Light My Fire

So a quick New Year’s Eve post. As we sit in the lower living room (a room we use very little) in front of the fire place enjoying our oysters, shrimp, and fondue it occurred to me that I had not lit the candles. I was temporarily distracted by what appears to be “High School Musical” -- in French -- on one station, and on the other station we manage to get, from what we can gather, a celebrity/New Year’s Eve/costume party/bloopers countdown (HIGHLY entertaining). I grabbed the box of matches from on top of the fireplace and proceeded to pull one out to light the candles. But what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a previously burnt match, and many more were here. Seriously, who thinks this is a good idea? Are already-burned matches really worth the risk of putting back in the box to re-use? Really?

That’s all I got.

Happy New Year to all and we miss you very much. Enjoy ringing in the New Year – don’t bother calling us as it will be 6 a.m. for us and we’ll be hoping our kids stay sleeping (we’ve managed to get them accustomed to the laid back French life style of sleeping till 7:30, 8:20 today!)

Growin' Up

This is a post about Cole…

Anyone who knows Cole knows that he is a thumb sucker. Although it has its advantages, anyone who knows me knows that I was against it (as a long time thumb sucker, I know what a hard habit it is to break.) I am not ashamed to admit that I have thought about that horrible tasting stuff to paint on his thumb -- I know, he’s only 20 months old -- can never start too early, right?

So, an interesting thing happened. A few weeks ago Cole contracted the infamous “Hand, Foot & Mouth” virus. He developed blisters on his hands…, well you get it… The worst were the ones on his thumb -- because he had it in his mouth. So for two nights I put a band-aid on his thumb in order to deter him from sucking and making things worse. Deter…it did. He has not sucked his thumb since. And in my craziness I even specifically look for it at night to make sure he is not “closet sucking” when I give him a kiss before I go to bed. Either he is no longer sucking his thumb or he is really sneaky. Not sure what this says about my kid. On the one hand, does it suggest that he has such a bad memory that two nights is all it takes to forget a well-loved and established habit?  Or on the other hand maybe he has such a good memory that he just can’t get that “bad band-aid taste” out of his mind. Either way, GREAT outcome.

Additionally, a report on Cole’s verbal skills. Although he can communicate his needs somewhat well in English, he is picking up the critical 20 month old “Survival French.” A bit of an explanation of the words he knows:

“Dou dou” – Lance and I were a bit alarmed by this one at first for obvious reasons. But in France a “dou dou” is any type of item that a child uses to comfort themselves (i.e. a teddy bear, a blanket, a pacifier, etc.) So for my kids it is Eileen Hersh’s “taggie.” Cole asks for his “dou dou” at naptime and bedtime… or anytime he sees his or Ellie’s.

“Bon bon” – you know what it means: “kicking back and eating bon bons all day.” It’s candy. And here they give kids a lot of it -- there is a bon bon factory in town for heavens sake. He learned that one pretty quickly, as did his sister.

“Coo coo” – this is a phrase that most adults use when trying to get the attention of kids. It is basically a combination of our “Yoo hoo” and “Peek-a-boo” but used more frequently. People say it to him all the time, in the grocery store, at the market, at school… For Christmas he got a mechanical rabbit that wheels around the stone floors repeating “Coo coo” incessantly. He loves it. He now just thinks it is the funniest thing to say and uses it appropriately to get people’s attention.

“Ca Ca” – so this one is tough. In France they say use the word “ca ca” to mean, well, just that. He is now trying to use that when contextually appropriate. HOWEVER, apparently “chocolat” (pronounced "showcolah") is too much of a mouthful for Cole so he has abbreviated that word down to “co co” but this sounds alarmingly like “ca ca.” So it is impossible to ascertain when he says “ca ca” if he wants chocolate or if he has to go to the bathroom (or, more commonly, already has gone to the bathroom).

One final note -- the 400 year old stone stairs that he could barley crawl up when we got here, AND are a serious safety hazard as they have very inadequate iron railings... he can now walk up on his own. I guess this is just his way of showing me he is growing up.

Stille Nacht

It's Christmas Eve... or, at least it is for the next four minutes... and we've just finished up our  sampling of traditional specialties, including escargot, fois gras, chestnuts and, to wash it down, Amy's homemade eggnog.  It's been a bit difficult to get into the proper Christmas spirit -- there are minimal decorations in the village and the closest hope we have for a white christmas is a really heavy frost.

With that in mind, we decided to take a road trip this past weekend to take my mother to some traditional European Christkindlemarkts.  We rented a car and drove to Basel, Switzerland and then Saturday drove up to Strasbourg, France.  Basel has a well-regarded Christmas Market and it lived up to its reputation... at least, after two or three mugs of Glühwein it seemed pretty good.

 Look at all those lights...

