Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News...

I Got a Bad Case of WHO KNOWS WHAT???

OK - this post is way overdue.  It all started about two weeks ago when Cole woke up with a slight rash and he was tugging at his left ear - no fever of course, that would have been too easy.  So Lance and I headed straight to the doctor to get some "clear" answers.  After much back and forth in confused, broken "Frenglish," we left with the definitive diagnosis of...

A cold OR an ear infection OR chicken pox ('cause those things are so closely related).  Even though we tried to explain that kids in the US are vaccinated for Chicken Pox (they don't vaccinate for as many things over here - unclear why not) she still said "maybe" (and she is right, maybe).  Although we had no diagnosis, we had no fewer than four prescriptions for this tiny kid.  Penicillin for the ear infection, anti itch spray and antihistamine for the Chicken Pox (we tried to tell her he was not itching at all) and a pain reliever.  Picking up the prescriptions at the "Pharmacien" will be a whole other post - it is CRAZY.  One mother here told me that French doctors "aren't really into diagnosing but they LOVE prescriptions!"  Apparently!!!  So, he was now being treated for the ear infection and life is good, or so we thought.  I did not give him the stuff for the Chicken Pox because in my expert opinion, with all of my medical training, he did not have it.  

Skip to 10 days later:  Cole wakes up with swollen and purple hands and feet, purple lips, and hives on his body.  Some of you may know that Cole had this similar reaction this summer and ended up in the Emergency Room in Hamilton, NY.  Apparently he liked it so much that he wanted to check out what it would be like in France.  To his dismay...not the same.  

So back to the Doctor we went, who gave us an "oh... c'est vous" look when we walked into her office again.  She took a quick look and called a pediatrician to discuss the case, because she is a generalist, not a pediatrician.  Sadly, this was news to us, as we'd thought she was in fact a pediatrician.  Oops.

With a sealed letter for the front desk and vague, scribbled directions on a tiny post-it note, we were off to the "urgence" -- the emergency room in Nimes, where, apparently, they were waiting for us.

5 hours, 14 vials of blood, and countless "I Spy" games later we were still waiting in vain for the ellusive Bone Doctor to look at Cole before we could be admitted so we could have the joy and pleasure of spending the night.  They tested him for a blood infection, lyme disease, leukemia, rheumatoid arthritis, and many, many more things.  Some highlights of the experience were:

* The female ER doctor and nurse looked like this season's additions to the cast of Grey's Anatomy (Lance particularly liked this aspect... I think Cole did too).
* Lunch!  Although the food was not the best we have had in France, it was better than most hospital food.  And, although there was no wine, ironically it may have been the most relaxing lunch we have had with the kids in France.  They both ate, did not scream or squirm and were generally pleasant company.  Amazing.  And on a personal sweet tooth note - I had the best brownie I have EVER had.  
* Surgical gloves make wonderful balloons and can provide endless entertainment to toddlers.  Apparently, the French have these in their exam rooms solely for this purpose and no other as countless nurses took blood from Cole on several occasions without wearing GLOVES!  One nurse even leaned her arm down on the exam table right on top of one of Cole's used needles.  She did not seem phased by it at all...I was just speechless.
* At several times during the experience I proclaimed to Lance that I was "taking this kid home" to get this figured out and when I said "home" it involved a plane NOT a car.
* The Police Nationale bringing a patient into the adult side of emergency room and Ellie wandering over to "see the bad guys."  
* So they brought Cole some dinner after we got settled in our room.  Poached salmon, haricots verts, fancy chocolate pudding, but no milk.  I asked the nurse for some cold milk, as opposed to the unrefridgerated milk everyone here drinks.  And the nurse was so surprised, she said "Milk at night too?"  Cole passed on much of the fancy french meal but drank 2 huge cups of cold milk!

And in the "Somebody was lookin' out for us" category:
* Elodie - our French nurse who is married to a British man!  She served as our translator for everything from getting food and PJs for Cole, to paying our hospital bill.  An added bonus was that she had two back to back shifts during our overnight stay - bummer for her, GREAT for us.
* Dr. Walenda - the awesome (and might I add cute) English speaking, German doctor who crossed every "t" and dotted every "i" with all the tests he ran on Cole and all the specialists he brought in to check.  Lance kept wanting to ask when he was going to do his highwire act (sigh).  
* Random French cartoons that happened to be on one of the 3 stations we got in our room.  Ellie loved them and I learned some words too!

