Kindness, everyday

I really want to tell y'all about our little date night at a new bistro in Clermont - a bistro that took over the former home of a burger joint called Emily's Diner - but I don't want to forget what a regular day feels like here. So let me tell you a bit about today, and a little bit about the day-to-day realities of trying to learn a new language.

It's a Wednesday, but the kids have had a cold for a few days, so it was Lincoln's first day of school for the week. (Remember, there's no school on Wednesdays until second grade). Luckily his cold is all but gone, while Sylvia's is still pretty bad, so Josh worked from home while I took the big kid to class. She's feeling pretty good, considering.

Dino feet!

 Since I was on my own, I brought my little wheeled grocery cart and took the bus from the school toward the local supermarket. When your fridge is 1/3 the size of the typical U.S. one, a couple of sick days means there's no food left in the house! And for some indecipherable reason, my bus stopped two stops before the one I needed and kicked us all off. So I walked through the park. It did not disappoint.

 Irises are my favorite, and whatever this variety or cousin of irises these are, they're incredible. Taller than I am, and so striking with the purple leaves - anyone care to identify them?

I made my way to Casino Supermarché and stocked up on crackers, such as they are, zucchini, bananas, apples, duck sausage - it was on sale and I needed fresh sausage for dinner tonight - and a bunch more random things. I was delighted to come across a display for "La Nuit Halloween!" Apparently American influence is growing, especially when creepy costumes and candy are involved.

It was a momentous trip in that I finally remembered that in France, one has to weigh and price one's own produce. If you bring it to the register without a sticker from the scale, you can't have it, and I allllllllways forget. Yay me! I came home, did a ton of chores while chatting with Sylvia about the Uno games and time outs she'd had while I was gone, and then she came along with me to pick up her brother. 

Back on the B bus! She charmed someone into giving up their seat, as usual, and we enjoyed the warm weather on the walk to Massillon. Lincoln, fortunately, had had a GREAT English class and was given a stack of Pokemon cards from a kind and generous older expat kid in the courtyard. We basically danced our way back to the bus stop, pausing only for the kids to beg for candy from the corner shop. Whoever decided to put a candy/doughnut booth on the corner between the college and the primary school is an evil genius.

Lunch was quick and uneventful, and the kids spent the afternoon drawing and stickering on paper while I put dinner in the crock pot, ironed a bunch of clothes I'd been ignoring, and did a few other household chores. Josh emerged from his home office, i.e. our room, a couple of times to talk or grab a bite, and before we knew it it was time to leave for karate class. 

The 9 bus this time! It's a fast ride but only comes every fifteen minutes or so, so we had to leave early with Uno cards, snacks, and water bottles in tow. Lincoln looks so cute in his gi, and a neighbor we've never met said "Good luck, Mr. Judo-kan" in English as we walked by. Then as we got off the bus at Bughes, a young girl struck up a conversation in French with me - she loves the U.S., helped me learn to pronounce "Bughes" correctly, and let us know when our stop was coming up. On our walk from the stop to the karate class at Maison des Sports, a woman bringing her own kids to class told me that her daughter overheard us, and she (the little daughter) loves America as well. The woman is from Tanzania and lived in the U.K. for a long time, so her English and French were perfect. 

I was so engrossed in conversation that I didn't notice Lincoln watching his feet as he walked directly into a wall-mounted mailbox. WHACK. He smacked his head hard, poor kid! He was ok so I made him go to class anyway, but he was benched for most of it. When he was done, he told me "It's ok. I needed to be there to watch and learn, even if I couldn't do the class." So mature. 

Meanwhile, since parents are strictly forbidden from watching the classes, Sylvia and I had an hour to kill. We busted out our Uno cards on a little table in the lobby and soon collected three more kids who were bored and waiting for parents or siblings. 

This is the part that's all about learning a new language. The most common advice I've gotten from my few French teachers has been "listen to as much French as you can." Whether it's TV, radio, podcasts, or actual in-person conversations, the more French I'm exposed to and/or using, the easier the learning will be. So Sylvia and I spent a good 45 minutes speaking in French to kids around 5 years old, naming colors for Uno when someone played a wildcard, asking whose turn it was, and celebrating whoever had won the last round. It was a special, unique moment in what can be a boring and tedious part of the week, waiting for Lincoln's class to end. 