Strasbourg is a gorgeous city and they really know how to deck the streets out for the season (they had real chandeliers hanging over the streets for God's sake!) but sadly the Christkindlemarkt was more like a bad Walmart Boxing Day sidewalk sale.  Amy thinks that characterization is a bit harsh.  They did have some great food (you take a pretzel and bury it in cheese and bacon... there should be a Nobel Prize for this), and the brilliance of the 16 ounce cup of Glühwein can not be understated, but there was definitely a more "mass-produced" feel to this one as compared to Basel.

The beauty of both cities though was the sausages.  One of the things we will miss most not being home for Christmas is Grandma Hile's (born and raised in Frankfurt) "hot dog" Christmas Eve, where every varitety of German sausage is chased with pickled herring and beet-soaked eggs, and washed down with the beverage of your choice.  

At lunch in Strasbourg, the only restaurant that had any open tables was a beer haus with a food menu limited to sausages and pretzles (perfect!).  The beer menu had something in the neighborhood of 42 seasonal beers (oh my).  The sausages came four links to a paper plate, with a healthy dab of spicy dijon on the side and put a big, giant smile on Amy's face because they reminded her of home.  And back in Basel we even picked up a Stollen because apparently, these Germans actually eat that. 

We of course partook in the Swiss obsession with melted cheese as a main ingredient.  It's really hard to go wrong with any dish that includes melted cheese and cherry liquor as its main players.  I learned a few things, such as: Kirsch is not just for fondue anymore -- drop an ounce or two in your Glühwein and you'll be amazed at what you'd consider purchasing.  Also, once you've had 2 or 5 mugs of Glühwein, you might want to pass on riding the mini-merry-go-round with your kids -- especially when they choose the spinning tea-cup instead of the pretty horsey.  Ugh.

The drive home set us in the perfect Christmas spirit as we drove through snow-covered Alpine meadows and under the shadows of white-capped peaks.

The rest of the week here was a bit hectic but we did manage to corral the herd into the Cathedral in Uzes for the "family" mass at 6:00 Christmas Eve.  We even stuck it through for over an hour, beating a stealthy escape just before they took communion and surely would have discovered our pagan... er... Protestant status.  Singing Silent Night in French on Christmas Eve in a 400 year-old French Cathedral is something I will keep with me for a long long time.  Juggling my squirming, cranky, restless, over-tired, under-stimulated kids for an hour is something I hope I forget by morning (excuse me while I go pour another Toddy).

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth,

Jesus, Lord at Thy birth.

Merry Christmas to everyone who finds their way to these pages.

Lonesome Day

So I want to do a quick post about something that I found amazing. For the past 3+ weeks I have driven past a tiny red car parked in the vineyards outside our house. It caught my eye and I immediately needed to find the tiny little person who must be associated with it. On the contrary, it was an average sized man who was hand-pruning the vines. I should admit that it took me several trips back and forth to ascertain this information as the hairpin turns in the road and cars careening in the other direction around those turns were not conducive to long leisurely glances in to the vines.

I know, "guy working in the vineyard," no big deal right? But what I found so amazing is that this guy was out there everyday for almost a month -- sometimes in the sun (not too bad), sometimes in the Mistral winds, sometimes in the fog, and sometimes in the cold, cold rain -- all by himself. He meticulously and methodically worked his way down the LONG rows clipping the stray vines all the way down to the trunk. And then, nonchalantly, moved on to the next, and the next, and the next. I thought to myself. "How does this guy do it?" "How does he stay sane?"

It must be so overwhelming to look down the row, not be able to see the end, and see 50 more rows that look exactly like it. But then it occurred to me that it must be cathartic: no kids tugging at your pant legs, no faces or hands to be washed, no dishes to be done, no emails to return (no blog postings to write!). Just one vine after another. Must be nice to be in the silent vineyards of Southern France with nothing to do but clip, think, and sing songs in your head. So here are some pictures, as a shout out to this guy (he did think I was kinda crazy to be taking his picture). Chapeau.

Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

Tis the season of Jingle Bells and frosty noses, hot chocolate and warm fires, and (in these parts) les Marchés de Noël. These local Christmas Markets bring out the best of each little village -- in terms of craft makers, olive purveyors, raffle ticket sellers, and (most important) the nice lady that goes into the back to microwave the vin chaud.

So it was on Saturday morning that we ventured north of Uzés to the little village of Vallabrix last weekend for the Marché de Noël, which promised a special surprise "pour les enfants" at noon. Needing that perfect shot to finish our Christmas cards, we dressed the kids up in their finest Christmas outfits, loaded them into the car (Ellie still not feeling 100% after the Thanksgiving Day Disaster) and drove North. We got there, drove around a few times, finally asked an older women which way to the Marché de Noël, to which she replied: "le Marché de Noël? C'est demain."

 
Oops.