In the end, we left the hospital with no more information than we had when we started, refer back to "the French aren't really into diagnosing."  We came home and called our doctor at Mass. General and within 5 minutes she asked if anyone had spoken to us about "Serum Sickness?"  I said, "Maybe, how do you say that in french?"    

So, alas, a DIAGNOSIS, from our US doctor!

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Harvest Moon

Harvest Time.  Let's get at it!

It's been a bit of a whirlwind lately.  And that may be the understatement of the year.

The past few weeks have been interesting, to say the least.  There's far too much to include in one posting so Amy will handle some of the utterly ridiculous aspects of our recent lives, while I share a bit of the sublime.  For that, we need to go back to the early morning hours of September 17th....

It's 5:30 in the morning and I'm lying awake praying to hear nothing.

For the past hour, we have been kept awake by a certain Mr. C.J. Davis (and Amy kept out of bed trying to console him) who is suffering from some unkown malady that, according to Madame le Medecin could be anything from a cold, to an ear infection, to Chicken Pox.  Gee, thanks for the rock solid diagnosis Doc.  Of course, it's possible that she actually said he has none of those things and I just misunderstood -- all I know is that we came away with four prescriptions and C-Dog now has more chemicals in him than Keith Richards circa 1972.  [queue foreshadowing music...]

As he finally settles enough to put him back to bed, I hear the sound of a tractor rolling up the road outside.  "Guess some farmer is getting an early start on the vendange today."  But instead of rolling off around the next bend, the sound just gets louder... and louder... and louder.  By a twist of what surely must be some wickedly vindictive fate, said farmer apparently decided that the grapes in one of the fields behind our house had to be harvested RIGHT THEN.  No matter that the sun was still a solid hour and a half from even threatening to rise.  No.  The full moon was just a day ago and once the eyes adjusted you could have read a mystery novel by the light it cast.  Apparently these French take the whole "harvest moon" thing VERY LITERALLY.

So, we laid there for the next hour and a half listening to the machinery fulfill its purpose of making obsolete the centuries-old tradition of les vendanges by hand and feast by night....
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gP4oN6Wx5uE).

Somewhere beneath the anger and bitterness we felt at having -- finally -- two sleeping kids while a symphony of metal blades and diesel engines serenaded us from outside, I did find a little hint of excitement knowing that the harvest was in full swing and within a day, we would be walking rows of vines, bending, reaching, cutting, and loading bucket after bucket of sun-ripe Grenache.

And so it was that on Thursday we drove out to Castillon-du-Gard, four villages down the road to the East, and met our new friends, Matt and Amy (yes, ANOTHER American named Amy -- that makes three for those keeping score at home) at their "big vineyard" for a day of harvesting grapes by hand, in the traditional sytle.

After following Amy down roads barely wide enough for her tiny '78 Renault 4L, we pulled up into the field, unloaded the kids, introduced Ellie to Daisy, the over-friendly pooch that makes sure Matt and Amy get everything right, who promptly barrelled Ellie clean over with a giant enthusiastic wet kiss, and learned how to pick grapes.

Here's a little tidbit that you don't really think about until you're in the moment:  picking grapes is actually work.  Sure, there's the romance of the vendange, the big lunch, the wine, the sun, and the lively conversation, but when you get right down to it, it's still just a lot of bending, reaching, cutting, loading, lifting, walking and repeating again and again.  Now, this is not to suggest that we didn't have fun.  It was a good, solid day's work that felt great when we were done.  Mind you that we didn't exactly set the world ablaze with the speed of our harvest.  We spent a good portion of time chasing Ellie up and down the rows and, of course, attending to King Cole.  Ellie, much to her credit, did legitimately learn how to cut the grapes.  She would find a bunch, locate the stem, reach up with the snips, cut if off and put it in the bucket.  At three.  Needless to say, we were impressed.  If things continue to go south with the economy, we're considering sending her to California on a seasonal basis to bring home a few extra bucks.
Nuthin' to this.

