Swimming with Frogs

Guess what? We're moving!

2007-09-20T17:02:00.000Z

I know what you're thinking.

"Wow! They're moving?! They never move! That's so unlike them!"

But change is good. It breaks up the monotony, helps you see things from a different perspective...

Plus the water turned yellow. When I first started noticing it, I thought the kids weren't flushing properly but then it showed up in the kitchen. And then the front burner on the stove started sparking and getting smoky. I turned off. But when the dryer stopped working...that was it. I said, "I've had it! We're moving."

So, we bought a house. And then the dryer starting working again.

But, by then it was too late. We were committed.

And since we're getting a new house, I thought it would be a good time to start a new blog.

Wanna hear a funny story?

So, I had a blog set up at wordpress using a suggestion I got here. I really liked it. I thought it would be great. Then I mispelled duelling. I mean dueling. Whatever.

Then, I realized if that's the address, that's what people will be typing and it could be confusing. Not only that, since it's a play on words, lots of random people won't get it. My plan was to change the title around until something worked (since the title and address can be different. The address, of course, can not change but the title can change all the time).

So, then I decided to just delete it. It just didn't work. And then I used something that no one here had suggested. So that makes me feel a little bad. But that's what I did.

So, we are moving to a different blog and a different house. Normally I would think that would be a very boring topic to blog about, but then I realized that people might want to read about it just so they can be glad it's not them.

Here is the new blog. Right here. But, wait. Before you go over. Keep in mind we just moved, so there are a few boxes I still need to unpack. I don't even have curtains up. And I can't figure out how to hang pictures in wordpress (they come out gargantuan).

Also. We're moving in one week. Yeah. So, I'll try to post again soon, but don't hold it against me if it takes awhile. I'll try to take pictures though (if I ever figure out how to post them).

I'm not going to apologize.

2007-08-09T16:52:00.000Z

Sorry, but I just can't do it.

I'm glad people still read my dead blog though.

Okay, it's not dead. It's just taking a very long nap. (I think I should wake it before supper though, or it'll be up all night. At least that's what happens when Jonafinn does.)

I've enjoyed the break.

But I think I'm ready to start all the anxious nights of laying awake, wondering what I should blog about, staying up late loading pictures and typing commentary.

You know you're ready for a blog when you ponder how you can make eating cold toast sound witty and interesting.

Or, not.

We had an eventful trip from France to Texas to Ohio, with numerous stops in between. (Once to the ER and four to various rental truck places.)

But, actually, I didn't come here to update, although I hope to soon. I came here to see if anyone could help me out.

I'm going to start a new blog (since this one is mostly just because we were in France) and I don't know what to call it. I don't want to use our names, or our children and I definitely don't want to use our location (mostly b/c I don't want to start a new blog every two years). Since I'm the one blogging, it could be about me, although it doesn't have to be.

So, leave a comment with your suggestions or I may just have to delay all the fun house-hunting, mouse-trapping, splashing-in-rain-puddle video blogging updates. Or the 232 reasons why we are definitely not going to buy the house we're renting. Well, maybe not all of them. Just one or two.

(I'm also going to add my current thoughts about titles to the comments section.)

And back again.

2007-06-26T17:14:00.000Z

Sorry I haven't posted in several weeks.

We've been busy.

Finishing up, packing up, saying good-bye.

Yelling at Neuf.

Remember how I said we were supposed to inform our internet company (and utility companies) in writing that we were moving, three months in advance? Well, we did it three weeks in advance thinking that we were really late. We got shut off a week before we left! Right when we had calls to make and e-mail to stay on top off. So annoying.

But here we sit in a hotel in Lyon with "free" wifi internet. We had to get two rooms, but now we have two TVs! We're watching American shows dubbed in French. And Mr. French understands what they're saying! I guess it was all worth it.

He graduated by the way. Got a diploma and everything.

And now we're going back home.

But check back for an update in a few weeks. I might even retro-post about France. I have a couple thousand pictures I didn't blog about. And think about us tomorrow. Getting up early to sit around in airports, twiddling our thumbs. The boys are totally psyched!

He insisted...

2007-06-09T16:07:00.000Z

He was NOT tired.

He did NOT need a nap.

French Choir

2007-06-02T09:48:00.000Z

One of the Mr. French's fellow students has a kid's choir that our kids attend. They learn mostly French songs and some silly English songs. They love it. About a month ago they performed at the Nursing Home here in our town. Mr. French took this video. (Va was there, but not in the video because he was out of the line of vision where Mr. F was sitting.)

There he is.

No 'kid's performance' would complete without a picture like this.

(Sorry, it's blurry. Mr. F said he couldn't use the flash.)

The number one reason the French move less than Americans...

2007-06-01T21:26:00.000Z

You're supposed to give three! months! notice! to utility and internet companies.

Uh...

Whoops.

Favorite pictures

2007-06-01T11:38:00.000Z

I do actually have a lot to blog about. Which is why there are no postings. It's the pressure of it all. So, in true procrastinator style, I'll post about something completely different.

This one is obviously because C just lost a tooth, but I like it because of how he's not looking at the camera.

This would probably be a better picture if Jonafinn was out of it (how can you say that?) because I especially love the expression on Seff's face. Plus, his red hair stands out, nicely.
It was taken in Geneva a couple of weeks ago. We had split up and Mr. F had these boys and I had C. Mr. F was trying to take a picture of something else. Something without little boys in it. But the little boys wanted him to take their picture. So, to get them to cease and desist he
took their picture.

I like the composition of this shot, plus the expressions on our faces. However, the reason it looks kind of fake is because the original was too dark. But I still like it lightened. In fact, it kind of looks like a painting, now. Yeah, it's not some low-class fake-looking photo, it's a painting. I mean it was taken in a Castle Museum in Nantes, France after all. And that ain't low-class.

(I'm so glad I live in 2007 with digital photography!)

Incidently, C has a new name. He is now known as "Va". So dubbed by Jonafinn. A lot of Jonafinn's sentences start with "Eff and Va ....". My favorite sentence so far was
"Eff. Owie. Va!" Smacking his hands together to illustrate. (Translation: S hurt (gave him an "owie") C. And btw, it was an accident. Certain fingers were in the wrong place when the door opened.)

Le Pique-nique at Conflans

2007-05-24T15:57:00.000Z

We had May 1st (yes, I am a month behind in blogging) off and we took the opportunity to have a pique-nique (it's pronounced the same) at the medieval village, Conflans.

This is a view from below.

At the entrance of Conflans.

Our picnic spread: Egg salad sandwiches, carrot sticks, watermelon, chips, and cookies.
All our kids could think about, though, was the "Special" Coke.
"Special" because they rarely get it.

A nice posed picture.

It was a beautiful day.
The grapevines were blooming.

A view of the town across the river.

Our "stairstep" children

Nice view of the game.
The end.

Haunted House Revisited

2007-05-23T20:31:00.000Z

We were walking past the house recently and guess what we saw?

No, not the rose bushes blooming...

The shutters were open and the orange colors you see.... are chairs!

Plus....

Someone is sleeping in the backyard.

Which makes us think two things.

One:

Someone might be fixing the place up

and

Two:

Someone doesn't want to sleep in the house!

One Cute House

2007-05-17T15:52:00.000Z

Normally, I wouldn't be attracted to a pink and purple house, but I think I could live in this one. Who wouldn't want a turret on their house?

Haunted House

2007-05-16T16:01:00.000Z

I have often wondered, as I walked along this road toward the language school...

what kind of stories this old gate would tell, if only it could?

This old house is the only one I've seen in the neighborhood that is in such disrepair.

It's in a prime location to downtown shops and restaurants.
Just blocks from the train station.

It has beautiful architecture and details you could never find
on a contemporary home built today.

It even has a guest house on the property.

So, why would someone just let it go like this?

The rumor is...

it's haunted.

Why would someone let a valuable property go
just because someone else might say it's haunted?

Well, the story is, that it was occupied by the Nazi's during World War II.
I assume that means it was stolen and it makes me wonder if it was owned by Jewish people prior. But I don't know those details. I do know that there were Jewish people living in this town at the time of the occupation because there is a plaque about two Jewish students who were taken from a school here and shipped to concentration camps.

Which is why I wonder about it every time I pass by.

Where's the beach? (Day 3)

2007-05-11T22:51:00.000Z

Day three we woke up in Aix-en-Provence.

It only makes sense since that's where we went to bed.

What could possibly capture the attention of three boys like this?

No surprise there. Especially since they haven't seen a TV since they were in Scotland. Nothing like Scooby Doo in Italian to keep children occupied.

Then we went to visit a school Mr. French was interested in.

Then we left.

That's pretty much all we did in Aix. It's a shame but we just didn't have time for more, since this was our last day and we still wanted to see the coast and the Mediterranean Sea.

Then we ate at McDonalds. Again. (we were too ashamed to take pictures again.)

Driving to the coast.

Mr. French took all these pictures.

Searching for treasures.

J contemplating the water. I was surprised, but my fearless 2 year old was a little afraid of the water at first.

Not for long though. You may be wondering why we weren't wearing swimming clothes. First, it was still pretty cold. Secondly, I had decided that changing into swimming trunks would just encourage them to get wet, because you see, that's not the point of going to the beach in the spring. No, the point was just to see it and walk around and enjoy just the aura of beachness that is, well, the beach.

What was I smoking when I came up with that plan?

Like that was ever going to happen.

But I enjoyed myself anyway. :) (Notice how C has his wet shorts hiked up to keep them from getting wet. Seems like the same kind of logic I had going on with the whole don't-bring-swim-clothes-to-the-beach-and-they-
won't-get-wet-thing.)

A parting shot of the beach.

This is the first picture Mr. F tried to get...

and this is the last.
You can see why we don't spend money on professional photography anymore.

Where's the trip? (Day 2b)

2007-05-10T13:15:00.000Z

Back to Aigues-Mortes and the Tour de Constance.

This was probably the least planned part of our trip. No, wait. Going to the beach the next day was also not well planned. This is how it usually goes for us, anyway.

This is a shot on our way up the street, heading towards the tower. There are little businesses and homes all along the way. It's hard to picture, and I have more shots coming up, but imagine a 13th century wall surrounding a little "modern" town. I say "modern" because everyone has indoor plumbing and electricity and cars etc. but they're still living in houses that are much older than they are.

This was my favorite doorway. It was a little bed and breakfast place. (Something to think about when you go!) I loved the colors especially, but the whole effect was very appealing to me.

Here's a picture of the wall next to the tower.

And here is a picture of me changing J's diaper. (I had to put that in.) As an aside, when we got home and saw the pictures, I asked Mr. French why he took a picture of me changing a diaper. He said it just seemed apropos. It was probably some guard's post hundreds of years ago and here we are changing a diaper.

I also loved this little restaurant and we didn't even eat there. It didn't open until later anyway. I just like the shutters and the tables and chairs and the little potted trees...I said to Mr. F that I wondered if we could recreate this in our next place. He said, "Would you really want that many tables? Seems like too many." Uh, yeah.

The boy's running into the tower over the bridge that goes over a green moat!

This is the ceiling in the first "room".

This will give you a better idea of what you're really looking at. The second room housed the women Huguenot prisoners. Notice how thick the walls are! In the center of each level's floor is a round opening. Now, it is securely covered with a plexi-glass-like covering, but on the second floor there was a large stone that seemed like it could fit over it. I'm not exactly sure what it was used for. At the very bottom of the tower you can see a much smaller room with only one opening. It was at one time (I forget the year) used as a "dungeon" for some soldiers someone wanted to get rid of. They found the bones later.

Here's a model picture of the walled city.

This is the small tower on the very top of the tower which is completely open to the elements.
As you can see...

Nice. More great pictures for the "newsletter".