So it was on SUNDAY morning that we dressed the kids in their finest Christmas outfits, loaded them into the car (Ellie feeling much better) and drove North. We were a bit surprised at how small and... informal the whole setup was, but we browsed the offerings and enjoyed some vin chaud and a crêpe with chestnut confiture and even found the answer to that question we've all asked ourselves so many times, when observing some horribly kitschy hand-made crafty type thing at our grandparent's homes: "where in the world does someone buy crap like this?!"  Now we know.  

When the church bells struck noon, we hurried the kids up to the road in hopes that Père Noël might pause for a snapshot. Oh, the excitement, the anticipation, visions of an old French Père Noël, jauntily swooping up the smiling urchins for the perfect image to adorn our Holiday missives...

And then... there he was! It was him...

... er, I mean her. I think. Clearly this was one of Santa's helpers. I really don't think any words of mine could do justice to this Santa. There are times when things are so beyond your expectations that you simply can't describe them. And there are also times when things are so below your expectations that they take on a new light. As comically inept as Santa was, the kids didn't seem to care one bit. I'm sure the basket full of bonbons didn't hurt but nonetheless it was nice to see them so excited at Père Noël's arrival.

As we walked back to the car, we couldn't stop shaking our heads and chuckling. Ho ho ho, and to all a good night.

"Um,  Dad, this "Santa" lady is kinda creeping us out."

What I Like About You

For all of the negative publicity France may get (from us, from the general public, etc.) here is a post of

"Things They Got Right"


*Bathrooms stalls - Although sometimes you have to pay to use the "toilette" in France they do have pretty great bathroom stalls. As opposed to American stalls where, when you have to drag your 19 month and/or 3 year old in with you they have the ability to crawl on the floor, under the door, and into other people's stalls, not in France. Every stall is its own little room. Sure you still have kids crawling on the floor and there's frequently no toilet paper, but at least they can't escape. Additionally, some of the public bathrooms on the street are entire sealed rooms that get hosed down (i.e. sanitized) from top to bottom after you leave. You walk in and everything is wet -- no crawling on the floor in these but at least it is clean.

*#1 and #2 flushes - O.K. a bit graphic but all toilets here have two buttons. One for when you need less water, and another bigger button for when you need more water flow. BRILLIANT - enough said.

*Pie crusts - They have some pretty awesome flaky pre-made "Tart crusts." They have several versions, one specifically for sweet tarts, one for quiches, one for savory tarts, etc. No plain old frozen, unfold pie crusts here.

*Oil changes - They told us that we would not have to change the oil in their car. This is not necesarily a function of the car but may just be a function of the laissez-faire attitude regarding cars and service maitanence. The French people in our house are probably not loving that they have to change the oil in our car every 3 months.

*Stain remover - Now in the US, we have a million products that remove stains from clothing -- far too many to process. Here in France they have two choices, the name brand and the Carrefour brand. We currently have the latter and it is AWESOME. It has removed more stains from the kids clothes than anything we have at home (ballpoint pen all over a white shirt, for example.)

*Clothes pins - Since practically no one uses dryers in France because of HIGH electricity costs there is a great need for quality designed pins to hang all your laundy (and hey, you never have to worry about anything shrinking). None of those wooden ones where the spring breaks - they have well engenieered and sturdy plastic ones that can hold a fitted sheet in place through the strongest Mistral.


*Grocery store bags, or NOT - so France has made it a policy to not offer any type of bags at the grocery store. If you want to carry your groceries out in a bag, you either bring bags in yourself or buy them at the store. Now this can be good and bad. Clearly great for the environment. Clearly bad for me when I get all the way into the store, shop, and then realize we have no bags and I have to walk out to the car with all the gorceries loose in the cart and bag them later. But you only make that mistake a few times.

*Cart return - So at the grocery store they have normal carts MINUS the child restaint straps. BUT all the carts are locked up in the nice cart return area of the parking lot. In order to get the cart you have to put in 1 Euro to unlock it. Then, good to go, in order to get your money back (you got it) return the cart to the designated area. For the little amount that it is a pain it actually is nice because it prevents you from trying to pull into an awesome parking space right up front only to find out that there is a cart in it that someone has lazily not returned.

*Butter in a tub - not margarine, Real Butter, from Brittany. So tasty. Maybe we have this in the States but I've never seen it. It is nice to not have to wrap the unused portion of butter back up in the waxed paper, just put the lid on.

*Cheap wine - I know it has been said before but it is nice to not have the over inflated prices on wine. You can get very good bottles of wine for $4.00 and phenomenal bottles for $8.00. What more to ask, really?

That is all I got so far.

Had A Bad Day

So it was the ultimate improv...