Cole, on the other hand, was another story.  Keeping tabs on him consisted of: keeping him from pulling the grapes out of the buckets and tossing them into the next row, keeping the tiny ball of fluff known as Sydney the puppy from attacking him and licking him to death, and of course, carrying him in the backpack while bending, reaching, cutting, etc., etc., etc....

I think the lowlight for C-dog may have been his post-lunch nap.  It sounds like a perfect plan, right?  Morning picking grapes, big lunch, then a nice snooze in the sun at the edge of the vineyard.  Frankly, I wanted to join him, having perhaps enjoyed one too many glasses of wine at lunch.  So, after lulling him to sleep in the backpack, Amy set him down, still in the backpack, which has a stand that I'm sure is designed specifically so that a child can be left entirely unattended in the middle of a vineyard in rural Southern France.  
As I'm clipping grapes and chatting with the person working the next row, I hear an odd "thump."  I'd never heard that exact sound before, yet, in the millisecond of silence that followed it, I knew exactly what it was.  Before I could turn my head back to the end of the rows, I heard a low whine that quickly escalated into a plaintive wail.  I sprung back to the edge of the vineyard and, sure enough, there was C-dog, backpack and all, toppled over onto his right side.  Um... oops... sorry Buddy.  

We ended the day with a cold beer and plenty of thank-yous and poured everyone into the car to hobble home... whupped.  

We'll look forward to visiting the winery soon and, of course, stocking several bottles of the 2008 vintage from La Gramiere.  If you can find it in your local wine shop (and it would help if you live in Californina, Brooklyn, or... um... Maine, apparently), you clearly must try it (www.lagramiere.com).

Daisy makes sure the grapes are ready...

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Brown Sugar

As promised a second post about the Supermarché. So typical of France and most European countries there are specific little shops that you go to for all of your necessary food items. The Boulangerie - Bakery, the Pâtisserie - Cakes and Pastries, the Fromagerie - Cheese, the Boucherie - Butcher, etc. In addition there are local Morning Markets usually 2 times a week where you can get fruits & veggies, meats and fish, olives, oils, truffles, etc. Also, most people have refrigerators like a quarter the size of US ones so shopping in small waves works well for them. Because we are in the south of France and in a pretty remote area someone felt the need to build a Supermarché - "Carrefour." It is a good thing because sadly, no one has thought to open a "Frozen Chicken Nuggeterie."

Carrefour is it's own complex. It has a it's own gas station. The best way to describe it is that it is like one of those grocery store Walmarts ON STEROIDS. In addition to groceries you can buy underwear, shoes & laces, office supplies, flat screen TVs, vacuums, kitchen & bath stuff, bulbs for the lights on your car, bikes, and (bien sur) WINE! You name it they GOT IT!

The problem is, you can't always find it...

That last statement has been the biggest source of frustration thus far. At one point I had ventured back for another go at it and spent 2 hours at the grocery store for like the 3rd time since we had arrived, and was finally able to find raisins and cranberries, KETCHUP (Thank God - French people rolling over in graves), batteries, hair conditioner, ziplock baggies, replacement bulbs for our car tail light, and nail polish remover (girl's got to have nice toes). It literally took three multi-hour visits to this place to finally find them.

Things that are currently still on the "Missing in Action" list are peanut butter, chicken stock, ricotta cheese, regular cheerios, and mac & cheese. Floss had been a long hold out on the "Missing in Action" list until I finally found it tucked in a corner. I now know why it took me so long - I had been looking for a display or section of flossing type products. OH NO, NO - there was ONE floss. I don't understand... is floss so popular here that is is always sold out or is it that French people... you know what? let's just move on. In addition there have been no signs of "Cheese-Its" anywhere. People are missing out. Processed cheese crackers are way better than fresh brie on baguette toasts. Come on people!!

So the next challenge is to figure out how to make a birthday cake for Ellie's 3rd birthday. I have looked and looked for the aisle that has the boxed cakes and Betty Crocker frosting. No luck. So I guess instead, I need to find flour and brown sugar... OR a good Pâtissere!! Wish me luck!

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

You Can't Always Get What You Want

O.K. the long dreaded GROCERY STORE blog entry.  I have procrastinated on this entry because the whole experience caught me totally off guard.  I NEVER anticipated how important the grocery store would be OR how much of a challenge and stressor it would be in my life.   Here are a couple of different things that drive the stress factor through the roof.  

