Last night as we headed out to the restaurant to celebrate my daughter's birthday, Sacha leaned close to me and asked, "Mom, whose arm do I take?"
You see, in France, when you walk along the streets with someone you care for, you often take their arm in yours. Last night as we walked along the roads to the restaurant Sacha was perplexed by etiquette, politeness, and what "should" he do given that there were three women… My Belle-Mere (Mother in Law), Chelsea (the birthday girl), and me (his insecure Mom).
French husband was leading the troops, marching to his drum, hands deep in his pockets, talking a mile a minute to Chelsea about politics or something like that. He was a happy lark.
"Sacha, how nice of you to think about whose arm to take! What a lucky love you will have one day! Though it is Chelsea's birthday, she seems occupied by Daddy, and besides, she is the youngest woman here. I know you are asking this because you do not want me to be alone, but the polite thing to do is take Bonne Maman's (Grandmother's) arm. Always go with age when it is a matter of etiquette."
Sure we could have walked all three arm-in-arm together, but that didn't seem natural. I still harbor some frustration about my Belle Mere, and the three of us walking arm-in-arm was a little more than I could muster.
Sacha went up and took Bonne Maman's arm. They walked along, but my Belle Mere was uncomfortable with Sacha's arm holding hers. It seemed that for her, it meant she needed someone to lean on, and she was far too independent.
Ah, the simple gestures that can step on toes stir emotion and cause us to look at ourselves.
I should have grabbed Sacha's arm, kissed his cheek, and grabbed my Belle Mere's arm too.
I have a long road of learning to do.
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