Great view though.

This looks like some sort of miniature town, doesn't it? I can't believe people get to live in a medieval village. In. Real. Life.

Another view, just to the right of the last one.

We don't have a panoramic option on our camera, but we've still giving you the panoramic view! Free!

Then it's down the long winding stairs to the second room. (We took the elevator up to the top first.)

J looking down at the beautiful green water below. This was actually first used as a prison for men (not originally-in the very beginning it was just used as a fortress and housed artillery and whatever else fortresses are used for. It was used as a prison for the Huguenots around 300 years later in the 1690s.) but when all 38 or so of them escaped after spending months cutting through one iron rod and then climbing down with a rope made from clothing and swimming through the beautiful green moat. (I don't know if it was green back then though.) So their reward was to make it into a women's only prison. Then they either killed or enslaved the men on galley ships.

A view of one of the windows. There was a fire place in the room, but the windows were just covered in iron bars, so the wind whipped through. The day we visited was a fairly nice day with sunshine, but the wind was cool and we could really feel it standing in there.

Some of the signs, relaying the dates and history.

A record of the last remaining prisoners, but by no means all of them. The most famous prisoner was the young 19 year old Marie Durand. It is said that when she was brought here she breathed hope into the many that had already been in for years. She was a newlywed of a few months when she and her husband were arrested. Her father had been arrested a few months prior and she never saw him or her husband again. She stayed in this prison for 38 years. Almost her whole life. A most remarkable story of faith and perseverance.

She is the one who carved this: R E G I S T E R in the stone. It means RESIST!

But we just couldn't resist this:

C'est Bon!

It's coming...

2007-05-09T22:32:00.000Z

The next installment of the vacation that would never end.

Tomorrow.

Where's the trip? (Day 2a)

2007-04-29T23:25:00.000Z

Day 2: We're in Mialet, France, in a nice hotel, just down the road from the Musee du Desert.

This first thing you notice is that you can't figure out where to go. I mean, there are signs and you'll get there if you follow them, but...is that somebody's house right there with the dog in front?...it's just confusing.

Another sign...turn the corner...

We're supposed to go down there?

Oh, look. Somebody already got their mail this morning.

We finally found the entrance. My one word of caution, if you should go for a visit:
Remember how you came in.
Some people, we heard-some family with three boys or something-
sort of-I don't know-got lost on their way out the first time.
Or something like that.
It was probably nothing though.
Forget I said anything.
Where were we again?

We actually could use this picture for that newsletter we never write.

If you hadn't guessed, the building that houses
the Musee Du Desert
is really old.

Older than 1680 at least.
The sign reads:

In this house was born,
the 3rd of January 1680,
Pierre LaPorte called Roland
Chief Camisard
Killed the 14th of August 1704

So, this museum is in the very home of Roland.
Fascinating, isn't it?

But then we couldn't take anymore pictures.
I'm not going to detail all that the museum had on display and
all the events during that time. But I will say that the Musee du Desert is worth your time.
The admission fees were reasonable and our children were free.
Also, they provide printed material in several different languages,
because of course, the museum is in French.
Also, it's closed during the cold months. You'll know why when you visit.
Something about all the windows and doors being wide open and no heat comes to mind.

Some highlights (from my memory):

The actual paper edicts that were posted all over France (from around 1661-1680s) proclaiming which rights were stripped from French citizens, just because they were Protestant
the hiding place for ministers in Rolland's kitchen, in a hole under his china cabinet
The family Bible (of Roland's) that stayed in this house (that became a museum) until the 1800's
The tini-tiniest psalm book. It would fit in a man's hand-closed. Small Bibles as well.
Very Large Bibles
A portable pulpit that, at a moment's notice could be torn down and folded up to look like a wine barrel. (The Huguenots would carry them out into the "desert" (read: wilderness) to worship since they were forbidden to worship anywhere but in the Catholic church.
Along the same line as above, they had wine goblets for communion that could be un-screwed and separated so they wouldn't look like communion wine goblets.
Communion tokens for the different regions or towns. Used as a way of identifying the believers.

I could go on but I think that's enough without pictures.

I loved driving along roads like this.
And I love how the French plant trees.
They're so perfect looking.

I was determined to remember which town had this in the middle of a round-about
but I can't remember anymore. Mr. French drove around it about
three times so I could get a picture.

Then, we went to McDonald's. Where else would we go out to eat in beautiful
Southern France?

By the time we finished wrestling and threatening our children through
a fascinating museum
they were not really in a great mood.
They were in a rotten mood.

McDonalds apparently has super-powers.

Next, we decided to drive to the Tour de Constance. I'd heard about it, but didn't really know what it was or the history of it. In fact, I didn't even know we were planning to visit it until after the Musee Du Desert. We got in the car and Mr. French asked how to get to Aigues-Mortes. I said, "that's all you know, the town name? What if it's a big town?" So, he went back in and got some more directions and a little brochure for it and off we went. Although we needn't have worried.

You can't miss it.

Where's the trip? (Day one)

2007-04-27T21:05:00.000Z

This will just have to be a rambling post about our vacation. I can't, for the life of me, come up with anything creative and I've put it off long enough. I dislike writing posts about how we did this, and then that, and 'here's a picture of us eating on the side of the road' and 'here I am changing J's diaper'. But, I'm afraid that's exactly what you're going to get here.

Consider yourself warned.

This is the car.
This is us eating on the side of the road.

(You thought I was kidding about that, right?)

It was actually a nice setting for lunch though.

And a perfect place to let them burn off some energy.

This would be a great picture for the yearly newsletter we never send out.

When we got back in the car, C declared, "That was fun! I liked it. That was a fun trip."

"Yeah, that was fun."

"Are we going home now?"

"Oh, no, that was just lunch, now we're going to drive to a museum."

"Oh."

Then S piped in, "Where's the trip?"

"This is the trip, honey. We're on the trip."

"Are we going to get on a train?"

"No, not this time."

"A plane?"

"No, we're taking a trip in this car. This is it. This is the trip."

"But, where is the trip?"

This, then, became the butt of all our jokes.

"So like, duuude. Where's the trip?"

"Oh no! I lost my trip! Where's my trip?"

"Yes, but where is the trip?"

But let's move on, shall we?

Ohh! That's a pretty house.

That's not.

This looked far more interesting in person (or should I say, from the car)
than the picture does.
But a lot of little towns looked just like this.

We got to the museum in Mialet about 30 minutes before they closed. So Mr. French browsed through the small book shop for a few minutes and then we headed back down the road to find a hotel. We stopped at the first one we saw.

It looked deserted, but it wasn't and we got to stay there.
It was very nice and we would highly recommend it.
It was still being renovated, but everything in our room seemed new
and there was even a swimming pool on the property
(although we were a little out-of-season for that).

There was a playground...

and cool stairs....

and a cool window...

and cool trees all over the parking lot.
(I bet it's really cool in the summertime when the leaves are thick and green.)

This is the "hotel" part in the back.
See that little tiny window to the left of the glass door (on the second floor)?
That was in our bathroom.
I love all that stonework.

So, that's it for day one of our April vacation. Tune in for the next edition of "Where's the trip? day two" (I really really hope) tomorrow.

Actual conversations with Mr. French

2007-04-25T22:59:00.000Z

I had just finished crushing 4 cloves of garlic into my green bean salad. I tasted a green bean before putting it out on the table.

"Ohhh. That is strong. Maybe that's too much garlic."

Mr. French cocked his head to the side, furrowed his brow and said,

"Is that even possible?...too much garlic?"

___________________

This morning, when I came in from my run, Mr. French met me at the door and informed me that he had finally tried the free sample of anti-stress aroma therapy bath gel we had gotten from the hotel in Aix-en-Provence.

"So? How do you feel?" I asked, with fake enthusiasm.

"Boy, do I feel stress-free now." He said with a large, fake smile on his face.

"So, it doesn't even matter that you have to give a job interview in French today?"

"Yeah!" same fake smile still plastered to his face.

"There's a blog post in there somewhere."

__________________

Mr. French was recently paid the highest compliment he could ever imagine.

A native Frenchman started a conversation with him in the parking lot of our apartment building. After speaking with him for awhile, the Frenchman said,

(in French, of course)

"Are you from Britain?"

"No. I'm American. Why?"

"Because you speak French with a British accent."

When you can't help but laugh...

2007-04-12T22:03:00.000Z

Our French doors were wide open and all three boys were standing on the two-feet of patio, looking out from our second floor apartment.

Mr. French was sitting nearby when he heard the pop of a dart gun and then C said calmly,

"Oh. That's not good."

The Easter Chicken? Are snails cute?

2007-04-11T22:16:00.000Z

These are the questions to ponder when you're observing a different country's holiday traditions. Our neighbor who lives directly below us, (and coos* over our kids whenever she sees them) brought these over, right before our vacation.

Chocolate chickens, sitting on their eggs.
And, really, it makes more sense than baby chicks.
Nobody wants to eat a baby chick.

But sometimes it's hard to figure out how, exactly, to eat a chicken.

This isn't working too well...

Maybe the eggs will be easier.

You have to look really hard, but there's a dart gun at my head
forcing me to eat chocolate eggs.

(Or was it a plastic sword?)
Anyway.

I had to do it.

Several times.

That, and my kids aren't big chocolat fans.
(Did you think I was going to let Mr. French eat them all?)

Mr. French was busy working out his feelings for the holiday, anyway.

And then, another neighbor dropped by with three of these:

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that, yes, snails can be cute.
Sometimes.

*FYI, our neighbor lady is very kind, we really like her, but yes, she actually says, "Coo-coo" to them. Especially J. He just keeps smiling, though. Which makes her love him more I think.

V-a-c-a-t-i-o-n

2007-04-03T08:00:00.000Z

We're leaving in a few minutes on a

Roadtrip!

We planning to drive down to Nimes, Ales,
and Aix-en-Provence.
We hope to see the coast
and walk on the beach too.

We're planning to be gone for 2 nights
and we'll catch you up on all the fun when we get back.

What happens when Mommy takes a bath and the third-born child decides to entertain his siblings

2007-03-31T13:20:00.000Z

This is great fun. I love that my brothers are laughing at everything I do.

Hmm, Daddy must not be too mad, since he got the camera out.

Might as well show off while I've got everyone's attention.

Oh! Mommy, you scared me!

Um. I needed some lotion.
My skin is really dry.

A spring walk, or "how to wear out boys"

2007-03-30T07:39:00.000Z

A couple days ago we went for a walk,
not just because it was a beautiful day,
but because these particular
boys were driving me crazy with their non-stop
energizer bunny impersonations.
Whoever gave them the expensive rechargeable batteries
instead of the old generic ones I seem to have
needs to come live in a two bedroom apartment with them.
Especially this one with the "race track" floor plan that allows running in circles
with planes and swords and pulling little people on blankets
as fast as they can get away with.

We enjoy walking down by the river because it's a walking path
and there are no cars.
It makes it much more relaxing for the parents. Of course, walking next to a
rocky cliff with a river at the bottom has it's disadvantages, but it's still easier than
watching for cars.

River on one side, mountains all around.

When we got back home, we were talking about the walk with Daddy
and C said we'd seen a man
with a fishing pole trying to catch
crocodiles.
Wishful thinking on his part I think.

And now, the hill.
This is where I can single-handedly wear out boys.
It's easy.
First, take them on a walk that's 1.4463 miles (approximately).

Then "make" them walk up this hill and run down several times.

When the youngest slips in the "stream" (water drainage with pond-like scum in it)
insist that it's time to go home.
They'll complain for about .32 miles,

But then the youngest will "beg" to ride in the stroller
(which he is loathe to do at all other times).
And all the way home you'll get to hear those beautiful words:
"Mom, I feel tired."

At last.