1.  I am planning for, shopping for, cooking for, and cleaning up for 21 meals a week (3 squares, 7 days a week).  There is no "Lance, on your way home can you pick up Anna's?" or "I think I'll just heat up those left overs from Red Bones."  No take out of any kind!  We are eating every meal of every day as a family in this house.  Now that has it's benefits as we are spending a lot of quality time together but it is also VERY time consuming (how did women get anything done in the olden days????)  On second thought, I stand corrected.  Last week we only ate 19 meals in this house as we went out to lunch with the kids on Saturday and Sunday (even lunch with 2 kids can be relaxing with une bouteille de rosé.)  

2.  You have no idea how time consuming it will be to find all the food that your small children  desire/require.  On our 2nd day in our new land we ventured to the Supermarché (more specifics in a follow up blog).  After having been there for 2 hours, each kid flipping out in their own unsafe shopping cart, we left feeling somewhat defeated.  Even though we had spent 225.00 dollars, I felt like we had nothing!  I said to Lance "we are in a culinary wasteland!" (quote credited to Jackie).  To which Lance in SHOCK (eyes bulging out of his head) replied: "What are you talking about???????"  Obviously, he is right if you're an adult; clearly for us we are in the food Mecca.  BUT if you are an American 3 year old or 16 month old kid - things aren't looking real great.  Lance's brilliant plan of "well they'll just have to deal, we're in France and I'm not buying processed chicken nuggets" only worked for like 2 meals because no body wants to deal with 2 hungry, displeased, and sleep deprived kids.  

So the moral of the story is that in the first 9 days we were in this country, the place we spent about as much time as we had spent in our new home was the Supermarché.  We went 4 times in 9 days!  And these weren't just quick in and out trips.  Everything about going there is time consuming.  It is not just that you are in a different store and you don't know where stuff is in the aisles.  It is more that when you FINALLY find the item you think you want, you then have to translate it to see if it is in fact the item you want.  One of many perfect examples of how difficult this can be is that I had to employ the 3 strikes and your out theory on LOTION.  The first time I tried to buy it I accidentally got bubble bath (OK - the kids are loving it).  The second time I got shower gel but, the third time by process of elimination - I got lotion!  

Thursday, September 11, 2008

From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come)

...well, maybe one day but not yet!   ...EVERYTHING IS SMALL HERE!

I don't know why. 

Is it because geographically European countries are smaller in area, so factories have to be smaller, therefore they can only make small things???

Is it because Europeans don't want to be bothered carrying large items up and down all of those stairs? (OK, I would get that!!!!)

Now, I'm not exactly from ("Everything's Big In") Texas.  I live in Boston.  We have old cities, narrow streets, and small homes,  and you can even drive a hybrid without someone calling you a *$%#ing liberal sissy.  Yet I'm continually amazed at how small things are over here.

The stereotypical small things that are still worth a mention:

°Cars - the biggest SUV we have seen here is a Jeep Cherokee.  Most of the cars are just tiny.  That translates into tiny trunks, which makes things tough for us with all our luggage, stroller, etc.

°Roads - this is a big concern with Lance riding his bike over here; the shoulder is a line to them here!

The more surprising and odd small items are:

°Toilet paper squares - not sure what's the point of this.  Is having smaller squares supposed to dissuade me from using any less than the amount that I feel I need?  Seriously? 

°Paper towels - see comment above, messy kids require the same amount of cleaning in France, don't they?  Maybe French kids aren't messy.  ...or maybe they aren't clean.  Hmm...

°Toothpaste tubes - I asked Lance to get toothpaste when we divided up at the grocery store and when I unpacked it at home I asked him why he brought me the travel size?  He said it was the biggest one they had.

°Food containers of ANY kind - milk, dried cranberries, hot dogs, apple juice, drinkable yogurts regular yogurts, chicken, etc.  When you're used to buying these things in bulk quantities (or even just normal gallon sized jugs) those mini drinkable yogurts just aren't cutting it for Ellie.   After she's done she looks up and says "where's the rest of it?"  And the regular yogurt containers are just really MINI - I am sure they are less than a serving size.

