hausmann

Je suis Américain, et je vis en Suisse. Je vis en ce moment à BASEL.

faisons connaissance

If you are feeling weary dreary, bored, or too busy and need a break, follow the misadventures of Hausmann.
Self deprecating humor, pathos, anxiety, laughter, and zaniness.  Also, brief flashes of kindness, love, and compassion for mothers and fathers who are the primary caregivers -- during the day -- to young children.  Of course my children are perfect models, and I'm the greatest Dad since... Abraham.    Didn't he nearly sacrifice his son Isaac?  God told me to do it.  Tell that to the child protection agents.  Actually, I don't believe in sacrifice, spanking, or blaming my problems on God.  Who am I?   Read "Confessions of a Hausmann."  That's my blog.  A Hausmann is a guy who looks after the kids and house while his better half works a straight job.   In my former life, I was a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist based in San Diego, California.  Then came the bursting of the real estate bubble, the stock market crash, marital crisis, and my wife and I decided to bail out of America and try a new life in Switzerland.   Basel, Switzerland.  Right there on the Rhine River, at the corner of France, Germany and Switzerland.  We traveled from sunny San Diego to freezing Alps in the middle of January.  And things went downhill from there.  I knew I was in trouble when I was invited to tea with the mothers of kindergartners. Yikes!  Me, the macho Colorado mountain rider who sported a cowboy shirt with "Tough As Nails" embroidered on the back, the Amazon traveler, the Pullet's Surprise winner -- reduced to Hausmann?

As they clinked their spoons and sipped their coffee, I felt like somebody had stuffed ice down my pants.  I was seeing my future through crystal balls.
Okay, okay, I'm not politically correct.  But what would you do in position?  Grin and bear it.  So I started doing the housework, cooking, and dropping off and picking up the kids from school.  I got rid of the coat and tie and tied a bandanna around my head.  Okay, I don't look great in an apron and a kerchief doing the housework, but if I turn the bandanna  around and slip it under my bike helmet, I look like Lance Armstrong.  Well, not quite.  Emotionally, I'm king of the mountain riders.   I  turn mole hills into mountains, and ride up and down, projecting my moods on the landscape.  And the land is beautiful here: forests, farms, ponds, mountains, and in the distance the snow covered Alps.  I find it soothing, refreshing, restorative.  And then I pick up the little angels from school, snarling for snacks, and I'm back in the kitchen again, on my knees, scrubbing slime off the floor... Hurry, my wife's coming home at 6:30.  And I haven't shopped for groceries, and we've had frozen pizzas and chicken nuggets for 3 days straight, and my kids are dying of malnutrition.  Don't worry.  I'll just clean up this mess and rush off to the local supermarket.  Then I get to the check out stand.  Where's my wallet?  Have you seen it?      If so, please send me a message at confessionsofahausmann@tumblr.com.  I promise to send you a reward.   As soon as I find my glasses.   Oh, yeah!  I forgot to tell you about the eye-full tower in Paris.  We went to the top and looked down and saw Paris laid out before us.  "Do you know who designed this city?"  I asked the kids.  "Napoleon?" my daughter answered.  "Nope.  I'll give you a hint.  What's my job description in German?"  She pondered a moment and cried, "A hausmann designed Paris?"  I smiled.  "Not any old hausmann, but Baron Haussmann, with a double ss and double nn.  He laid out the broad avenues, and the Arc de Triumph, and the sewers."  You'd think this bit of knowledge would amaze them.  But they are distracted by something more entertaining.  "Look, a bug!"  I looked.  A bug with wings is crawling on the railing, 80 stories above the ground.  His tiny legs grip the wrought iron, buffeted by winds.  He leans over the edge, antennae wagging.  I snap a picture of him, silhouetted against the gardens surrounding the Eiffel Tower.   

“He’s going to jump off!”

“Stop him!”

He flies off.

And there you have it, another one of the exciting misadventures of Hausmann.   Without the Baron in front of my name.  And with only a double nn at the end.   Kids keep you humble.  And that's why I'm inviting you to please read my blog, because I've come back to Basel after a week in Paris.  And I'm trapped in a Swiss chocolate factory.  Please save me!

Fondly,
Hausmann

Dans la vie, j'aime

children, confessions, cycling, education, fatherhood, parenting, paris, pulitzer prize winner., switzerland

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Date d'inscription: 2009-11-04