(J actually slept, even after carrying him into the house, changing his clothes and diaper until 7am the next day! Do you think I could get a patent for this?)

Overheard

2007-03-28T19:43:00.000Z

S and J were sitting at the table together. S was doing something and J was watching him intently.

J: Hey!

J: Hey! (getting louder)

J: Hey!

J: Hey!

S: Jonafinn. (sigh) My name is not "Hey!". My name is Seff.

J: Seff?

S: Yes.

J: Oh.

Same characters, different script.

Spring is on it's way....

2007-03-26T15:27:00.000Z

Our second spring break is coming up next week! (for two weeks, of course!) This will be our fourth vacation since coming here. If we lived here for 12 months instead of 10 we'd have a lot more breaks coming up, like all of August off. I really wonder how Europeans deal with working in the United States. How do they live with only 2 weeks off (if that!) a year! Better yet, how are we going to deal with it? When Mr. French worked as a contractor (which was most of the last 7 years) he didn't get any paid vacation, so we would rarely take any more than one week off a year. I'm not sure why exactly. Maybe because we're terrible about planning vacations. We have two weeks off coming up and we haven't made any solid plans. We have three short trip ideas (in France) but no plans.

But, currently Mr. French is in the middle of final exams. The hardest tests were today and one tomorrow. The rest of the week are tests that he can't "cram" for, so it's a little more relaxed.

We saw these on our walk yesterday. I'll post more about it later.

Moving to a new school building

2007-03-21T19:03:00.000Z

This is the boys old school. They loved the train.

The graffiti you see was added by the kids at the school (during school hours) right before the vacation. The move to the new school happened the first day back to school. It makes me think they're going to take this building down, but I don't really know.

To make the transition to the new school smoother, they made a party of it. They had balloons and took pictures. They had lots of parents and volunteers to help and all the kids dressed up as part of a train. C's class were green frog trains (he lost his hat) and S's class were blue train engineers. (btw, his favorite color, if you haven't been paying attention, is blue and his favorite fascination since before he was two years old are trains.) This was also to help them keep track of everyone as they marched downtown, and then landed at the new school across the street from the old school.

There used to be an asphalt play ground here and the entrance gates to the grade school. I don't know what they'll put here either.

Looking across the hole in the ground you can see the round building that is now their new school.

Yes, that's it.
I know.
I wasn't expecting something so sleek and modern, either.

It's pretty cool though.
C's class is on the top floor and S's class is right below it on the ground floor.
(Though their rooms aren't in the round part.)

This is where S takes his chaussures (shoes) off (and coat)
and puts his chaussons (slippers) on before class.
C is very disappointed that I didn't get a picture of him doing the same thing.
(We'll have to get it before we leave.)

This is the grade school across the play area from the boys' school. I wanted to show the contrast in building design. Obviously the grade school is an older building like the other school. I like the style. I have a feeling that it will eventually be replaced (hence, the big hole in the ground nearby.)

This picture isn't that great, but it shows just how close that hole is.

Another Birthday!

2007-03-17T00:21:00.000Z

The number of candles has several meanings. One of which refers to the time that C and S were talking about their ages. C asked Daddy how old he was.

Mr. French responded, "How old do you think I am?"

C thought for a moment and no doubt came up with an age that sounded pretty old to a 6 year old, "Hmm, eight?"

There was a disagreement on the way home from school about what kind of cake Daddy should have for his birthday. C thought he should have a "chess" cake. S responded that he'd already had a chess cake last year and he should have a "car" cake. The argument continued until Daddy suggested that he could have a chess cake with a car on it. Everyone thought that would be a good idea.

The good thing about being an adult is you can finally choose substance over appearance. Taste over looks.

Even if your taste is as uninspired as plain yellow cake with chocolate frosting.

Ready to "doe"!

2007-03-16T09:31:00.000Z

Jonafinn put his socks, shoes, and jacket on
all by himself.

But I didn't need to tell you that, did I?

Mr. French, the photographer

2007-03-15T10:41:00.000Z

I'm having my birthday cake!

Wow. So this is that black thing on my cake that I wanted so badly.

Interesting.
I'm not sure I want to swallow right now.

Maybe I should just keep chewing.

This is gross.

Should I attempt to swallow?

Does everyone else like this?

Could I get some water or something?

On being five...

2007-03-14T12:31:00.000Z

It seemed like a long time in coming.

Turning five.

Not to me, of course. Like every mother before me, I remember the day he was born like it was yesterday. He was a surprise in so many ways. He showed up in my womb 6 months after his brother exited. His father thought he'd be a girl. His mother thought he'd wait until the next day, his due date before showing up. Instead, he gave a one hour warning shot. In fact, 20 minutes before he was born, when his father walked in the door, after leaving his just-heated lunch at his desk at work, he (his father) declared that I was having this baby really soon. To which I responded with a "Don't say that! You don't know! I don't want to get discouraged! I don't want to do this!" The nurse was the same one who helped deliver his older brother. He had red hair. He was easier than his older brother, something no one seems to think can happen when your first born is Mr. Laid-back. And the Doctor couldn't believe he'd missed the whole thing.

But the reason it's been a long time in coming is not because five years is a long time to raise a child. It's because he's been wanting to be five for the past 15 months. When C was turning 5, S started insisting that he was too. No amount of arguing would convince him otherwise. He seemed to forget about it after his 4th birthday. Until J turned 2 in June. Then the birthday discussions started again. They were all about "my next birthday". C turned 6 in November and in S's eyes the birthday party was spectacular.

Presents! Balloons! Kids! Cake!

So we started to discuss birthdays in great detail on a daily basis. For three months! We looked at the calendar and talked about how many days and weeks and months it was going to be before his birthday.

So if you imagine that when, in the same week, S got conjunctivitis and some kind of vomiting disease, postponing his birthday party was catastrophic for him....

You'd be wrong.

That didn't really phase him. (remember? he's Mr. More-laid-back.)

But turning the calendar to March?

That made him cry.

But we made up for it.

Enjoy!

How he spent his birthday. Poor guy.
(he also had chapped skin around his eyes and nose)

His birthday party a week and a half later.
They made paper airplanes and tested them in flight, down our hallway.

(Did we ever tell you we have a fireplace in our hallway?
Yup, we do.)

Playing a game with the airplanes they made.

Playing "Pass the Parcel". It's big in the UK and Australia (so we've heard).

S opened presents.

And blew out his candle three times!
(because another kid kept "helping him")

The end.

Swimming with frogs

2007-03-13T21:41:00.000Z

So, it's been awhile, eh?

I've been..... busy

or something.

Anyway.

In case you were wondering about the whole must.wear.speedoes.thing.

I found this.

And this.

I'll be back.

Conversations over the vacation....

2007-02-27T15:13:00.000Z

"I think I have blogger's block." I said, to no one in particular. *sigh*

"I know we said this as a joke, but what if we really only get one snowfall the entire time we're in the Alps! We might as well be in...North Carolina or something." said Mr. French disgustedly.

(At the dinner table, talking about names.)
"C, what is Mommy's name? asks Mr. French.
"French." said C.
"No, that's her last name. Do you know what her first name is?"
"Honey." said C.
"That's right."

"Mommy, I know how medicine works!" said S.
"You do?" I said.
"Yeah. First the sick goes up, up, up. " he said moving his hand progressively up his chest towards his neck.
"Then, the medicine goes down, down, down." He moved his hand down from his neck.
"Then they crash!" he said as he clapped his hands together. "And they mix together and you get all better."
"Oh." I said, surprised at the logic.

"Hi, I'm just calling to postpone S's party on Friday. We're all sick." I said.
"Oh, no." She said sympathetically.
"Yeah, well, we all had colds earlier in the week. Then we all got conjunctivitis. We're on antibiotics, so we shouldn't be infectious tomorrow, but today S is throwing up. So, we'll have to do it another time. Maybe next week."
"Yeah. That sounds good." She said, probably thinking next week might be too soon.

"BOYS! Time for eye drops!" I call out.
"I can't want to." Said C in a tone that suggested 'I'd love to accommodate you, but I have a 'no eye drop policy' currently in effect'.
"Yes, you can." I said in a tone that suggested 'I'd love to accommodate you, but policy schmolicy.'

"I want to watch a movie." said S.
"Ok, honey, but are you going to throw up again? Do you still feel sick?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Ok. Make sure when you feel like you're going to throw up that you throw up in this bucket. Not on the couch. Okay?"
S nods his head. "I want to watch a movie."
"I know." I sigh. "Okay. If I tell you you can watch a movie, do you still feel sick?"
"No."
*SIGH*

(Everyday of vacation starting Saturday night.)
"Mommy! Tomorrow we go to school?" C asked.
"No, sorry, honey. This is vacation. You're off for two whole weeks."
"Ohhh no. Why?"
"Because all the teachers need a break."
"What are we going to do?"
"Maybe we can do our own school here."
"Yes!"

(The Sunday before vacation ends.)
"Tomorrow go to school Mom?"
"Yes, tomorrow you go to school."
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Tomorrow go to school, boys!"

(Monday morning, before Mom is out of bed.)
"It's time for school boys!"

Playing Pretend (a posting for the grandparents)

2007-02-10T19:55:00.000Z

The boys like to pretend they are super-heroes.

They call themselves "Super-man" or "Incredible" or "Buzz Lightyear".

A more accurate description might be "Pillowcase boys".

(Notice the flying stance.)

(Boots complete the outfit!)

Once, Jonafinn asked me to tie a kitchen towel like a cape around his neck. Then he decided he also wanted a kitchen towel around his front like a bib. We called him "Captain Kitchen towel man". (Sorry, no pictures of that.)

He also has a "flying stance".

Usually he pretends to be "Buzz" and stands on his chair at the table, facing away from the table, puts his arms out in front like he's flying, and makes "flying noises". You kinda have to be there.

Did I tell you that this week started the "Vacances d'hiver"? Our two weeks off in February started early for the boys. Their school is moving to a new building and the teachers needed an extra day to move. So the boys were all home on Friday. C is very creative and loves to do arts and crafts. I was sitting at the kitchen table when he said, "Look at me Mom."

"Wow. That's cool. Is that your armor? Are you a soldier?"

"Yeah."

I go back to reading again. Then a thought occurs to me.

"Wait a second. How is that sticking to you?"

"Glue."

"Ohhhhh. Oh, well."

Then everyone had to do it.

S is "defender of the alphabet".

Jonafinn is "stick a random paper on and call it a day".

C decided to get more creative and have armor for his arm. He had plans to make boots and leg armor, but thankfully, we ran out of glue.

As we say here, "Oh, well."

We need some Jonafinn stories...

2007-02-09T14:57:00.000Z

J walks to school with his brothers every day.

Then he comes home and has another breakfast.

Just because he can.

Today he got out the bread and asked me (mostly with sounds and gestures) to cut it for him. Then he asked for something on top. I asked if he wanted butter. Unclear. I asked if he wanted, jelly. Unclear. I brought out the butter and the (just recently acquired) peanut butter to see if he wanted to try something new.

He said in the most pathetic tone, "Nooo." Then pointed towards the refrigerator.

"You want jelly?" I asked again.

He nodded.

I spread raspberry jam on his bread. I left him at the table to sort the laundry. When I came back, he asked me for another slice of bread. I picked up the knife and out of the corner of my eye I spied....

Do you see it? Way off in the corner where nobody is sitting...

Wasn't it nice of J to share his bread spread with raspberry jam with nobody so he could get another piece?

_________________________________________

Today he also helped hang the clothes on the line to dry.

I was actually quite impressed. He did several things all by himself.

__________________________________________

J has a little friend named Sydney. She is three. She talks like she's four or five at least. One day we were over at her house. Her sisters and J's brothers were all in another room watching a movie. J had been following Sydney between that room and the one all the grown-ups were in all evening. At one point, Sydney's Dad asked her what her favorite movie is.