We knew that we were going to have to be a bit creative this year in France with Thanksgiving. We thought that we were going to have friends of ours from London for the long weekend (not a big holiday in England) but because of a change in employer they had passport/visa issues and could not leave the country. Then, we then got invited to a dinner with with some of our American friends but thought that they were celebrating on Saturday (since it is not a holiday for anyone here). So we decided to invite Ellie's school friends, Noah and Owen, and their parents over; Amy (an American whose has been here for 13 years and has given up on T-day celebrations years ago) and Gil (her French husband who has never celebrated Thanksgiving -- why would he?).

Now we needed a turkey. With poultry farms all around shouldn't be a problem, right? We talked to various friends who gave increasingly pessimistic responses ("maybe you could just get two big capons" was my favorite). Finally, we just walked into a butcher in Uzes and plowed right into trying to request a turkey. After the typical tortured exchanges, we concluded that we could order two half turkeys and they would be here in time but a full turkey, no no, that would take much longer. Unable to impress upon the kind bloodstained man that simply handing me the bird BEFORE he cut it would be less work for him, we thanked him, took his card, and left. In a last desperate attempt, we asked Amy, Noah and Owen's mom, if she would call and try to convince the man to leave the cleaver in the drawer. After a thirty minute debate, she prevailed and we were the proud owners of a 90 dollar, 16 pound, farm fresh American-style turkey.

Everything seemed in order UNTIL Amy & Gil had to cancel that day because Owen had been sick for 4 days with a 103 degree fever and the other American celebration got changed to Thursday and we had already uninvited ourselves because we thought we had plans.

So, OK, just the 4 of us. No problem - just lots of left overs.

Dinner was late and neither of the kids ate much. Lance only got through half of his plate because he had been feeling sick all day but I liked it and we were together. We put the kids to bed by 8:30 and began the clean up to only be interrupted by a scream from Ellie who was throwing up in her bed. And so it went, throughout the night. Multiple towels, clean-ups, changes of clothes for Ellie and ME, loads of laundry that had to be hung on the line to dry and hours later ALL were asleep. Luckily Cole slept through much of it, as did Lance since he was sick too and I needed him healthy for the rest of the weekend.

After the first throw-up episode Lance concurred that, yes, this is definitely The Worst Thansgiving We've Ever Had.

"The Sick Ward." Lance and Ellie asleep 1pm on Friday.

Blue Sky

Great Moments in the Annals of Drinking Wine from a Jug, No. 352:

The weather has turned here.  Sure, we've still got a good 10+ degrees on those of you in New England, but it's ten degrees colder here this week than it was last week.  There was frost on the windshield this morning and as I drove Ellie to school, with the sun rising behind me and a cold, quiet fog hanging over the vineyards, there was snow capping the highest peaks of the Cévennes on the horizon.  But after a few weeks of nonstop rain, the bright sun and clear skies that accompanied the cooler weather was quite welcome.  

On the agenda for this past weekend was loading, hauling, and stacking the two cords of firewood that they dumped into the yard on Thursday.  The cool sunny air was perfect for working up a sweat, and a sniffle, getting some free exercise.  After several hours of bending, lifting, tossing, and stacking, the sniffle intensified and it was time to head in for a nice hot apple cider. 

Wait... what do you mean these people wouldn't know apple cider from apple sauce?  So, without the requisite hot cider, I had to improvise.  And it is this necessity that bred the innovation that resulted in the sublime combination of red wine with a healthy shot of Cinzano Rossa in a coffee cup, microwaved until hot.  

Oh, OH so tasty.  Please enjoy responsibly.

Do You Wanna Dance?

How does a small French village celebrate the one day of the year you can buy that season's wine (beaujolais nouveau)?  Why, it hires a celtic/bluegrass band led by a fiddle-toting Canadian, with a Moose as its mascot, it sells the wine for two Euros per glass, and has a hoe-down that would put any Middle-American town to shame, of course!

Ellie had so much fun dancing I had to promise her we'd dance all the way to the car just to drag her out of there two hours past her bedtime.

Kodachrome

More pics. Look to your left.

Nice bright colors... Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, oh yeah.

War (what is it good for?)

The entire country is shut down today (except the pizza truck but that's a whole different story).  The French seem to put far greater significance on the signing of l'Armistice than do Americans.  Sure, we recognize Veteran's Day and we honor the brave service that all of America's veterans have given to our country.  Rather, where in America we honor all of our veterans from many wars, in France, this is Armistice Day.  They are celebrating the end of The Great War.

There is very little open.  On the little board outside our gate, where the town posts official announcements, there is a notice inviting all residents of the commune to a ceremony in the village, followed by "apertifs" (bien sur).  The kids are out of school, the town hall is closed, and the boulangerie is closed (and yes, we forgot to get an extra baguette yesterday, darnit).  

So it was in anticipation of this day, celebrating the laying down of arms and the welcoming of a hard fought peace across Europe some ninety years ago today, that I awoke at the first hint of dawn to...

