a some posts of new places to see, restaurants, gardens throughout Europe I couldn't help but notice other travelers posing in front of fountains baskets full of baguettes in a perfectly empty street and I think to myself, is she going to eat all 30 of those baguettes? Did the baker feel like it was one to many of a purchase? And most importantly will the town get there baguettes this morning? While I admit that sitting quietly by a fountain enjoying the coolness of the water with the silence of my toddler being with my husband, maybe elsewhere does sound quite nice. But the truth that many of you already know is that these photos are posed. I don't think she was on her way to feed friends at a picnic with 30 baguettes. But I suppose that this purposefully posed moment in time was an effort to create an image that people would like and wish they had themselves. I debated if I want to do the same and often have been tempted. I would love some nice, calm photos of myself during traveling and I probably might get a few but not at the hands of starving the french of their baguettes- I would never. And even perhaps not at the hands of my toddler.
I also had stories I told myself about sweat-less linen moments strolling through Nice with my two year old-perhaps hand in hand walking down a picturesque street as my smiley husband snaps a photo. I reflect upon my epic day in the Palais du Justice the day before and thought- “well that's not really how it went”. This is a moment in time where things are not “picture perfect” but they are perfect to me. Pictures are more like messy selfies, quick snaps as he runs away telling me “maybe laterrrrr”. Where romantic dinners by the waters edge hand in hand are now spent taking turns with our spare hands to catch a wiggly toddler from falling off his chair. Where the places I have enjoyed slowly and quietly in the past are seen from my peripheral as I focus in on where my toddler is running. My in-between moments before Fynn were posing for photos are now spent digging around the bottom of my backpack praying I have one more apple juice while wiping the sweat off my face from making it on a train on time and he decides he is hungry again. In ways as I write this I still feel that rush of emotion I get when I travel, because I know underneath all the days of struggle lately there are all these amazing moments and memories we are making with him. As I wrote this I watched the sun come up slowly over the most picturesque provincial building with the Sorgue river below as it trickled through the little town we are staying in, he is sleeping quietly and I have had a moment I am grateful for, many for that fact. I feel that my time is up soon and as every parent does when they wake up before baby - I am off to prepare for war or rather with my new perspective- wonderful wonderful life.