We missed the 5:07 bus home and had to wait for the 5:22, so at the stop I once again struck up a conversation, this time with an older woman who is originally from Portugal and sympathized with my French struggles! The reputation France has for being unfriendly to Americans is, in my experience, 100% undeserved. People regularly go out of their way to speak to me, help us find our way, aid me in improving my terrible French. 

The kids and I walked home from the bus stop and had a delicious dinner from the crock pot - which they both refused to eat. Le sigh. Josh and I loved it, even with duck sausage and zucchini instead of pork and chard.

The little, boring, everyday days of this life are the ones I don't want to forget as time goes by. Irises and Pokemon cards, sniffly noses and a hundred small kindnesses. That's what I want to remember from this time of our lives.

Debacle d'Automne

What a weekend! Last time I wrote it was almost lunchtime on Friday, and my dishes for the school's annual autumn buffet were simmering away in the crock pot. Friday Fours - five hours with three expat four year old girls, traded off among we their three stay at home parents - was a great success, with only one injury (a fat lip) and about a thousand chestnuts collected and distributed into the backpacks. Many of those were collected on our way to one of our favorite parks, Montjoly. It has two playgrounds and a little hill with exercise equipment that the kids love.

We were on the bigger of the playgrounds when an older man arrived with his grandson. Chloe, one of the girls, pointed to the boy and said that he was in her class at Massillon! That's unusual in our little community of Chamaliéres, so I said Bonjour to the grandpa and started up a little conversation. Turns out that this grandson is the fourth generation of his family to attend our little school, and the grandpa lives right around the corner from the park.

I'll pause here to note that I am, in case you didn't know this, a history enthusiast and a huge fan of the musical Hamilton. After memorizing the cast recording thanks to a good friend who lent it to me in February 2016, I started reading several books of Revolutionary War history, and my personal favorite was "Lafayette in the Somewhat United States," by Sarah Vowell. The Marquis de Lafayette was born not far from Clermont-Ferrand, and at 19 he defied his King to bring supplies and chutzpah to the colonial uprising in North America. Without his courage and diplomacy, it's likely the British would have prevailed and the United States would never have existed at all. And he's an incredibly charming and compelling figure - as is his fictionalized personage in the musical, a role originated by Daveed Diggs. 

SO. The playground. The old man told me, in very slow and patient French, that he'd been to a funeral earlier that week, and that the wife of the deceased is a direct descendant of Lafayette himself! You should've seen me, twisting my brain into a knot as I tried to explain a rap-based history musical and "Somewhat United States" in a language I barely speak. But we had a nice moment. 

After a bunch more chestnut collecting and a quick stop home for potty and snacks, the four of us rode the bus back to school at 4:30 to collect the older kids and reunite the little ones with their parents. A couple of young men stood up when we got on the bus so that the three girls could sit across two seats. The men laughed and flirted with the girls in English, and then asked me "So they are your twins?" I laughed - no, no, these are not my three triplet preschoolers. I'm pretty sure I'd have grey hair if I had three all the time! The two non-Sylvie girls were happy to see their parents and siblings, and Sylvia asked if they can all come over for lunch every day. That's a no, but I'm looking forward to the next play date!

The kids and I rushed home to clean ourselves up and collect Josh, then headed back to school for the Fall Buffet. What an event! There were dozens of primary school families, dishes of food from all over the world of which the Scotch Eggs and Chinese rice and red bean balls were my favorites. At least a hundred kids running wild all over the enormous courtyard in near-darkness, while parents sit and stand and mingle about, drinking cassis- or peach-enriched white wine and switching around among a bunch of languages. We early-eating Americans jumped into the kids' buffet early, feeding our little ones at 7:00 LIKE ANIMALS. (Somehow the French children manage to eat at 7:30 or 8:00 and still get enough sleep at night). I reconnected with some families I hadn't seen much of since the pre-rentrée open house, and had a chance to talk with some closer friends while the kids occupied themselves.

Now for the debacle: My husband does not enjoy crowds, and after Lincoln's playground accident earlier in the week, he was really nervous about all the running around on concrete. So by 8:00 he was more than ready to leave, while the kids and I were having fun. I relented by about 8:30 and we walked toward the bus stop. The electronic sign said our B bus would be there in 8 minutes, but flashed "Pert" occasionally. When a C bus came - one that stops very near our house, but not as near as the B line - we let it go by since the B would be along so soon.

Then we realized that "Pert" stands for "Perturbation," or disturbance, and the B bus wasn't coming at all.