She smiled and said in a very grown-up voice, "Oh, Daddy! You know what my favorite movie is! It's Mary Poppins! I love the songs in Mary Poppins....." She goes on dramatically for a paragraph.

When she stops to breathe, her Dad asked J what his favorite movie is.

J looks at him and just says, "Nope."

Without missing a beat, Sydney throws her hands in the air and exclaims, "He talks!"

___________________________________________

J, otherwise known as Jonafinn to his brothers and others who cannot pronounce his name, has injured his head twice and required ER visits, since we've been here in France.

Recently her Mom was telling us, Sydney often stands up in her chair while at the dinner table and they always admonish her saying, "Sit down or you're going to fall and break your head."

The other day she stood up in her chair and they quickly scolded her, "Sit down."

Sydney interjected, "Or I fall down and break my Jonafinn?"

Today we....

2007-02-07T22:02:00.000Z

had a our first French family over for a meal. It was the same family we have been trying to have over for about a month or so. We were all too busy or sick to do it until today.

We decided to have a brunch (which, in French is called "brunch") since they have "littler" (which is not French and in English would be "smaller") kids than we do and they could get them back home for a nap, while still getting to enjoy a leisurely meal. I don't consider myself a great hostess. I have to really work to remember to put out things like napkins, forks, ....food. Actually, I usually remember the food but am hyper-critical of it, although I've learned to keep the comments to myself. I've also learned to try to make it as simple as possible (without succumbing to canned soup...yet).

The menu: I settled on egg strata and kept it simple by only putting cheese in it, no meat or vegetables. I added a side dish of oven-hash browned potatoes because I make them often and can usually count on them. I added onions and bits of bacon to make it more interesting. Then I thought I'd do a fruit salad. Then I thought about doing a spinach salad. Then I thought about adding some kind of bread. Maybe getting croissants at the bakery. In the end I decided we needed something more like a dessert and made a fruit tart. Then our guests volunteered to bring a salad, so I didn't need the spinach salad.

Like I said, I tend toward being hyper-critical of any food I make for guests. I'm never like that in other people's homes, just my own (in case you're now worried about inviting us over). So, the potatoes could have been less mushy, but there was too much moisture in the oven because it's too small for all I had in there. The tart was okay. I used creme fraiche instead of sour cream to make the bottom layer and it was lacking something in the taste area (not necessarily because of the creme, it just needed something else in it). I was going to make lemon curd to brush on top of the fruit, but I ran out of time. The strata was tasty and the wife seemed the most interested in it, asking for the recipe and saying she'd never had anything like it. She brought a delicious carrot and corn salad. I sort of wished I'd made the spinach salad after all, for no other reason but to add a color outside of the yellow/orange/brown family. Oh, well. We all ate it and nobody died.

Yet.

The most interesting part was the conversation. I got about half of it as Mr. French tried to speak in French most of the time and they, who speak English pretty well, spoke in English about half the time. They would correct Mr. French's French (I'm not sure they would've done this if we hadn't talked about it previously) and even argued amongst themselves what was correct. The topics ranged from the differences between our churches (or what we're used to in the US vs. theirs) to travel around France, Europe, and the US. They told us about interesting museums they'd been to in France. One in Caen, particularly caught my attention, as it was an historical museum about World War II. It starts with the events leading up to World War I and covers what was going on in the world at the time and on until the first Iraq War. It sounds fascinating. They were in the museum for five hours (I assume sans children). They said it was very expensive but worth it. They said it was, "fiftee euros."

"Fifteen?"

"Oui, fiftee."

Then some children interrupted us. I think it must be 50 Euros because 15 doesn't sound abnormal for a museum. (But Mr. French thinks they said 15. So I don't know.)

In the end we had a good time. With all the French floating around, by the time they left, I felt like I couldn't even speak English very well. The wife invited me to come over to their home sometime to "practice" my French while the kids are in school. It's a great idea, once I actually have some French to practice.

Random Things you might not know about living in France

2007-02-05T14:05:00.000Z

1. In our small town, if you pay money to go to the public indoor pool, the men must wear a speedo. No shorts allowed. The women must also wear a close-fitting garment with nothing hanging off like a skirt, t-shirt, or shorts. No exceptions for being raised American!

2. We don't have any apartment numbers in our building, or any I've seen. Our last name is on our door, on the buzzer at the entrance, and on the mail box outside of the building.

3. There is no school on Wednesdays for children middle school and younger. It's like a Saturday. There is a half day of school on Saturdays, about half the time.

4. No one has the same name in a certain region in France (or so I'm told). You can not name your child after his father. There are no "juniors" here. And it causes problems if you named your son after yourself and then you moved here. (Thankfully, we did not do that but we know people who did. They regret it.)

5. Cursive is taught in pre-school. Every sign or advertisement (that I've seen) that is hand-written, is in cursive.

6. However, last names are written in all caps, like this: John SMITH or SMITH, John. That way you always know which name is the pre-nom and which is the nom.

7. I also find it odd that in an almost completely secular society like France, with a few exceptions (bakeries and some restaurants), stores are all closed on Sundays.

8. People point at things (anything) with their middle finger (you know the one). When our children started doing this we corrected them, until we noticed that everyone at their school and our church did the same thing. Now we've just let it go.

9. There is a two hour lunch break at school from about 11:30-1:30 p.m. Most businesses are closed for at least 2 hours around the same time.

10. When you walk into an apartment building and walk up a half flight of stairs to the first floor that has apartments, you're on the ground floor. If you then walk up a full flight of stairs to the second floor with apartments, you're now on the first floor.

I'm sure there are more. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Just don't mix them up...

2007-01-29T21:30:00.000Z

Maybe we shouldn't keep these:

side by side in the pantry.

I mean,

it's not going to kill anyone if you accidentally put this:

in your pancakes.

But don't put this:

in your coffee.

At least that's what I think.

You can do whatever you want.

We interrupt this current blogging hiatus with live coverage of....

2007-01-23T14:42:00.000Z

The First Snowfall of the Year!!!!!

At first, it wasn't sticking because it had rained for several hours previously, but now it's starting to stick to the cars and houses. S was the first to notice it and he asked immediately if we could go make a snowman!

It's better than TV!

(We're all (except Mr. French, of course) home sick today and yesterday and the day before....)

The French Connection

2007-01-15T15:25:00.000Z

There's a little inside joke between Mr. French and me.

I would tell Mr. French something I'd read from the boy's school papers.

For example, "did you know that they have math after the lunch break?"

And, of course, he would say, "How do you know?"

And I reply in an exasperated tone, "I can read French, you know."

I can't really. But there are so many cognates that with a little context you can often figure out about half of it. That also probably means I am getting half of it wrong too, but it works for me.

The other great thing is that a lot of what we buy is shipped from other European countries. So there might be ingredients and descriptions in 10 different languages on the back of the box. (just look for GB-Great Britain) Then Mr. French can be impressed by my French reading ability, for about 2 minutes, until I take it too far.

"It also says it contains gluten."

"What is gluten in French again?" he asks suspiciously.

"Umm....ahhh.... gloo-ton?"

"Right."

Then, when that got old, we turned it around. He'll hand me a bill or something and say, "Look at this."

I'll pick it up and look and then throw it down in surprise and disgust. "It's all in French!"

We like to pretend we're surprised everything here is in French.

"It was a good talk, except it was all in French."

"That's looks interesting. It's probably all in French though."

Another time:

Me: "Were there any announcements at school?"

Mr. F: "Yeah. But they were all in French."

Another thing that surprises me, I guess because I feel like I must look different to everyone, since I don't speak French, but I get stopped all the time for directions. I sometimes have to wait a few seconds while they keep talking, until I can shake my head and say, "Sorry, I don't speak French." One woman, who had stopped me, started laughing and said, "And I'm German!"

Mr. French thinks I should learn how to say that in French, but I think that would be confusing.
-"Je suis désolé, mais je ne parle pas français."
And they're thinking, "Do you speak French or not? You just did, you know."

Case in point. Just today, a man held the door open for me while I pushed the stroller through, loaded with groceries. He continued on in French, asking if he could help bring them upstairs for me. (Context and gestures!) I declined, as it meant several loads and I'd just seen him talking to the police (!) (I have pictures, see below!). There was some back and forth, me speaking some English and French but mostly gesturing that I was fine and thank-you for helping, and him speaking French. Finally, he seemed to understand and he started up the stairs,

"English?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I speak English." I said.

"I don't speak English." He said with an accent, emphasizing the "don't".

And I thought, Really? How much English don't you speak?

When we first got here, Mr. French would start every inquiry with an apologetic ...
"Je ne parle pas français tres bien." ("I don't speak French very well.")

And after he asked his question, many would reply, "You speak French well!"

And then Mr. F would want to say, "But that's all I can speak!"

S had a substitute teacher the other day. I asked him how he liked her.
He said, "I just say, I not talk."

Sometimes you have to wonder if immersion is all it's cracked up to be.

Oh well.

C'est la vie!

And here's the picture of the man in question talking to the police (out our back porch). He's the one in jeans. (He was still talking to them when I got back from the store.)

J was trying to wave to the nice police (wo)man but they didn't notice him.

A walk through the woods...

2007-01-13T11:25:00.000Z

We went for a walk the other day while we were still on break. We were dazzled by the mountains and scenery. So, since pictures are worth a thousand words....

(Can you see our apartment? It's right there in the middle.
No, down a little. Right there. I can't believe you can't see it.)

(Don't get in discussion with the French about the "warm" January. They say it's Bush's fault. They don't appreciate comments like, "Really? 'cause I think Chirac must have done it.")

(Why did we bring the stroller?)

Note: All the "artistic" pictures (translation:good-looking, well-set-up shots) are NOT by yours truly, but Mr. French. Just giving credit where credit is due.

Unmentionables...

2007-01-12T14:54:00.000Z

I'm going to discuss something I rarely talk about with anyone.

Other than my husband.

Bills.

You know, the kind that show up every month to tell you that you used so much gas or electricity or water?

As we should know by now, it's a little different here.

Let's start at the beginning.

The great thing about coming to this school is they make the transition a little easier. They act as a liaison between our landlord and us. We pay our rent money to the school and tell them if we have problems. That's a huge help. Just finding the place for us is a lot of help. They also got the utilities set up by the time we arrived. Those bills come to us here at our apartment.

The thing is, what is obvious to one is not obvious to another. I remember one time when I started a new job, I complained to my Dad that it took 5 minutes just to figure out where the employees were supposed to park. No one ever tells you the stuff you really need to know. And my Dad said that people forget what it's like to be new. Never more true than when you move to a foreign country. You ask stupid questions. But the hardest part is when you don't even know to ask the question.

We moved here in September and as soon as we could, we opened up a bank account (a requirement for getting the carte de sejour, as well). And we got our first stack of bills. And we waited for the checks. After a reasonable length of time, Mr. French went to the bank and inquired about the checks.

"Oh, sorry, we forgot to order them."

The school said, "no problem, we'll wait."

Good. We'd heard that people could pay all their utility bills at the post office, but then we found out that they charged a fee for the service. Mr. French asked the financial director at the school which was more expensive, the service fee at the Post office or the late fee for the utilities.

"Oh, there's no late fee. You just pay it when you get the checks."

Score one for the us! I love France!

Fast forward to December.

We received some bills, but because it was right up against finals week, we didn't pay much attention. There would be plenty of time after finals.

So, the 25th of December (the day before we leave on vacation) finds Mr. French doing bills.

"Look at these bills. Water is 101,96 euros! Gas is 190,89 euros! Doesn't that seem really expensive?" (Keep in mind that euros are more valuable than the dollar so the bill is higher in dollars.)