...a veritable fusillade of gunfire.  Now, I've seen the hunters wandering through the vines the past several weeks, with their orange caps and green jackets.  And I've heard, at some point nearly every day, the echoing of a shotgun blast, sometimes two if ol' Pierre wasn't so straight with the first barrel.  But this... this had to be at least a half dozen different fellows -- everything from the apparently very near-sighted bonhomme with the semi-automatic (pop, pop, pop, popop!), to the dude that I swear to Yahweh had to be standing directly outside my window with a 12-guage (BAM! BAM!).  Needless to say, the kids didn't take advantage of the holiday to sleep in. I'm not sure if this is a country-wide way to celebrate the armistice or if we're just the lucky residents of a gun-happy commune but I do know that it was a *real* bad morning to be a wild boar, rabbit, or grouse.

The Rising

So I know it is lame to tell this story after the fact but I was too superstitious to post it before the election (did not want to jinx anything.)

Four years ago Lance attended the Democratic National Convention in Boston where a State Legislator from Illinois named Barack Obama gave the keynote address. Lance was so blown away by Obama's speech that he called his Dad during the speech and said "hey, turn this on you gotta see this." Afterwards he told both me and his Dad "I just saw the guy who is going to be the first black President of the United States."

No matter what your politics are, and whether you agree or disagree with his policies; it is a pretty special day. We just got back from an improptu post election party here in France where there was a mix of Americans, British, and French people and everyone was a buzz. It is a pretty special day not only for America but for the world.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

At 5:00am our time...worth a thousand words.

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x3st13_bob-dylan-the-times-they-are-achang_music

Ain't Wastin' Time No More

From the "Classic Unintentionally Comical Packaging Translations" File:

Are you considering whether you need to buy a smoke detector? Well the good folks at ELRO have a simple question for you...

Seriously folks, "Why risk your life?" Why? Why would you even consider risking your life? Why? Buy this smoke detector now. STOP... Don't walk away! Come back here!! YOU'RE RISKING YOUR LIFE! DON'T RISK YOUR LIFE!!

Kidding aside, you all "fell back" this weekend, so we're back to six hours ahead of Eastern Time. Also, change the batteries in those smoke detectors. I mean, really... why risk your life?

(Also, GO VOTE!)

Born in the U.S.A.

Someone stop the clock at 78 days. We finally broke down and went All-American this weekend (although entirely unintentionally... clearly a result of subconsious homesickness!). Saturday was rainy and not worth much for any sightseeing so we grabbed our ever-growing to-do list and headed to the southern side of the city of Nimes, to the "Ville Active" which apparently is French for "American-style Big Box Store Sprawl."

We hit the French equivalent of Best Buy, the Leroy Merlin (which is literally Home Depot in green), and, of course, the hypermarche for some electronics, clothes, and... oh yeah... groceries.

The highlight of the grocery shopping was that we finally found that one cheese that we've been craving the most. Here in the land of brie and camembert and local goat cheese that is legendary, we openly cheered when we found a block of cheddar. Sure it was orange cheddar from the UK and not proper Vermont Cheddar but no matter. The look on the woman's face when Amy ordered the cheese and kept telling her, "plus grande (bigger), plus. No, plus s'il vous plait" was priceless. I don't think she'd ever seen anyone buy so much cheddar before.

(Mmmm... the big block of cheddar)

Keeping with the American theme, we succumbed to an ad blitz that apparently was directed specifically at me (how'd they know I was going to be in Nimes that day?) that involved no less than four billboards along my drive through town and a prime location in the Hypermarche promotions aisle for that famous old Kentucky Bourbon, Four Roses (yeah, I'd never heard of it either but that didn't stop me). Manhattans never tasted so good.

And to keep things rolling, we kicked it up a notch this morning with pancakes and maple syrup (okay the syrup is imported from Canada but close enough right?).

However, the piece de resistance of the weekend, the one thing without which we could not have truly called it an All-American weekend was Saturday, in the midst of the rainy shopping.

Hungry, wet, with two kids who were even hungrier and getting increasingly cranky, in the middle of a commercialized nightmare with nary a proper cafe or even creperie in sight, we decided it was time to break down and get lunch at Micky D's.

Okay, okay, I know. Go ahead, condemn away.

Done?

Now consider this: the kids devoured their happy meals. Amy enjoyed the "M" which was the prize winner of the day -- a very serviceable burger on an unbelievable fresh roll. As for me? Well, could I really not go into a McDonalds in France and not order a Royale with cheese? http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xtqno_pulp-fiction-royal-with-cheese_shortfilms

And yes, I got the beer too. Everbody was happy.

Don't worry, we'll go back to sustaining ourselves on olives, fresh baguettes, local wine, and a nice brie this week.