So it was 9:00, an hour past bedtime, and we were stuck at a bus stop with two exhausted kids, one crabby husband, and a certain blogger who had had about enough of the lot of them. I managed to call us a taxi and we took a ten minute ride with no car seats for the kids, punctuated by whines and gripes from the kid who didn't get a window, the one whose seatbelt hurts, etc etc etc. When we finally got home I fairly held the kids down to brush their teeth, then tossed them in bed and huffed and puffed myself into a restless sleep.

Luckily for everyone, Saturday was all about delicious food! I can't wait to tell you about it.

Tuesday/Thursday

Another busy week has come and nearly gone. It's Friday morning at 10:50 and I have ten minutes before I need to leave for the bus to pick up four kids this time - two other expat parents of four-year-olds and I have begun switching off Friday afternoon play dates, so that we each get a break, and today is my turn with the little turkeys. Sylvia is beside herself with excitement and I am delighted that a) Josh can take Lincoln back to school after lunch, therefore saving me two extra bus trips with four kids, and b) the weather is beautiful so we can spend some of our time at the park. 

This morning I've taken the kids to school, visited two grocery stores to find ingredients for the Buffet d'Automne at the school tonight - it's an annual affair wherein each family brings three national dishes to share: one for adults, one for kids, and a dessert. I'm making pulled BBQ chicken for the adults, cheese quesadillas for the kids (I've been to Mexico a couple times, and cheddar inside a flour wrap is decidedly American), and brownies. Then I came home and got the chicken cooking, prepped some simple lunch stuff for the kiddos, ran up to the Chamalieres butcher shop to pick up a pork shoulder roast I ordered yesterday, and had a fast cup of English Breakfast tea that Josh brought back from London this week. 

Whew! 10:55 now, just a few minutes left!

Here are a couple snapshots of our week so far. First up, check out the bathrooms at the "maternelle" section of the school, which houses kids age 3 (sometimes older 2s) to 6 (end of Kindergarten, known here as Grande Section). Sylvia finds it hilarious, thankfully - a shyer child might be a bit uncomfortable! There's no segregation by gender, and parents and teachers are often in there alongside the kids - helping them, not using the toilets ourselves, haha!

 You may notice that in all of the pictures at school, or on our way there, Sylvie's hair is pulled back. Lice are a big problem at Massillon every year. Known here as "Les Poux" (lay poo), they start up in September and remain until school lets out in June. So every morning we attempt pigtails or a ponytail, then spray both kids' hair with a preventative essential oil blend from the local parapharmacie. So far so good.

Not so good, however, is my attempt at French braids! To be fair, this was my first time trying and I had about two minutes before we needed to leave for the bus. They didn't last the afternoon - Sylvia has started attending school in the afternoon on Thursdays only, during which she has an hour of English class - but she was so patient and loved having them in for a bit! We have some more practicing to do. 

Unfortunately we had a bit of a bad day on Tuesday, the day I took the bathroom picture. It was Lincoln's first day staying for cantine, at my insistence. A lot of the expat kids stay Tuesday or Tues/Thursday for lunch, and he's ready for more independence at school. Plus, the menu is incredible - tuna and tomato tart to begin, then a fish fillet, fries, and green beans for lunch with yogurt and cake afterward. There's always milk, juice, water, and French bread available as well. He was nervous, but excited to eat with his friends. I got a text around lunchtime from a friend - Lincoln had fallen on the concrete courtyard before eating, but she was there collecting her younger child and patched him up with a bandaid. Sylvia and I came home and had a leisurely lunch, basking in the four hours between bus rides. 

But then I got a call from the school. Entirely in French, Lincoln's teacher told me that he'd fallen and been hurt, hit his head. My French comprehension is still fairly abysmal, so I could not tell whether she was telling me he was badly injured or just had a bonk! I was upset, naturally, and managed to ask if it was serious or not - non non, she assured me, ce n'est pas grave. Finally she gave up trying to communicate with me and promised to have another teacher call me back in English. 

Mrs. Seymour called and suggested I pick him up - he wasn't badly hurt, but a bit dazed from the concrete/face collision. And this is how he looked when I arrived. 

 My poor buddy, on his first full day! He'd been playing when another kid grabbed the back of his clothes and started swinging him around in circles, not stopping when Lincoln said "Stop!" and "Arrêt" repeatedly. When he did let go, Lincoln went down face first, bruising both knees in the process. He had a well-deserved afternoon of movies and cuddles, and Josh and I set a meeting to talk with the primary school director - they're looking into it, and promised to keep a closer eye on the physical play at - as some of the other expats call it - the Shawshank playground.