"Yes. What were our last payments?"

"Water was 20,31 euros, gas was only 46,42 euros."

"That's seems really expensive. How can that be right? That's not what they told us the averages were."

Thoughts of bathing twice a week and wearing the same clothes 5 days in a row started to crowd out the common sense in my mind.

"Is this why the French keep their refrigerators on warm? And wash their clothes once a month? This is only December!"

We couldn't figure it out. Plus we were leaving the next day and there was no way we could put more money into our French bank account to pay for all the bills, so we left the large one for when we returned. It would be late, but the French are nice like that.

Fast forward to January. We got back and Mr. French decided to have a French person explain the bills to us. She looked at it and couldn't understand what the problem was.

"It's not really all that much." she said.

Mr. French and I looked at each other.

"Yes, it is for the gas you used from September to December."

"Oh, so it's for three months at a time?"

"Yes, that is common."

"Oh, that's why it's so much."

"It's really not that much."

"Well, it is if you think it's for one month."

"Oh, yes, but utility bills are never for just one month."

Thanks for the tip.

She looked at the newest letter we had gotten.

Mr. French asked "This is just saying that I'm late, right?"

"Yes, it says that if you don't pay by January 12, they will shut off the gas."

"Oh, good. No late fee, just no gas."

French 1, us 1.

Now, you're probably wondering what that first bill was for, since we got it soon after we arrived. That was to pay for the privilege of using the water, gas and electricity, three months at a time. Now, I'm not saying it's not a privilege. It's just confusing. So we paid 46,42 euros, which is about 9-something euros for each month and 12 euros for installation fee and of course it's taxed. All before we paid for any gas.

French 2, us 1

Can I take your coat? I can wash it too...

2007-01-09T17:15:00.000Z

So, you might not find this funny, but I had to take a picture and share it with you.

The friends/semi-relatives (what do you call your brother's wife's sister?) we stayed with in Edinburgh have a beautiful apartment. Tall ceilings, big windows, beautiful details. Admittedly, it's a little on the small side, especially now that they have two adorable (but rambunctious) boys and still use it as a home office. But what a great location! Walking distance to, like, everything.

They've rearranged some things (like the kitchen) and instead of the very European way of putting the washing machine in the kitchen (why would you do that anyway?) my friend (who is American) opted to put it in the hall closet.

That sounds reasonable.

I guess it just looks funny.

Here's a normal looking hall closet, right off the main hallway (or make that the only hallway).

Can you see the washing machine? It's a little hard...

Okay, there.

Tell me that's not funny. I think I laughed every time she climbed under the coats and into the laundry room.

Our Vacation Days are Numbered

2007-01-08T13:59:00.001Z

Number of suitcases and carry-ons we left France with: 4

Number of suitcases and carry-ons we returned to France with: 6

Number of books Mr. French bought while in Edinburgh, Scotland: 14

Number of items we brought with us that fell apart and needed to be replaced ASAP: 4

Number of times Mr. French went shopping on Prince's street: 1

Number of times I went shopping in Edinburgh (Prince's street or otherwise): 3

Earliest time we had to get up to travel: 5 AM

Total number of trains we took: 8

Total number of trains we were supposed to take: 11

Number of minutes between first train we took and second train we were supposed to take: 6

Number of minutes the first train we took was running late: 6

Number of conductors between first train and second train we asked for information: 1

Number of helpful conductors we talked to between first train and second train: 0

Amount in Euros it cost to travel from Chambery train station to Geneva Airport by taxi: 150

Number of times our flight was canceled: 1

Number of planes we were on during entire trip: 2

Number of take-offs on said planes: 3

Number of times we felt stupid when we found out that the plane we just got on was "stopping off" in Chambery: 245 (counting the one I just had)

Number of different countries visited on this trip: 3

Number of different countries now stamped in our passports: 1

Number of nice border-control-passport-stampers we met in Scotland who are also studying theology and were interested in Mr. French's study of a Calvinistic perspective of the arts: 1

Total number of minutes we spent with nice border-control-passport-stampers in Scotland: 2

Number of years since the first time Mr. French and I were in Edinburgh, Scotland together: 12.5

Number of years since the last time we were in Britain: 7

Number of years of marriage we celebrated at an Indian restaurant in Edinburgh: 7

Number of pictures of Mr. French and I together in the same picture 7 years ago: 0

Number of pictures of Mr. French and I together in the same picture this last trip: 6

Number of times Mr. French has complained about not having a picture of us on our honeymoon: 0

Number of times I have complained about not having a picture of us on our honeymoon: 392

Number of flower shops Mr. French visited on our anniversary: 2

Number of flower shops that were open: 0

Number of times Mr. French checked back to see if it was open throughout the day and days later: 12

Number of pictures we took of any child on our honeymoon: 0

Number of pictures we took of any child on this trip: 151

Number of pictures taken of S on or looking at a train: 42

Number of times S asked when we were getting on another train: 378

Number of castles we visited in Edinburgh: 1

Number of our children who got in free of charge: 2

Approximate cost in dollars to get into Edinburgh castle: 50 (!)

Number of pints of draft Guiness Mr. French had while in Edinburgh: 4

Number of pints C had: 0

Number of trips to museums by Mr. French: 2

Number of different museums visited by Mr. French: 1

Number of tourists in Edinburgh to celebrate Hogmanay (New Year's Eve): thousands upon thousands

Time the celebration was officially canceled due to high winds: 10:30 pm

Number of tourists who will probably not attempt Hogmanay in Edinburgh next New Year's Eve: thousands upon thousands

Number of days we were away from France: 10

Number of days at least 1 of our 3 children had vomiting or diarrhea: 8

Number of times we dreamed of living in Britain: 328

No, really, thank YOU for making us feel so loved.

2007-01-05T21:00:00.000Z

We got back from Scotland in the dark Thursday night to find so many beautiful and encouraging messages on the blog.

Well, beautiful is a stretch, but I was encouraged by all the comments. I think I get more comments when I don't write than when I do.

Wait a second.

How is that supposed to be encouraging?

(No, really, thank you, I love comments.)

So, I was sick almost up until we left. And I thought, surely that means we'll all be healthy during our vacation. Or at the very least, only dear Mr. French will be sick. I mean, it's only fair. We (the kids and I) were all sick for awhile and not Mr. French, so he should be the next one to lay in bed trying to remember what it feels like to be happy standing upright. And guess what happened?

Yup.

Why is it that men don't have to be pregnant and they never get sick? I'm just sayin'.

But his progeny did a great job of making up for him because there were only two days out of 10 that one of the three did not vomit or have diarrhea.

But we had a great time. It was just the sort of vacation we needed, with just the right sort of people. People who know what it's like to live in a foreign country. Who don't like to get up as early as their kids. Who know as well as we do what it's like to live in a small apartment and to always feel a little unsettled, even when they're settled. Who would rather shop than clean the bathroom. Or shop rather than deal with cranky kids off their routine who keep asking to go home (yeah, those were ours). People who also moved to France and then moved back home again.

See, my kind of people.

So, people, I'm coming back! I promise I'll be posting again soon but I'm not giving myself some big looming deadline! (use your valley-girl voice "cuz, I like, don't really like them.")

I have lots of blogging ideas.

And I now have 291 photos to sort through and blog about.

Plus, I need to blog about the first three months we were here before the French could invent the internet. Or was that Gore. I'm so confused.

What to say, what to say...

2006-12-23T15:28:00.000Z

Hi.

It's been awhile.

I know.

Oh, I had so many plans for this week.

and then

I got sick.

And I got very little done. Verrrry little.

But I'll make you a deal.

If I get the urge to blog from now until 6:53 a.m. Tuesday morning, you'll see it here first.

If not, I'll take pictures and make notes and see you in 2007.

Okay?

D'accord.

Questionable Thursday Friday Saturday: Ah, aren't the French sweet?

2006-12-16T23:28:00.000Z

I was planning to continue Questionable Thursdays by just picking one question to answer but because I ~~have blogger guilt~~ love you all so very much, I'll try to answer them all.

Let's start at the top, shall we?

1. ajourneytopurity: "What is your favorite desert there? And favorite food?"

Let me start by saying that I've liked all the food I've ever had while here in France. Especially the kind that come from the Boulangerie (That's French for the-place-where-all-the-fattening-
and-oh-so-tasty-things-are-made-and-the-one-place-where-I-think-
we-can-all-agree-the-French-have something-on-the-Americans!)

(Oh, wait. I just thought of this one time, when we were in Beaufort and we stopped at the boulangerie to get the kids something to eat as it was supper time and we hadn't eaten anything and Mr. French decided to try this disgusting-looking, honking piece of chocolate-looking something that resembled cake but not really and I mean it was huge and the lady behind the counter said something that sounded like pudding and I may or may not have gone on and on about how gross it looked and I may or may not have used some facial expressions to describe my opinion of this particular "dessert" and I may or may not have then talked on and on about how the English are always making these cake-like things stuffed with gross things and then calling them puddings to the people that drove us up to Beaufort and all this talk may or may not have forced Mr. French to abandon the "dessert" and then had the gall to tell me that I ruined the whole thing for him and he couldn't eat it. Maybe. But I don't have a very good memory, so I might have remembered it wrong and ah, it's all getting fuzzy right now.)

Where was I?

Right, food.

We love croissants, pain au chocolat (which is basically a croissant with chocolate inside. Yum!), swiss chocolate, french bread, cheese, I could go on and on. It's hard to pick a favorite. It's all very good. Although they don't know how to make chocolate chip cookies. (And that is what they call them.) They need some help with that. And the puddings. But I don't really remember that.

Here are some other desserts we've had:

It had two layers of light chocolate cake with a chocolate mousse in between with a few cherries in the mousse with sprinkles all around. I'm not a huge fan of raisins in cookies and the cherries reminded me of raisins but other than that it was very good. Nothing was overly sweet or strong in flavor and the texture of the cake and mousse together was suburb. Mr. French picked it out and spent way too much money but it was for a guest, so I guess that's a good enough reason.

One night, when it was still light out, we were a little worn out from the week and we decided to celebrate so we took a long journey, the half block or less, to the bakery. We bought three little desserts and we were turning to start the long journey back when Mr. French thought we could do better at the next boulangerie. (After we'd bought dessert at the first one.) So, like the dutiful wife, I followed him to the next one and we got three more desserts! Then we went home and sampled them all.

(Look at the cute little chocolate mouse!)

I guess you'll have to take my word for it but they were all good. (Except for the chocolate cookies. Just say no.)

2. Abigail: "Mine is similar, I was wondering if you have discovered any foods (or products) that it will be hard to live without when/if you move back. And what food/product do you miss most from the States that they don't have in France?"

We'll definitely miss the boulangerie.

But actually not the one you see here. We've decided not to go to this one anymore because the woman there is consistently not nice, and basically makes us uncomfortable as soon as we walk in the door. It's too bad because they're probably the best.

Also, I find I really like the European style of yogurt here. There are a lot of products that I miss and wish we could get over here, but I think I'll save that for another post.

3. Rebekah asked: "What is the weirdest food you've been served yet?"

We actually haven't been invited to many French households since we've been here and we've never been served anything weird (not like our friends, who are going to Africa, and wanted an authentic French African meal and got fried crickets as an appetizer). There are a lot of strange things that you can get at the store, frozen escargot for one.

The one time we were in a French home for dinner, I did make one faux pas. We were served roasted chicken with potatoes and carrots and to my side sat a serving bowl of salad, fresh tomato and cucumber with vinegar dressing. I helped myself and then, I don't remember how, but it became obvious that that was for the second course. It all worked out in the end, since I waited to eat it until everyone else took a serving, after the first course was finished. The third course was a cheese and bread and the fourth course was chocolate and cake served with coffee and tea.