°Glasses - OK this one is funny.  We get to the house and they have an entire cupboard full of glass wear.  Pastis glasses, juice glasses, cappuccino cups, tea cups, coffee mugs, white, red, and rosé glasses (bien sur), champagne glasses, and 3 -- count them -- 3 highball glasses.  Apparently if you want to drink 6 ounces of something then you use one of these glasses.  OK - not bad for first few days but when Lance and I have to refill our water glass like 10 times (and heaven forbid our gin and tonics), it gets kinda old.  So we set out to the hypermarché to get some bigger glasses.  The selection was bleak but we left with something that resembled a pint glass (in theory.)  Nope, got it home and although it is shaped like a pint glass - it held the SAME AMOUNT as the stupid tiny ones we already had!  But at least now we have 6 of them and don't have to hand wash them as much (not sure why but all glasses are sold in sets of 3 here).  We've resorted to using Lance's cycling water bottles for our everyday beverage needs.

°Scissors - this goes in the "what up?" category.  We got here and in addition to the house being entirely void of office supplies (no tape, stapler, paper clips, post-its, etc.) there was only one set of scissors for the entire house.  The scissors apparently must have been stolen from some Kindergarten classroom because they are a mini set that one would use when learning to cut. Mercifully we did find FULL sized scissors at the store!  I've never been so excited about an office supply purchase in my life.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Photograph...

Some of you hadn't noticed the new album to the left ("France Round 2") with new pictures.   So here is a clear and definitive notification of its existence!

We are hoping to figure out how to actually post some video of the place but we haven't yet been able to find a brainy French 13 year-old who's willing to explain YouTube to us.  So, hopefully that will be coming soon.  Or not. 

Other recent highlights that may or may not make their way into their own entry but that I'll mention here so that we don't fall too far behind in the "how are things going?" category:

-  Rain, lots of rain, last weekend.  Like, "Noah, get the boat ready" rain.  Thankfully, it's gone back to the "perfect blue sky 80 degrees with no wind" weather that appears to be the norm here.  It's tough... I mean *really* tough to get used to.

-  Speaking of Noah, Ellie's new friend (purely by coincidence the only kid that speaks English in her class) is named Noah.  Aim took the kids over to his house this morning to play.  Ellie came back covered in dirt and Cole was fast asleep.  Must have been a good time.  I have a feeling this won't be the last entry that mentions Noah, as his mother is from Virginia, is an artist, is named Amy, and been tremendously helpful in explaining what we are and are not supposed to do for Ellie's school.  I'm pretty sure I saw a distinct circle of light around her head when I met her.

-  I finally got back out on the bike this past weekend.  I've now done two rides and I've yet to be run over by an insane Frenchman... or a sane Frenchman for that matter (I think there are one or two around here but I'm not certain).

-  New people are in the guest house for the next three weeks.  Americans.  Between us, them, and the Brits that are in the house next door, there are more native English speakers in this hamlet than French.  Go figure.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Things That Make You Go Hmm...

It seems as though in France they have less strict views on basic safety concepts compared to the US. Someone here told me that the French try to give off the impression of caring about safety while still managing to do the bare minimum to require it or ensure it.

Lets take car sets for example; it was only a short time ago that car seats became mandatory in France. OK, kinda odd but the more pressing issue is that the car seats that they now deem to be appropriate to keep their infants safe in case of an accident have 1 little buckle with 2 thin straps. No chest buckle at all, so if an infant in a French car seat were to be in an accident there is a good chance that even if this kid was snapped into the car seat correctly, he or she would come flying out through the straps because nothing is keeping them secure up top. All of the French people who we've encountered so far must think that Lance and I are freak parents as we've dragged our 5 point harness car seats, on the plane, on the train and we actually put our 3 year old in one.  This leads me to my next point...

Motorcycles; they seem to be quite relaxed about the use of helmets or any type of safety gear here. The second day we were here we met one of our neighbors "Guy" with 2 of his kids on his Hemingwayesque motorcycle.  Nobody had on helmets - not him, not his 13 year old daughter or his 18 month old son whom she was holding. There was some talk initially of car pooling with these neighbors back and forth to school with the kids. Not sure where Ellie's car seat would fit on the back of his motorcycle????

Pool standards - they are not really into safety here. Fences, pool monitors...who needs them? Actually, to their credit, if you rent a property with a pool associated with it, you do have to have a fence but if you own the pool you are free and clear to let your kids or anyone else's kids fall right in.