Something in the Night

They don't celebrate Halloween in France but Team Davis does.  

We just couldn't do it - we could not deny the kids their "trick-or-treat experience."  So we scrapped and scrounged and came up with makeshift costumes and... look at that -- a theme!Presenting Team Davis as "European Sports Fanatics."  

Cast members include:

Ellie as "Sophie" the child prodigy tennis player

Cole as "Jacques" the Tour de France mountain specialist

Lance as "Dafydd" club rugby star, and

Amy as "Olga" German marathon champion

This French Halloween experience comes complete with indoor trick or treating, sponsored by Aunt Jill, and pumpkin carving (one French pumpkin, and one normal pumpkin -- they call them Jack-O-Lanterns here).  We turned out the lights and outfitted the kids with their Halloween flashlights, "Boo" candy basket, and went knocking on doors, which there are plenty of in this house.  So you know the drill -- knock on door, say "trick-or-treat," door opens, get candy.  Ellie was in control of the Boo basket but was still more than able to grab all the chocolate bars she could find.  Cole on the other hand foolishly went for size over substance and grabbed about 15 pretzel packets.  Silly fool.  Neither kid seemed at all upset to see Daddy behind every door, as

 long as he had "the bowl." 

I guess we all win because the "leftover" stuff in the candy bowl is all getting eaten by us!

Danke Schoen...

to Marla for our fancy lips.  Love that Ellie's are upside down.  You have no idea how many shots it took us to get this one -- Ellie kept chewing on the lips!

Mountain Jam

*Apologies in advance for the length of this one.  It's a glorified ride report so proceed at your own peril.

It's been just sitting out there, mocking me. A spectre that looms out behind the house, past the vineyards and hilltop villages and the Rhone valley beyond. I didn't believe my eyes when I first saw it. I stopped dead in my tracks. "What is... is that... it couldn't be... yes, it must be!" It was faint in the distance. Just a form on the horizon through the haze of the already hot morning sun. It was silent and majestic and even flickering just slightly as the heat above the vines played tricks with the light. As I stood and stared shapes became more familiar... one long sloping side and the other terse and steep, a small cap on top of a bald crown, like a chapeau on an old Provençal farmer, sipping Pastis next to a game of boules as though he'd been in that same spot for a thousand years. That definitely was it. Just past the vineyards behind my house. Mocking me.

They call it "The Giant of Provence" for the way in which it looms over everything in its realm.

 Its name, "Ventoux" means "windy" but it's barren rocky peak gives it it's other nickname, "The Bald Mountain." It's most famous for the legendary stages of the Tour de France that have finished atop the moonscape that serves as the summit. It will return to Le Tour in 2009, it was just announced last week, a dramatic, last-stage-before-Paris epic that finishes atop The Giant.

So, needless to say, from the moment we first seriously started considering this insane French adventure, I've had in the back of my mind that at some point I needed to try to get my bike up that hill myself.  It seems like a great idea, really -- a classic climb, an easy drive from the house, and, coming off the PMC, I would be in peak condition. It sounded perfect. Unfortunately, life got in the way. My boxed-up bike didn't see the light of day for a week after we got here. I got in a ride here or a ride there but between travel, hospital visits, and just generally dealing with life in a foreign country, I haven't exactly been burning up the roads.

This fact, of course, was no deterrent to my Father, who was here the past two weeks. He's just read Johan Bruyneel's book (Lance Armstrong's coach) and came over here with the idea in his head that he wanted nothing more than to drive up the Ventoux, in a car, behind me, on a bike. Um... sure, that sounds great Dad.

I agreed to a "scouting mission" to ride a bit of the mountain on Friday, see what it's like, then hop in the car and drive to the top for some pictures and sight-seeing. After all, this is no little hill.

(those numbers in the middle are 9s and 10's, in case you lost your reading glasses).

The forecast looked miserable. Rain, wind, cold, um... rain. I packed every piece of rain gear I have. I made a Nutella and banana sandwich. I brought pretzels, peanuts, and a thermos full of hot coffee. I also threw in a RedBull... you know... just in case.... My expectation was a cold, wet training ride up a bit of the beginning of the climb -- hop in the car to warm up, have some coffee, drive up a bit, ride some more, then toss the bike in the car and drive to the top... under the pretense of "scouting" the hill for a proper assault in the spring.  Amy, of course, just rolled her eyes and said, "you know you're riding the whole thing, right?"

We arrived in Bedoin, which was surprisingly beautiful. Searched out a cafe for a... well... cafe, and a nature break, then got the bike ready and I headed uphill.

Okay, so the thing is, riding for five hours, or even for two hours, as the case may be, around Eastern Massachusetts is one thing. Riding for two hours uphill, the WHOLE WAY, is freaking hard.  The thing that surprised me the most was how hard it was to breathe.