And just to show how consistent the French are, we went to a soiree put on by the school and the first course was salad!

4. JoyfulJessica: I"s French toast, French fries, French bread and French vanilla just toast, fries, bread and vanilla in France?"

Good Question and I like the humorous tone.

I think French toast refers to that which was traditionally made out of French bread, which gets too hard to eat by the second day.

French Vanilla refers to the way they like their ice cream, with eggs, which is the only way I've seen it here and yes, it's just called Vanilla.

French bread is again, the style, usually a hard crusty bread. They sell one kind of soft bread (it's long like a baguette) but it's called 'Swiss-style'.

And the fries are just called frites. So I guess all your suspicions were correct!

(J after eating the little chocolate mouse.)

Questionable Thursdays Friday

2006-12-15T16:00:00.000Z

She cleared her throat.

The microphone screeched.

She jumped nervously. "Em, Hi."

"Hi!" said a chorus of voices in the hotel conference room.

"I'm, well, this is my first time and I'm, ahh......I'm a procrastinator." She said, her voice breaking slightly at the end. She looked down for a moment, and tightening her fist, she looked back up.

Silence filled the room as thirty faces stared back at her expectantly.

She continued nervously. "I-I avoid things that I think might be a little hard even if they're really not and I don't like deadlines. Even self-imposed ones." She rolled her eyes a little. The shame advancing up her throat.

Again, silence.

Instantly she revolted. Aren't they supposed to be supporting me? What's the use of a support group for procrastinators if they don't support you? It's not my fault. She thought defensively.

"I mean I don't exactly avoid things. I just delay them a little. And sometimes it just gets too late and then sometimes I don't have time and I think....maybe....my internet got disconnected?" her voice grew quieter, "just a little bit?" She trailed off and looked down at her hands pinched together in a half-hearted attempt to be convincing.

Several people in the audience cleared their throats.

"I mean, I guess I could've done it last night instead of reading other stuff on....the....internet." She trailed off.

The crowd turned their full attention to the woman standing at the front of the room, now trying to hide behind the skinny microphone stand.

"Ohhhh, right. Right." She nodded, understanding now. She wiped a sweaty palm down the side of her pants and pasted on her best smile.

"Well, um, I guess I need to go blog now?" she said.

The crowd nodded in unison.

She backed up a few steps and then for the first time noticed the audio equipment in the corner.

"This isn't being taped, is it?"

A question for all the Cheese Aficionados out there:

2006-12-14T15:03:00.000Z

Is feta supposed to be creamy?

I mean oozy?

Don't get grossed out. There are lots of cheeses (that's for you Jared!) that are oozy and they're good.

But feta?

And if it's oozy in some places, but then crumbly, like you'd expect, in other places, is that bad?

And you're pretty sure you've bought it before and it wasn't oozy then?

(or was it?)

What if it smells a little funny, but it's a brand new package?

I mean almost all "real"* cheese smells a little funny up close.

Right?

Questions to ponder.

* "real" in this sense excludes most "American" cheese that generally have no taste and especially excludes any cheese you can get out of a can or in powder form and any kind that is orange. I'm not a snob in real life, but I think I can get my food snob card renewed now.

I'm a little afraid to take a bath.....

2006-12-14T14:12:00.000Z

We got back from the store this morning and I went about putting things away. As usual, I got distracted with the laundry soon after and when I came out of the bathroom I found this:

Look closely:

He was working on the next one when I caught him.

Later:

Apparently, neither of us learned our lesson b/c he did this next:

(You didn't want them chopped up on the floor, Mom? Huh. I thought you'd like it.)

Then he found C's new birthday markers:

On a positive note,

he still takes a nap

every

single

day.

Some more pictures and a clarification

2006-12-13T11:38:00.000Z

1. First the clarification: In case it wasn't clear, the trip to Annecy did not happen last week. It actually happened in October. We're quite behind in posting. But I'll try to make that more clear in the future.

2. Here's some more pictures of our view: (on the other side of the apartment)

This is out the boy's bedroom window to the east.

This is out the same window to the west.

(And I took these pictures yesterday.)

3. We've had some trouble with our refrigerator. The thingy for changing the temperature on it is broken, so I never know whether I'm making it colder or warmer until later. (after I've forgotten to check again.) Usually, I just leave it alone.

Last night when I found two of these:

I decided it was maybe a little too cold in there. I guess we could just start keeping our eggs in our pantry.

But then, it's screened in (as in open to the elements) so they'd probably look the same in the end.

Trip to Annecy: Do wells eat fish?

2006-12-12T21:45:00.000Z

I've been avoiding this topic for awhile. The topic of trips and real stuff that you can't embellish and you need to look up the proper spellings and names for. Details aren't my strong point.

Our trip to Annecy was actually a school field trip. We arrived with people from our school but were basically on our own once we arrived.

Our first stop was here:

Which is known as the symbol of the town. Open almost any guide or booklet about Annecy and you'll see the picture of the Palais de L'ile. We did not get to go in (you'll see why in a minute) though I'd like to someday. The town puts a lot of work into the area downtown with flowers all along the river and across the bridges.

Then we walked up a steep hill to the Chateau d'Annecy.

Basically an old castle that sits at the top of a big hill with the city spreading out below to Lac d'Annecy. C somehow thought that all the wells at the castle had whales in them. I don't know if he thought that "well" meant "whale." Now that I think of it, they do sound similar. It caused a few frustrating conversations.

C [looking down a big well]: "I don't see any whales."

Me: "There aren't any whales. This is where people a long time ago used to get their water for drinking."

(This is actually not the well or the whale, but did have fish in it.)

C: "Are the whales sleeping?"

Me: "You aren't going to see whales. They would be too big to fit in there."

C: "Oh. Are they eating fish?"

Me: sigh

Later ...

C: "I don't see any whales."

Me: "Uhh. Me neither. Wonder where they are."

View from the chateau garden, overlooking Annecy.

The Museum was okay. The kids were free and we got a group rate to get in, thankfully. I guess I was hoping to see the castle the way it might have been used way back in the 16th century or at least partially so. Basically, the exhibits just presented what they've found in Lake Annecy and some old furniture. Mildly interesting to us, but not so much to the kids. Also, some of the castle is set-up with modern facilities for receptions (or some such things) which reflects more of today than yesteryear. In fairness, I should say that we only saw about half of the castle. And it closed promptly at noon.

We know this because we were about to go see the second building (which reportedly has an aquarium) when we decided to take lunch early (the kids were a little crabby and hence, so were the parents). Mid lunch the security guard came over to tell us they are closing for lunch and then stands nearby watching us pack-up and leave. We could've come back at 2 p.m to resume our tour, but our ride was leaving Annecy at 3 p.m. and we decided it wasn't worth our time and effort to remount the high hill.

Then as we were lamenting our fate of being kicked out, it started to rain and we realized we hadn't brought umbrellas. The kids started to ask about going home and we started to wonder if this could be a great idea indeed. We ended up finishing our lunch standing under the awning of the many closed shops in the downtown area. We pondered what we could do, wondering why we hadn't anticipated the museum closing. Of course, the French always take two hours for lunch. Everything but the restaurants close. We did some window shopping. There are a lot of cute shops that we did not go into, but would if we could. Chocolate shops, art galleries, souvenir shops - all closed.

We wandered towards the lake and then the sun came out and the kids started playing in the grass. The lake has a grassy park near it with a paved path that goes around part of it (perfect for running, rollerblading, bicycling). There's a playground within the park as well. We sat on a bench and Mr. French started speaking French to a Japanese girl who was sitting next to us. Between French and English we learned she was here in France studying how to make cakes (we think).

Then we decided to take a boat out on Lac d'Annecy and this turned out to be the highlight of the day. The view was beautiful! We could have taken a paddle boat, but our children seemed a little too young; Mr. French thought it would be too slow and we both had visions of J jumping off the side. So a motorboat it was. All the males enjoyed driving it.

Chateau d'Annecy in the background.

J taking his turn in the driver's seat.

C driving the boat.

The lake is huge and much bigger than it seems from one shore to the other. It's surrounded by mountains on the opposite shore from the town. The weather was perfect and none of the pictures we took look as beautiful as they should.

We took pictures of people standing around a beautiful house on the opposite shore. My first thought was that it was a party, then I thought it may be a funeral.

Then they started to look Amish to me (suspend your common sense for a second, please). We snapped several pictures, just for the amusement of it. When we got home, we blew them up to see if it was a cover for an Amish-Funeral-but-really-a-French-police-sting-operation.

(The guy in the black jacket is probably the undercover cop.)

Maybe we had watched too many episodes of 24 together.

(though, why does everyone have their hands in their pockets?)

Alas, it all looked very normal blown up.

(He's just trying to walk away, since it's obvious his cover is blown.)

I was slightly disappointed. (No, I don't get out much. Why do you ask?)

We did mysteriously lose J's shoe.

We noticed it was missing right before we started to climb into the boat and even though the water is very clear (I think it's known as the cleanest lake in France), we never saw it again. Thankfully, we had the stroller and didn't have to carry him everywhere.

The last thing we did was get freshly made ice cream/sorbet cones for everyone (except for C, who is Mr. No-Thank-You when it comes to trying new food). French ice cream and sorbet generally have a more concentrated flavor than the American counterpart. Generally, I'd say it's better. The man who served us was very generous with the servings and gave us two extra flavors to try with each ice cream cone. There were probably 30-40 flavors to choose from so that was especially nice.

Overall, a nice day-trip. We look forward to going back before we leave.

Questionable Thursdays-Should we just make this an annual thing?

2006-12-09T21:40:00.000Z

I was going to set you up for my great ~~Bribe~~ Contest for next Thursday, but I'm afraid I won't have time this week. We're having a French family for lunch on Wednesday and I'm freaking out a little about what to serve. I'd say suggestions would be helpful, except it's hard to describe what I feel comfortable making for guests versus what's available here.

But, do go ahead and bombard me (just like last time) with your numerous questions. I'll still pick one to blog about. What have you always wanted to know about living in France?

Oh! You know how when you have a blog, you suddenly see a post in everything you do? (Or just imagine that's true.) I have to remember to bring my camera everywhere I go! Today, I saw an older-ish woman with the reddest hair imaginable. I mean-bleached-your-hair-white-
then-dyed-it-with-red-kool-aid-and-cherry-jello-except-they-don't-sell-that-stuff-here-
so-I-don't-know-how-she-got-it.

But see..... a worthless post without a picture!

Snow-covered mountains

2006-12-08T22:46:00.000Z

This isn't really better is it?

But then this morning, I got this picture. Not the mountains, but isn't it cool-looking?

It's to the east out our dining room window.

Note to Self

2006-12-08T22:42:00.000Z

Put the apron on,

then start cooking.

Questionable Thursdays (it's a long one!)

2006-12-07T10:41:00.000Z

It's questionable that anyone really cares, but we'll proceed as if we all do. Plus, who would want to put their name on something that dies after a week? Yeah, not me. So this will not die no matter how many times Mr. French has to disguise himself and write his own questions. (We would so not do that.) In honor of those who tried, and asked their burning French questions, here's to you. I'm going to attempt to answer all the questions. And thanks to Charles, who at the very last minute pulled in with a delightful one.

Disclaimer: The following is for your reading pleasure only. All content is to be considered the sole opinion, observation and personal experience of the author who claims the proprietary right to said opinion and is not to be used as research for your book or TV show (unless a financial arrangement is agreed upon by the author prior to said research). The following does not cover and should not be applied to every French person and/or region in France. Enjoy at your own risk.

