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.

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.