Shopping carts are quite possibly the funniest to me. Immediately upon getting your cart and entering the Supermarché you see signs warning you about how dangerous it is to put your kid in the basket. OK, that I agree with. Additionally, they have right and wrong signs about how to put your kid in the front basket of the cart properly. OK, still with ya. However, this is when things start to fall apart. After you follow the instructions on how to put your kid in the front basket you have no way to clip them in with a belt or any other safety device to keep them from crawling or falling out. There are hooks and notches where straps might go but actual straps...Nada. It has caused me to bring a belt with me to strap Cole in when we shop - again people must think I am NUTSO. 

Also, it seems like a lot of people subscribe to the "it's noon somewhere" theory.  It was 10:00am the other day when Lance and I went to go get our bank accounts and we walked past a café and there were some people having coffee but at least 5 normal looking people were having a beer!

And my favorite of all...I was leaving Ellie's school one of the many times I dropped her off today and I saw a woman, not just any woman, A SCHOOL EMPLOYEE, smoking a cigarette about 15 feet from the main door of Ellie's school, she was waiting to lock the gate behind me (for the safety of keeping all the kids in).  How ironic.

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Stranger in a Strange Land

Two things I would not like to be in France:


1. A single, working Mom or Dad. As far as I can tell it would be nearly impossible to be a working Mom in this country. The kids' school day is set up in such a way that you are back and forth there to pick them up like 4 times. Drop off in the morning is at 9:00 (trip #1). You have to pick them up at 12:00 for lunch (trip #2). You come home and have a relaxing lunch with the family (VERY COOL) and then bring them back at 1:30 (trip #3). Finally, you pick them up for the day at 4:30 (trip#4). Not sure how this system works for anyone who is gainfully employed.

2. A handicapped person. On a seriously less humorous note this country is not handicapped accessible at all. There are stairs to everything. Not just a store or a cafe or a bakery. Major things like train stations, town halls, post offices, schools, etc. And even if you manage to get yourself successfully into a building, there are no elevators. I am embarrassed to admit that the reason I am so keenly aware of this is because places that are not handicapped accessible are not stroller accessible. It is one thing to keep with the "old charm" of Europe but I do have to give a "Wag of the Finger" on this issue.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Songs in the Attic

While Amy has wonderfully described the "First Day of School" extravaganza in a separate post, I thought I'd share a few observations and vignettes that might be worth memorializing. If you haven't read Amy's posting yet, you should read that first.

As we walked up the hill towards the school it was amazing to see the varitey of characters all herding themselves towards the chute, complete with metal gate, that corralled both parent and child into the entry area. There was the overweight guy wearing man-pris and a massive salmon-colored t-shirt. There were the many Moms, young and not so young, in a variety of shapes and sizes. There was the wine lady (!). There were the two separate Dads who greeted each other with a handshake and an exchange of pleasantries, each wearing blue jeans and a dark t-shirt, and funky, odd, rectangle-framed glasses that by all appearances were purchased together at a two-for-one special. And there was the Queen Bee, who drove up in her big, shiny, chrome-appointed Audi crossover, dwarfing every other proper green-friendly Euro-sized car as it barrelled past them all right to the front door, with sunglasses that looked like they cost more than most of the people in this area make in a year and, of course, smoking a cigarette.

What proceeded when they finally unlocked the gate and released this diverse mass of humanity toward the school can only be described as a goat rodeo. Complete and utter madness doesn't even begin to describe it. Having managed to find her appointed hook, hang her backpack, amend her nametag with a hand-scribbled "Ellie" under her proper name, we left her happily, quietly, playing with the kitchen set as a surprising number of the French kids cried like... well... like little kids. "Ha!" we thought. "We knew she'd be fine!" As Amy recounted, when we picked her up, the teacher, who I'm certain is on the fast track to sainthood, despite the significant tatoo on her shoulder, explained in yet another tourtured Frenglish conversation, that Ellie cried for three hours. Given that we left the school at 9:30 and she wasn't crying, and it was now about 12:10 and she wasn't crying, I privately hoped that Tatoo Lady wasn't the math teacher.