1. JoyfulJessica writes: "In America, the French are often portrayed as rude and arrogant. Is it so?"

First I'll address rudeness: If you had asked me this question within the first day of our arrival here I would've given you an emphatic "Yes!" There was not one helpful native-appearing person at the Lyon airport. The next day when we were buying something in a boucherie (butchery), Mr. French overheard the guy behind the counter making fun of his attempts at speaking french to the next customer in line. But since that time, there has only been a very small handful of people we have encountered that we would consider rude. Only one of them works in a store. For the most part, store owners (or those that work for them) go out of their way to be helpful.

Especially when you mispronounce something in French. They like to correct you. I don't consider that rude, although it can be annoying. For the most part, French people we have met at the school, the several churches here, and even at the park are kind, generous, and friendly.

Now arrogance is something a little different. I love that the French think their culture, traditions, and language are superior to the rest of the world. I think the same about the United States. I still love to see other countries and to learn how they live differently than I do. I find it fascinating. I think it's natural to have national pride. But it's sort of like parents who talk endlessly about how their kid is the greatest/smartest/funniest/most beautiful. It would be wrong if they thought differently, but they have to know that not everyone is going to agree with them. I think the French are a bit too defensive if you don't agree that their culture is the greatest on earth. That's where the arrogance starts to show.

Mr. French coined a phrase to describe what is frustrating about living here: "Franco-centric Egotism". As if there is no possibility that they could be wrong in their opinion about the superiority of French language and culture.

2. >>>the Voice<<< writes: " What temperature do the French start to put on coats? For instance here it is 50 degrees. What is it there?"

It looks like right now it's in the 30s-40s. Most people here wear a coat now. It's more of an individual preference, of course. The real question that you're getting at is probably when do people tend to put on their coats as the season changes? Or to us, the question was when are they going to turn on the heat?! Here a lot of apartments have radiant heat and they turn the whole thing on for the whole apartment building in one place at the same time. So the talk was always, "Have they turned the heat on at your place yet?" (France is a fascinating country, let me tell you.) We were the last people we knew of to get it turned on. We were starting to get a little worried that we'd stayed in Texas for too long and would never again be able to handle the cold like we used to be able to. The day they turned the heat on, it had gotten down below freezing (outside), around the first of November. That should tell you something.

That's a picture of our "snow-covered mountains". It's kind of hard to see. I'll try to get a better one later.

3. Shawnee John writes: " does the French still use e-mail?" I must say that I think you misjudge the French. Although there's a funny saying that if you ask a Frenchman about some technology, he will try to make you believe that the French invented it. Are you asking whether e-mail is so passé for them that they've moved on to higher forms of communication? Like, telephones? You may be onto something, because you can find a telephone booth on almost every block, but I can't say I've ever seen an internet café in all my time here. The modern technology of the French has always been avant-garde!!!

(Disclaimer: this is a small town, so I'm not in any way trying to suggest the French are behind the times. I'm sure it's perfectly reasonable to assume it should take 4 weeks at the very least to get internet set up in one's home. Yes, indeed!)

4. Charles popped in with the following by e-mail: "Do they have a peculiar odor about them? If so, how would you describe it?"

Interesting you should ask. I think I was a bit naive about this in the beginning. When I visited Scotland and Ireland in the 1990's I noticed that people didn't bathe as often. Well, I didn't really know if this was why many of them smelled, but that was my suspicion. But, it seemed to be relegated to the older people as opposed to those that were my age and so I assumed that this was just a bad habit from back in the day and surely anyone who was born in my time would've left that, well, you know, behind.

Then we came here. Now, when I see an older man with a somewhat unkempt appearance, I think he probably lives alone. So who can really blame him for not bathing daily, or at the very least, more often than weekly? Even with older women it seems understandable. You just try not to breathe in when you reach across to get the sack of potatoes or a tube of mayonnaise. But it's the young Mom with the stroller and the two kids and the black t-shirt that says, "Sexy", that takes you by surprise. You breathe in and then stop. Wait. Who? What? Her? That is so....not....sexy. That's when you're confronted by the sheer lack of education. Where are the public service announcements?

How about ...

Soap: If we don't use it, we'll lose it.

Deodorant is a terrible thing to waste.

It's not enough to be thin and not have heart disease. We need to smell good too.

If you don't teach your kids to bathe, then ~~the Americans~~ someone else will.

There's a lot of bad haircuts here too, but I think we'll save that one for later.

And thanks to philter for his thoughtful suggestions. I will keep them in mind and hopefully I can get Mr. French himself to try to answer the language topic.

I'm telling you this now, so you won't be surprised when he gets married next year.

2006-12-06T21:56:00.000Z

C has loved two girls in his short life. He would tell you the same thing.

"I love Susie and I love the Kitty-house girl. That works." He has said. (KHG is his friend from TX).

He made Susie this card:

On the back it says "I love Susie". He meant to take it to her at a birthday party they were both invited to, but he forgot. When he got home and remembered, he cried and cried. So, I decided I could take him there to give it to her and then I could check e-mail (this was back before we had internet at home, back in the dark ages). So we walked up to the school (Susie lives on campus with her parents), talking all the way about what he was going to say, why he wants to give it to her, how much she'll like it. We get there and go inside their apartment. He barely acknowledges her. I think, how odd, he was just talking about her. Maybe he's nervous.

"C, are you going to give Susie the card?"

He gives it to her silently.

I say something about how odd that he's acting so aloof and Susie's Mom says,

"Just like a boy."

Fast forward a month.

We're sitting at the dinner table and somehow the topic of marriage comes up.

Mr. French says to S, "Someday you'll want to get married. You know, when you're older, you'll have a wife like Daddy has a wife." He points to me.

S looks skeptical.

C waves his hand. "Me, too! Me, too!"

"Oh, you want to get married C?" asks Mr. French.

C nodds eagerly in agreement.

"And then you can have babies. Like you boys are Mommy and Daddy's babies, but you can have your own."

S looks highly skeptical now and C gets a disgusted look on his face. "Nooo. I'm not going to have babies. Just a wife."

Fast forward to today:

It's the day of Susie's birthday party. I suggest that the boys should make her cards. S states that he knows she likes bears, so he'll draw her a bear and then proceeds to draw her a fish and a dinosaur card. C draws a picture of her with a bow in her hair and then draws a heart on the back. (Similar to the first one, except without the 'I love Susie' on the back.) He asks me to write Susie on the inside, which I do. Then he asks me to write French* (our last name). I repeat that to make sure I heard him correctly.

"Yeah."

"But that's not Susie's last name. That's our last name. Her last name is Smith*."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to write Smith?"

"No. I want you to write French."

"But that's not her last name."

Finally, we compromised and he wrote our last name next to her name.

Her parents shouldn't be too worried because she's moving at the end of the month.

*Last names have been changed because, duh, it's the internet.

Random Post of odd things (plus a survey)

2006-12-06T21:35:00.000Z

Since Mr. French is gone on this wet, wet Wednesday (our Saturday here) and he can't proofread for me, I thought I'd just post some randomness and then maybe, I can finally get around to posting about our trips and more French-focused things (as per Mr. French's request.) Also, come back tomorrow for the Much ~~three people!~~ Anticipated blog posting about all you ever wanted to know about French culture. If you don't, you might miss the great ~~bribe~~ contest for next week's Questionable Thursdays.

1. First up:

Do you think this lamp in our kitchen here is,

A. So cool. I wish I had one. Is it an antique?
B. A little odd. Glad it's not in my kitchen.
C. Total Kitsch.
D. I think I've seen uglier but now I'm not sure.
E. No, actually, I think that's the worst lamp I've ever seen.

Leave your vote in the comments section.

2. I got a package from my Mom on Monday.

Before:

After:

Quite an improvement, don't you think?

3. Because 2 posts just doesn't seem right:

High Praise from Someone Who Should Know.

2006-12-04T22:14:00.000Z

Mr. French dialed the number for a publisher in Geneva and hoped someone would answer. He had tried calling this number several times before, with no answer.

"Bonjour!" he said quickly when he heard the phone picked up.

"Hello." A woman answered.

"Hallo!" he answered, switching to the French way of answering the phone. "I'm calling from France. I was looking for your hours of operation so I can browse and buy your books."

"I think you have the wrong number. You've reached ABC Bank."

"Oh, I'm looking for XYZ booksellers. What is the number there?"

"The phone number here is 333.222.4444."

"Oh." said Mr. French confused. "You said 33.32.22.44.44? I thought I dialed that number."

"Maybe you did dial the number correctly, but is it the right number for the bookstore? Maybe you could check online?" She suggested helpfully.

"Hmm. Okay. Thank you for all your help."

"And by the way, your English is very good."

And Mr. French said the only thing that came to him.

"Merci."

It was only after he had a good laugh that he realized his mistake. He had dialed the country code 001, which is for the US.

I wonder if the American he was talking to is now blogging about how amazingly bilingual the French are.

Questionable Thursdays

2006-12-02T13:36:00.000Z

Mr. French thinks this blog is going downhill fast. He didn't say that exactly. It's not that he doesn't like it either. He just thinks it should be less about me and more about the French.

So, I've come up with a solution. He will do all the blogging.

Just kidding. (We might as well pack up and go home if we have to wait for him to blog.) (Anyone waiting for him to reply to your e-mail? uh-huh.)

Instead, at the beginning of the week (or you can start now) you can post your burning questions about living in France. Then on Thursday (or thereabout) I will report back with my opinion/observation complete with pictures (hopefully).

So, what do you want to know?

Are the french fries any good?
Can you get California wine here?
Do people really eat that green-stuff stuffed snail shells found in the freezer section of the grocery store?
Where's the best upscale chocolate store in town? ("But, honey, I have to. It's for the blog!")

If you don't ask any questions I'll be stuck thinking up topics on my own. That might not be pretty.

The best way to walk to school and back.
How to clean an all-linoleum apartment.
The most efficient way to pack your stroller at the grocery store.
Do people really say "a-toot-a-lure" instead of "see ya later"?

You can leave a comment as yourself or anonymously. You can even do it privately by e-mail. I will pick one (maybe two) a week to blog about. Try to think of topics that would be interesting to me everyone generally. Or just ask anything you want. I'll just ignore you if it's ~~stupid~~ not as interesting.

Five is so last year

2006-12-01T20:27:00.000Z

C woke up on the day of his party and finally conceded to being a year older, even though his birthday had been 3 days previous.

"Enough five." he said. "I'm six now."

He wanted a lion cake. (He even thought it looked like one.)

Because of his recent interest in castles and kings, everyone who came to his party made and decorated a crown to wear.

At this point, I checked the clock and was shocked to see it had only been 15 minutes since we'd begun.

They played with balloons.

They ate macaroni and cheese and hot dogs and corn. (except for the kid that just ate white bread with ketchup!)

They played pin the tail on the ~~bear with a mane~~ lion.

They played musical chairs.

"They" opened presents.

They ate lion cake.

And they fought over the red licorice whiskers and the candles with the frosting on the ends.

But it was fun.

P.S. We didn't invite any French kids. We didn't feel like we knew anyone well enough or more importantly, the language.

Impersonating Martha Stewart

2006-12-01T10:23:00.000Z

I've won awards.

Yes, I have.

I don't want brag, but I won the Grand Champion at the Clark County Fair twice. And went to the State Fair and won a purple ribbon for cake decorating.

Yes, I did.

You can't bottle this kind of talent.

So when my son asked for a caved-in-face-of-a-dog-with-a-poodle-perm-cake, what was I supposed to say?

"Uh, sorry kid, but that's too easy for me."

I don't think so. He's my son.

Now, I did go to marthastewart.com for inspiration. But frankly, she was lacking in the edgy-cakes-n-stuff section. I had to really modify her suggestions just to get the cake to cave in.

So, I know people will google for this and frankly, I think I'm the only one on the web who can really help.

