contents Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved. glossary of french parenting terms attend (ah-tahn)wait, stop. A command that a French parent says to a child. "Wait" implies that the child doesn't require immediate gratification, and that he can entertain himself. au revoir (oh-reh-vwa)good-bye. What a French child must say when he leaves the company of a familiar adult. It's one of the four French "magic words" for kids. See bonjour .
autonomie (oh-toh-no-mee)autonomy. The blend of independence and self-reliance that French parents encourage in their children from an early age. bêtise (beh-teeze)a small act of naughtiness. Labeling an offense a mere bêtise helps parents respond to it with moderation. bonjour (bohn-juhr)hello, good day. What a child must say when he encounters a familiar adult. caca boudin (caca booh-dah)literally, "caca sausage." A curse word used almost exclusively by French preschoolers.
cadre (kah-druh)frame, or framework. A visual image that describes the French parenting ideal: setting firm limits for children, but giving them tremendous freedom within those limits. caprice (kah-preese)a child's impulsive whim, fancy, or demand, often accompanied by whining or tears. French parents believe it is damaging to accede to caprices . classe verte (klass vehr-tuh)green class. Beginning in about first grade, a class trip in which students spend a week or so in a natural setting. The teacher chaperones, along with a few other adults. colonie de vacances (koh-loh-nee duh vah-kahnce)vacation colony.
One of hundreds of group holidays for kids as young as four, without their parents, usually in the countryside. complicité (kohm-plee-see-tay)complicity. The mutual understanding that French parents and caregivers try to develop with children, beginning from birth. Complicité implies that even small babies are rational beings, with whom adults can have reciprocal, respectful relationships. crèche (khresh)a full-time French day-care center, subsidized and regulated by the government. Middle-class French parents generally prefer crèches to nannies or to group care in private homes. doucement (doo-ceh-mahnt)gently; carefully. One of the words that parents and caregivers say frequently to small children.
It implies that the children are capable of controlled, mindful behavior. doudou (doo-doo)the obligatory comfort object for young children. It's usually a floppy stuffed animal. école maternelle (eh-kole mah-tehr-nell)France's free public preschool. It begins in September of the year a child turns three. éducation (eh-doo-cah-see-ohn)upbringing. The way that French parents raise their kids. enfant roi (an-fahnt rwa)child king.
An excessively demanding child who is constantly the center of his parents' attention and who can't cope with frustration. équilibre (eh-key-lee-bruh)balance. Not letting any one part of lifeincluding being a parentoverwhelm the other parts. éveillé/e (eh-vay-yay)awakened, alert, stimulated. This is one of the ideals for French children. The other is for them to be sage . gourmand/e (goohre-mahn)someone who eats too quickly, too much of one thing, or too much of everything. goûter (gew-tay)the afternoon snack for kids, eaten at about four thirty P.
M. The goûter is the only snack of the day. It can also be a verb: Did you already goûter ? les gros yeux (leh grohz yuh)"the big eyes." The look of admonishment that French adults give children, signaling them to stop doing a bêtise . maman-taxi (mah-mo tax-ee)taxi mother. A woman who spends much of her free time shuttling her child to extra-curricular activities. This is not équilibrée . n'importe quoi (nemporta kwa)whatever; anything you like.
A child who does n'importe quoi acts without limits or regard for others. non (noh)no; absolutely not. profiter (proh-feeh-teh)to enjoy the moment and take advantage of it. punir (pew-near)to punish. To be puni punishedis serious and important. rapporter (ra-poor-tay)to tell on someo≠to tattle. French children and adults believe that it's very bad to do this. sage (sah-je)wise and calm.
This describes a child who is in control of himself or absorbed in an activity. Instead of saying "be good," French parents say "be sage ." tétine (teh-teen)pacifier. It's not uncommon to see these in the mouths of French three- or four-year-olds. bringing up bébé french children don't throw food When my daughter is eighteen months old, my husband and I decide to take her on a little summer holiday. We pick a coastal town that's a few hours by train from Paris, where we've been living (I'm American, he's British), and we book a hotel room with a crib. She's our only child at this point, so forgive us for thinking: How hard could it be? We have breakfast at the hotel. But we have to eat lunch and dinner at the little seafood restaurants around the old port.
We quickly discover that two restaurant meals a day, with a toddler, deserve to be their own circle of hell. Bean is briefly interested in food: a piece of bread or anything fried. But within a few minutes she starts spilling salt shakers and tearing apart sugar packets. Then she demands to be sprung from her high chair so she can dash around the restaurant and bolt dangerously toward the docks. Our strategy is to finish the meal quickly. We order while we're being seated, then we beg the server to rush out some bread and bring us all our food, appetizers and main courses, simultaneously. While my husband has a few bites of fish, I make sure that Bean doesn't get kicked by a waiter or lost at sea. Then we switch.
We leave enormous, apologetic tips to compensate for the arc of torn napkins and calamari around our table. On the walk back to our hotel we swear off travel, joy, and ever having more kids. This "holiday" seals the fact that life as we knew it eighteen months earlier has officially vanished. I'm not sure why we're even surprised. After a few more restaurant meals, I notice that the French families all around us don't look like they're in hell. Weirdly, they look like they're on vacation. French children the same age as Bean are sitting contentedly in their high chairs, waiting for their food, or eating fish and even vegetables. There's no shrieking or whining.
Everyone is having one course at a time. And there's no debris around their tables. Though I've lived in France for a few years, I can't explain this. In Paris, kids don't eat in restaurants much. And anyway, I hadn't been watching them. Before I had a child, I never paid attention to anyone else's. And now I mostly just look at my own. In our current misery, however, I can't help but notice that there seems to be another way.
But what exactly is it? Are French kids just genetically calmer than ours? Have they been bribed (or threatened) into submission? Are they on the receiving end of an old-fashioned seen-but-not-heard parenting philosophy? It doesn't seem like it. The French children all around us don't look cowed. They're cheerful, chatty, and curious. Their parents are affectionate and attentive. There just seems to be an invisible, civilizing force at their tablesand I'm starting to suspect, in their livesthat's absent from ours. Once I start thinking about French parenting, I realize it's not just mealtime that's different. I suddenly have lots of questions. Why is it, for example, that in the hundreds of hours I've clocked at French playgrounds, I've never seen a child (except my own) throw a temper tantrum? Why don't my French friends ever need to rush off the phone because their kids are demanding something? Why haven't their living rooms been taken over by teepees and toy kitchens, the way ours has? And there's more.
Why is it that so many of the American kids I meet are on mono-diets of pasta or white rice, or eat only a narrow menu of "kids" foods, whereas most of my daughter's French friends eat fish, vegetables, and practically everything else? And how is it that, except for a specific time in the afternoon, French kids don't snack? I hadn't thought I was supposed to admire French parenting. It isn't a thing, like French fashion or French cheese. No one visits Paris to soak up the local views on parental authority and guilt management. Quite the contrary: the American mothers I know in Paris are horrified that French mothers barely breastfeed and let their four-year-olds walk around with pacifiers. So how come they never point out that so many French babies start sleeping through the night at two or three months old? And why don't they mention that French kids don't require constant attention from adults, and that they seem capable of hearing the word "no" without collapsing? No one is making a fuss about all this. But it's increasingly clear to me that, quietly and en masse, French parents are achieving outcomes that create a whole different atmosphere for fami.