About seven kilometers in I stopped because I couldn't keep my heartrate below 183.  My maximum heartrate on the bike is around 186 beats per minute so I knew that I would need to keep my heartrate at maximum around 177 to 182 if I was going to have any chance of putting any significant part of this mountain behind me. 

The air was cool but the sun was warm and I quickly was shedding layers. About an hour in, I stopped for lunch and realized I'd only taken a half bottle of fluid. Not good. Compounding the issue was that, expecting cold, I'd only brought one bottle of sports drink and a bunch of water -- I was losing sodium and couldn't replace it.  My Dad had a bottle of Orangina so I figured "what the hay?" and dumped it into my bottle.  I started out again, knowing that I was near the end of the line.  At this point, the road was going uphill fast.  After the first 6 kilometers of the climb, the road makes a hairpin turn and gets steep. Seriously steep.  Up through the alpine forest... endless, unforgiving, up, up, up... averaging nearly 10% and in places almost 12%.  I couldn't keep the heartrate down. The most frustrating thing was that my legs felt fine. Clearly, my cardio-conditioning had been the first to go. I stopped again just past the halfway point, gasping for breath. Of course, at this point, I had considered riding to the top and I was immeasurably frustrated at having good legs but no lungs.  

The thing with cycling is that the most challenging rides aren't nearly as difficult physically as they are mentally.  There is no way, especially on a climb like this one, to avoid the fact that you are going to be suffering for several hours.  The key is being able to override the alarms going off inside your head, telling you to stop, and just keep steadily turning the pedals.  Once you get in that rhythm, you can manage just fine until you lose focus and let the alarm bells start sounding again.  It can be a constant battle between the inherent survival instincts that are telling you that, you know, maybe it would be a good idea to stop: get off this tiny saddle; put on a sweatshirt; have a sandwich; maybe a beer, and the mental discipline to say, "nah, let's keep pedalling up the side of this mountain for absolutely no reason whatsoever."  It's great fun.

I started out again but only made it another few kilometers before I had to stop again to let my heartrate slow down.  After consulting the map we were only a few kilometers from Chalet-Reynard, where the road turns and heads up for the final third of the climb to the summit. "Well, I might as well make it to that... seems like a good place to stop."  Figuring there was no reason to lug a RedBull all the way up there without drinking it, I added that to the remnants of the Orangina/PowerBar Endurance Drink in the bottle and headed on.  This time I *really* slowed it down and tried to keep my heartrate in control, knowing that if I had to stop again I was tossing the bike in the car.  The road continued steeply for another kilometer or so but I kept it at 177 pretty consistently.  As we neared Chalet-Reynard, the trees began to thin out and around a corner the building came into sight.  Behind it was a barren rocky expanse.    At the same time, the road had leveled out significantly -- to a laughable 7% grade.  Hey!  This is easy!  I felt better at that point than I had the entire climb.

Now the voices in my head were going full tilt (actually, I think it was the little guy from the RedBull ads but in any event...): "Dude, why stop here?  You feel good.  Just keep riding a bit and see how it goes."  

Um... well... okay...

So, you see where this is going.  The wind picked up but wasn't nearly as strong as the epic gales that give the mountain its name.  Around each hairpin the road "leveled off" (relatively speaking of course) allowing a good 100 meters or so to recover.  I stopped again to catch my breath at the top of one steep pitch but at this point, the radio tower was in sight and you couldn't have stopped me with a shotgun.

(To provide a sense of scale, I'm on the road right in the very middle of that picture)

Of course, the summit being in sight and actually being close are two different things.  I knew I had several kilometers to go and the hard part was not getting too stoked and blowing it within sight of the top.

Around the last bend the road pitches up to about 20% but I could have dragged a Mack truck up it without feeling it.  So, as usual, Amy was right.  I did the whole thing.  Sure, I took a bunch of breathing breaks and rode so slow my legs were barely tired but I still climbed the Ventoux.

It's close enough to the house that I can't say I won't take another stab at some point before June, you know... just for fun.  And of course, now that this one is checked off the list... hmm... how far away is l'Alpe d'Huez?

Time Is On My Side

Just a quick post to tell you that we here in France suffered the depressing effects of the end of Daylight Savings Time.  We "fell back" last night making us only a 5 hour difference from Boston time until you guys "fall back."  Actually it was not too bad, we feared the kids would wake up at a CRAZY hour but they did OK.  Just for fun, check out this oldie...

Oops!...I did it again

I know I said I'd try to get better about not posting so many pictures at once but...refer back to title.

Sorry.

We've done some cool stuff these past few weeks and you all know how Lance is with the camera. These are the whittled down pictures - I promise. Hope you enjoy France Round 4.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

What have I become?

I have become someone who will turn my nose up to a day old baguette.  