When Ellie came home in the afternoon, she proudly informed me that, among other thrilling activities, she sang "Blue French" songs, which in that one moment justified the countless nights over the past few months that we'd dutifully played her one of the three (color-coded) French kids' song CDs as we put her to bed. Knowing the words to the song... isn't that really the true key to proper assimilation?

Tomorrow the school is closed, then we're back Thursday and Friday, with the hopes that Ellie will continue the success of this afternoon (and that Tatoo Lady sticks with Blue French and steers clear of Red French... we didn't play that one as much!). Cole starts Thursday as well. Should be interesting.

School Days

So the long awaited day is here...Ellie goes to school. "How will she do?" "She's so flexible." "She won't understand a word they're saying!" Well, the moment of truth is here.

She has been talking about it ever since the second day we got here when Nathalie took us on a tour of the area and showed us the outside of "Ellie's school." We toured the inside last week and she was into everything in the pre-student, pre-teacher, abandoned classroom. So excited!!!

This morning she dons her backpack and off we go. She transitions into the room remarkably well and as I say good bye to her I know I am more sad than she. This is the first time she has not been with me - she comes to work with me and is in the most phenomenal day care at my school. I can visit her whenever I want. So, as I say goodbye she asks me, "Where are you going?" I say, "Home with Baby Cole" and she says, "No, you're going to work." Just like at home. Off we go.

The school hours are different here. She goes in the morning from 9-12 and we pick her up for family lunch and then again from 1:30-4:30. So we pick her at 12:00 and the teacher informs us that she had cried all morning. Such a surprise. It turns out that some others kids were crying and it upset her. At some point she attempted to communicate something to her teacher. Apparently she tried to communicate this for some extended time period without any success and they ended up taking her over to the older school where there is a teacher who speaks English and what Ellie wanted was "a tissue;" Heartbreaking!

Lunch was good and surprisingly she was very willing and even excited to go back. We were told she would nap when they got back (good luck, she hasn't napped since we got to France). So equipped with her "Taggie" she strolled right into the nap room and barely said goodbye to me. The afternoon pick up and report was very positive, as she strutted towards me with "Taggie" in hand. Lucky her that she got to keep it during the waking hours! She must have thought "hey, even though I can't understand ANYTHING anyone is saying, they let me have "Taggie" so we'll call it even."

She came home reporting that she had sang, played with animals, trucks, had water out of a cup and did not cry!

Kids are resilient.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Red Red Wine









I'd like to introduce you to my new friend. My new friend is... how can I say... a bit "stocky." She's almost as wide as she is tall. She's very pale, slightly translucent. She has a red cap and a handle on her top. She holds five liters, she only cost me 1 Euro fifty, and I can fill her up any time I like for a mere five Euro (about 7 dollars and 45 cents). Yes, she is a wine jug but she prefers to be called a vessel du vin. There is a winery 3 quarters of a mile down the road where a very nice French lady will fill 'er up with a gas pump with either red, white, or (of course, it is Provence after all...) Rosé. I may actually never leave this place.

Born to Be Wild


So many of you know that for a number of weeks this summer Cole re-visited his long since forgotten "Satan Days" from when he was a wee lad (between the ages of 0 and 3 months old). In his defense this return to "Satan," as we called it, began right after his trip to the ER for an unidentified rash/hives/allergic reaction of some sort that caused the ER docs to give him a steriod to get things under control. OK - we'll cut him some slack there BUT Cole seemed to turn this into an opportunity to develop an invisible ambilical cord between him and me. He was waking up (for the day) at 4:30 a.m. and all he wanted was Mom (Dad just wouldn't do - lucky Dad). If I even thought about leaving the room he would start to whine and hang on my leg. As a result, we luckily travelled everywhere together ;-)!!!!

Why am I telling you this? Although he has never been a kid who has had difficulty seperating from me/us - he sure was now. In the back of my mind I just keep thinking, "how the heck is he going to survive in France?" My plan was to volunteer in Ellie's school 3 afternoons a week (teaching English - I am sure this will be a future blog) and he would attend the day care as a way to allow me to do that, as well as interact with French kids and adults. Jump to present day - we visited the "creche" today and within minutes the director was asking us to come into her office and leave Cole with her very lovely staff. OK - here goes? We shut the door and I waited for the crying. Not a peep! I checked on him through the window a few times and he was climbing on all the big toys and having a BLAST. Just goes to show you what I know.