Here's some tips:

1. Stand by the oven and constantly check the temperature, changing it as you think the cakes might be baking unevenly. Switch them around when one totally seems like it's burning and the other one is still batter. (No, this did not happen to me. I'm just trying to prepare you. You know, if you're not as good a baker as I am.)

2. Don't use wire racks. Totally worthless when you're looking for a caved in impression (or is it depression?) It's much better to use newspaper, but then, during the cooling period, switch them to foil because ~~the tops are sticking to the paper~~ that will help the tops peel off.

3. Four batches of frosting is not quite enough, but that's perfect for that nouveau-amateur look you're going for. (You won't get this tip at marthastewart.com!)

4. Don't worry if people don't get your vision. It's takes time. Maybe just tell them it's a really bad looking lion cake and they'll leave you alone.

2-year-olds have low standards

2006-11-29T21:41:00.000Z

J stood by the sink getting splashed with water because he thought it was fun.

He ate the carrot peelings because he thought they were good.

We kill frogs and eat them too

2006-11-28T23:15:00.000Z

The other day a child in S's class had a birthday. He had a bear birthday cake and gave everyone in the class a marzipan frog to take home. Mr. French picked them up for lunch and before he could stop them, the boys killed it on the playground. S immediately regretted his actions but nothing could be done to save the frog. S sulked all through the 2 hour lunch period at home and went back to school in a low mood.

But by the time he got home in the afternoon, he had his smile back. His teacher, apparently, felt sorry for him and after seeing what had transpired, gave him a new one. He was extremely careful bringing it home this time.

Now we have a frog and a "dead frog".

Ready, SET....

2006-11-28T22:31:00.000Z

One thing that surprised me about living here is that we had to change our names. Some of us more than others. The French don't pronounce the letter H. So any name that has an H, changes, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. For instance, we have a friend here named Hope.

The French teachers said, "First of all, it would be pronounced 'Ope' and secondly no one names their children the French word for Hope here. It's just not a name."

Ruth becomes 'Root'. (don't forget to roll the 'R')

Keith becomes 'Keit'.

Michael becomes 'Michelle'. (can you imagine what that does for a teenage boy's ego?)

I can understand having difficulty pronouncing a name because you're not used to saying 'h' or 'th' but at least trying to say someone's name seems more appropriate than giving them a French name.

After about a week at school, Mr. French heard from S's teacher that he didn't respond to his name in class. "Oh, really." I said sarcastically to Mr. French. "Wonder why? Maybe because she's not using his real name!"

But you know what surprised me even more? My kids don't mind being called a new name. Now they call themselves by both their "french" names and their given "American" names. We call them whatever rolls off the tongue first.

The other day in church S heard the preacher say his name. His eyes got big and excited as he loudly whispered,

"He said SET! Not C('s name), not J('s name). Set!" He sat back proudly.

Who was I to tell him that the preacher had actually said 'sept' as in the number seven?

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

2006-11-27T10:23:00.000Z

The Good:

We never thought we'd have a washing machine in our apartment. We knew it wasn't standard and we certainly weren't going to buy one. We started off using the laundrymat just around the corner, right near our favorite park, Parc Aubry. The prices weren't too bad and it's not like there were a lot of options anyway. The best part was that they had the biggest washing machine around fitting 16 kg. I can't tell you how big that is but I could do a whole week's worth of laundry using that machine once and a small 7 kg machine for the whites. But still, all said and done, we usually paid between 12-20 Euros for laundry every week. (The difference between accident-free nights or not.) We also used the dryer because we didn't have enough room to dry everything in the apartment all at once.

Then, the best thing happened. Our "neighbors" (another family at the school who live right around the "other" corner from us) said they had an "extra" machine in their apartment and would we like to use it? It was just sitting on their porch! Mr. French says I don't use enough superlatives in my speech, so let me start now. It's changed my life! I love to wash clothes in the comfort of my home! Instead of trying to get as much wear out everybody's clothes (mostly just pants, we can't go completely "European" on you) and towels, we can just wash them! And I don't mind not having a dryer! I kind of like hanging everything up! (Except towels. I do go fluff them in the dryer around the corner.) (okay, yes, I realize that exclamation points don't count as superlatives. I can't change overnight.)

The BAD:

From the moment we unpacked, I knew something was wrong. I thought we left the States to get away from "cheap" furniture. The kind that falls apart when you touch it. Or look at it. Or peak around the corner because you heard a noise and find it trying to beat itself up. After about a week, I stopped using all but the top drawers. Then last week I pulled everything out and put it in the corner, facing the wall. And that's where it will stay until it can learn to behave!

The Ugly:

This is our bed.

This is our bed on drugs.

Any Questions?

"Um, yes, I do." said someone from the back of the class, raising her arm timidly.

"Oh, yes. Go ahead." responded the teacher.

"Um, why did it take you 2 1/2 months before you realized that you could just turn it over to get a nicer, cream-colored bedspread?"

"Uh, right. Well." stumbled the teacher. Why must people torture me? she thought. Am I just supposed to admit that it never occurred to me, not even once in 2 1/2 months?

"Well..." continued the teacher, "uh...I think we're out of time. Class dismissed."

She's younger than she looks...

2006-11-24T14:19:00.000Z

The other day, Mr. French was playing a game of "round robin" ping pong with a group of men from the school. Todd, whom Mr. French has been getting to know recently, said,

"How old are you?"

Mr. French, who usually never answers this question directly, said, "mshuejdik years old."

"Oh, I would have thought you were in your mid-thirties and were just prematurely gray." said Todd.

"Well, I was prematurely gray in my thirties. But, thanks for thinking I'm younger than I am." said Mr. French with a thumbs up.

"Because your wife is really young looking. She looks like she could be 18." Todd continued.

"Actually she's 16." He replied with a straight face.

Not as many people laughed as Mr. French had expected.

“It is as if all American appliances dreamed of being cars while all French appliances dreamed of being telephones”

2006-11-22T14:22:00.000Z

I've never had a dream kitchen. I've come close to a good kitchen with lots of cabinets and counter tops but it's never been perfect. It's a good thing too, because I certainly would've cried after leaving it for this one.

If the French are sooooo serious about their cuisine, I'd just like to know, how are you supposed to take cooking seriously in this one?

For instance, where are you supposed to put the bowl of batter for the pancakes and the plate for the finished ones and the spatula for turning them? Where?

Oh, right, the sink.

I will say that it's the widest, albeit shallowest, sink I've ever had so it does work very well for a pseudo-countertop. (how's that for turning a almost complaint into a postive statement?)

Now for the refrigerator. It was the most disappointing when I thought it didn't work. I thought I'd have to shop everyday because it just wasn't keeping anything cold. Then some brilliant person thought of turning the little dial thing that controls the temperature and Voila! coldness. (and frost on the back, but we're not worried about that are we?)

So the fridge is fine.

The freezer is, well, as big as my hand. But that's normal right?

Last, but not the least used, the oven.

(and the food was as good as it looks. Thanks for asking.)

So, why did you guys move to France?

2006-11-20T20:54:00.000Z

(The following must be read in your best Valley-girl-"gag-me-with-a-spoon" impression or you, like won't get it. My Apologies.)

The Version that like, only Sam and Abigail will like, get and Mr. French* will like, totally think is funny but people like my Dad will think that like, something is wrong with like, me:

So Mr. French had, like a lot of questions.
He was like "Man, what is that all about?"
So he, like read some books and read some more and he was still like,
"Man, what is that all about?"
So then he found this, like totally cool awesome book but he was like, whoa, dude this is, like French or something. I, like totally don't know French. Then it hit him. I'll, like get the computer to, like take the French and make into, like English and stuff. So he did that but it was, like hard to read and stuff and he was, like, "What is that all about?" So then he like begged someone that he was for sure knew French, but that guy was, like, "No way, you do it."
and Mr. French was like, "No way you do it."
What was that all about?
So he, like took French and stuff and then he was, like to, you know, his wife, "Honey, I, like totally need to learn this French and stuff. I know. Dude, I'll, like just move to France and then I'll learn it by osmosis or something."
And the wife was like, "Dude, that's a big word."
And Mr. French was like, "totally rockin' dude!"
And then his wife was like, "But osmosis is, like a process by which molecules of a solvent tend to pass through a semipermeable membrane from a less concentrated solution into a more concentrated one, thus equalizing the concentrations on each side of the membrane. I totally don't think you can like, learn Finnish that way."
And he was, like, "Who said anything about finishing? I just want to, like groove with the French."
And his wife was, like, "Dude, I'm there!"

*It's like totally ironic, but yeah, that's, like his real name.**

**Names have been, like totally changed to protect the, like, innocent or something.

No, really, why did you go?

2006-11-20T20:42:00.000Z

The version that's as real as a fairy tale:

Once upon a time there was a man who roamed about the castle grounds mumbling questions to himself. (We wouldn't be worried, dear readers, unless he started answering himself).

"What is the purpose of art? Why dost it exist? How can I get my hands upon it?"

Then in the distance he heard a sound, and he knew deep in his heart that he must translate that book by Wencelius into English for all the world to see. But the man sighed heavily as he did not know French. He paced upon the bridge that led over the river.

And then he knew as he gazed at the setting sun on the horizon,

"I must go to France and learn French. Then I shall translate this book and know the answers to these burning questions."

That very day he packed up his beautiful wife, his three strapping sons and they rode off to France on a black steed with all their belongings in a small silk scarf. And they lived happily ever after.

Let me get this straight.

2006-11-20T20:37:00.000Z

The Short and Sweet Version

There's this book.
It's in French.
Mr. French (before he was Mr. French) does not know french.
The French do.
Go to France.
Learn French.
Come home.
Translate book.
End of story.

The first post on our first blog. Oh, the pressure!

2006-11-18T20:48:00.000Z

I had a hard time figuring out how to start this. I could tell you how much fun it is to go through security three times in three different airports and in the middle of "our night" at one point. And how our kids cried the first time because they thought they weren't going to get their bags or shoes back and how I had to bribe them to go through the box-like thing to the scary police-like man on the other side.

I could tell you how to waste time in Chicago when your plane is late and how to get your kids to sleep on the benches in London-Heathrow and how to get a 2 year old to sit for all those flights. (Actually, I couldn't tell you how to do that.)

But all those details sound kind of boring now. What's more important to know is that when you come into Lyon airport have a 1 euro coin with you. People there will not, no matter how tired you look or how much you offer (5 euro bill for a 1 euro coin), give you one. Even as they are returning their own carts. You should also just get into line at the missing luggage line b/c by the time you have figured out that you lost one piece of luggage and what it is, it will be your turn and you won't have to wait another hour in line to fill in the paperwork.

Also, don't worry about going through customs. It's sorta not there. As in, no line, no checkpoint, no questions about what you brought into our country. We picked up our bags and walked on through.

And, right now I would like to thank the two men, Chris and Chuck, who, out of the kindness of their hearts and under no obligation, drove all the way to Lyon to pick us up, because our flight had been delayed which would have forced us to spend the night in an expensive hotel and then travel by train and bus the next day with three cranky children, seven heavy pieces of luggage, and various other things hanging off our persons.

That seems like a better way to start a blog.

(We also need to mention the Jaroski's b/c without their help we would probably still be trying to pack the storage unit.)

This was taken a week before we left Texas.

Leavin' on a jet plane...

2006-11-15T14:37:00.000Z

This is us waiting in the first of many long lines. Notice the matching outfits? That was my idea. So when security asks me what my son was wearing I can look at my non-lost children and remember immediately.

This is J sleeping in London. Traveling with children mistake #1:
Sleeping all day at the Airport equals running around apartment at 10 p.m. that night.

This is C and S getting some shuteye as well.

This is where we sat for eight hours in London. It could have been worse.

We made it!