I have become someone who expects to get a GOOD, not just a decent, bottle of wine for less than four dollars.

I have become someone who drinks wine out of a box, "Vin en Vrac," and gets that bag refilled (they can do that!)

I have become someone who expects a high caliber meal every time I eat, even just a snack.

I have become someone who sets my alarm at ungodly hours to watch live sporting events.

In the "embarrassed to admit" category -- 

I have become someone who washes, saves, and re-uses ziplock bags (with no diaper pail - Cole's stinky diapers have to go somewhere).

I have become a "Cherrios pusher."  When the kids have Cherrios for breakfast I spoon feed each of them until their bowls are empty because I just can't bear to waste such an expensive commodity (thanks again, Maureen). 

I have become someone who, given the price of cold milk, has contemplated giving my kids sketchy, unrefridgerated, European milk from a box.

I have become someone who watches US television on a tiny screen on the computer (can't miss the Sox, the debates, The Office, Earl, and Survivor.)

Join Together

I finally found the right widget to enable people to sign up and recieve updates when we post something on the site. Check out the box at the top left of the page, courtesy of FeedBlitz. Just think... now you'll never miss another post (aren't you going to sleep better tonight knowing that? You are, aren't you? It's okay, you can admit it.)

Running Down a Dream

OK a quick post for me, only me (few and far between). Some of you may know that I have been pretty much unable to run since the last Marathon (April 2008). A random injury has plagued me and I have run maybe 10 times in 5 1/2 months. So the news of today is that after 5 1/2 months of Physical Therapy, medications and pain, I went for my first run in FRANCE. My run started out on the main road (YIKES - no shoulder, felt a car WAY TOO CLOSE) and then on a dirt road that winds in between vineyards. Good thing I got this "vineyard" run in today as "Shooting Season in the Vines" starts Monday. Gotta find a new route!

They Say It's You're Birthday...

Actually, that is what we said.

We celebrated Ellie's birthday on September 27th (a week late). We mislead (OK, lied) to her and told her that her birthday was a week later because Lance was in NYC on her actual birthday. Good thing she can't read the calendar yet. Although, I have to admit that I did cut her some slack (on the DL) on Sept. 20th. We celebrated by taking her to the Haribo Candy factory that is very close our house. We opted out of the tour (sure fire way to bore a kid) and headed straight to the factory store. Wow. Now I have a full understanding of the phrase "like a kid in a candy store." She had a blast. We also took the kids to a mini amusement park with blow-up air castles (as much as they cause me flashbacks -- 1999 LPS head lice epidemic -- it was her "party" even if it was just the four of us). In addition, she got to pick out her "cake" at the Pàtisserie. Holy cr*p. Probably going to be the best birthday cake she ever has. There is a full pictorial account in the "France Round 3" slideshow.

I Want A New Drug

As promised a quick follow up on prescription drugs.

So we go to the doctor the first time for Cole where they said it might be a cold, an ear infection, or chicken pox.  Refer back to the ever famous saying "French doctors aren't really into diagnosing but they LOVE prescriptions." Although, we had no idea what was wrong with him, we left that doctor with 4 prescriptions.

1. An antihistamine for Cole's "Chicken Pox" itching (even though we told her he was not itching)

2. A anti-inch cream for his "Chicken Pox" itching (wait... haven't we covered that?)

3. A pain reliever and

4. Penicillin for his ear infection.

We asked the doctor about the antihistamine because we wanted to verify that it was just Children's Benadryl because I brought tons of that and I know his dose. We did the same for the pain reliever as I also brought tons of Children's Motrin and Tylenol ("Don't leave home without it," I always say).  It seemed a bit redundant to have her give us prescriptions for things we already had but she still wanted us to have the prescriptions -- guess they really do love them.

So you have to go to a special "Pharmacien" to pick up prescriptions. Now you are thinking, "yeah, just like CVS," but NO. The only things they sell here are apparently somehow all loosely medically related -- i.e. ace bandages, band-aids, baby bottles, formula, head lice treatment (it is going around Ellie's class - keep your fingers crossed) corn removers, cotton balls, nail clippers, etc.  So I get all our bottles, creams, etc. and open up each one to review dose (everything is in milliliters over here). "OK got it...no wait? What is this white powder doing in my son's Penicillin bottle?" She casually explains to me that I have to fill the bottle to a certain line with water and shake.  "Are you kidding, I have to mix this at home?"  She did not seem to care that I had NO pharmaceutical training whatsoever.   Just wing it? Seriously? This is my kid's medication! What I found the most ironic about this is that you apparently need a prescription to get the equivalent of Children's Tylenol and Benadryl, which you can buy over the counter in the US and we already had, but they just give you the unmixed Penicillin, send you on your merry way and hope for the best. Yikes, can you say liability?

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!

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...

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!

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!  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.