Thursday, needless to say, everyone came home for lunch! I grabbed some sandwiches and tarts from Maison Vacher (our bakery) and a little barquette of carrot salad at the butcher shop. It was a beautiful day, Sylvia's first afternoon with no tears at school, and Lincoln is already excited for cantine next Tuesday. Allons-y!

School

I never thought I'd be sending my kids to a Catholic school! But once we learned that expatriating with Michelin was likely, we heard about Massillon, the private Catholic school in Clermont-Ferrand that most expats attend. It contains EBI, Ecole Bilinguale Internationale, which teaches English separately to native speakers and as a foreign language. The school also offers French as a foreign language for first-year arrivals. Most speak English as a first language, but there are also Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Japanese, Mandarin, and other languages represented. Lots of local kids attend the school for the Catholic education or for the English. And the catechism classes are optional - our kids will take a global religions class instead, once they're a little older.

SO. School starts later here, early September, and the structure is really different. School is in session for six weeks, then out for vacation. A typical week looks like this for the Maternelle (ages 3-5) and Primaire (ages 6-10) students:

Monday and Tuesday: Classes 8:30-11:30, two hours for lunch, classes 1:30-4:30.
Wednesday: ages 3-6 (end of first grade) are off. Ages 7-10 have class 9:00-11:00 a.m. only. Most kids do a sport.
Thursday and Friday: same as Monday and Tuesday.

French kids don't learn reading in school until first grade, age 6-7, called CP here. But Lincoln loves to read and was moving fast in his Montessori school in the U.S., so his reading was way above the first grade level in his English class here. So after two weeks of school, the directors (one French, one English) of the primary school asked us to agree to a trial advancement, placing him in Grade Two for English, and CE1 for French. We're on day 4 of that trial now, and it's going well. In fact, his FLE (French as a foreign language, or Français Langue Étrangère) teacher casually mentioned to me in a meeting this morning that "Of course he can already read in French, so that is helping quite a lot."

He can read in French?! The hell?

But he can, so after putting both kids through moving away from home and friends and grandparents, learning a new language, starting a new school with lots of kids with whom they can't communicate at all, and adapting to a COMPLETELY different educational environment - one in which the teachers are rumored to yell at the kids and call them stupid, although we haven't had any personal experience with that - we've now also asked Lincoln to start that adjustment process all over again with older kids, no Americans in his French class whatsoever, more school on Wednesdays, and being the youngest kid in the class. This was not an easy decision. But he's so big for his age, and much more studious and calm than many of the elementary school children we know, so his age doesn't stand out like it would for a smaller or more energetic six-year-old. And I really think a full year of studying spelling words he already knows and reading books he could read last year would have been devastating to his overall love of school. Still, we have over a week left in the trial/observation period, so we'll see how it goes.

Over to Sylvia! She's in the equivalent of a K4 class, called Moyenne here. It's much gentler for the "maternelle" kids - no FLE class, English only one hour per week, and for the first few months she's only attending school in the mornings. It's exhausting learning a new language under any circumstances, and since she can't read she's learning it all by listening and absorbing. I can say from personal experience that listening and speaking in a language you don't really know yet is incredibly taxing, so I'm glad she has the afternoons off. Except for Thursdays, because she needs to be there for English class. She had a really tough transition the first couple weeks and cried every morning at drop off. But this week she's come into her own, putting her "cartable" (backpack) on the shelf herself, dropping her snack bag and notebook into the right bin, and walking into class without fear. I give it two more weeks before she's speaking French with some regularity, at least to her teacher. Of course by then it'll be vacation time, after which we start all over again. For now it's really sweet hearing her occasionally drop a French word into conversation with her brother or me:

"What does "qu'est-ce que c'est" mean? My teacher says it every day!"

All of which brings me to my schedule. We live in a beautiful apartment that is within walking distance of the center of Clermont, but far enough out that it's quiet and calm, and most of the noise of the city and the university students is too far to bother us at night. The place is gorgeous and roomy and a stone's throw from a quaint and practical little town square with a small supermarket, two bakeries, a butcher, three or four cheese shops, fishmongers...it's perfect. There are two city bus stops within five minutes' walk of home. But unfortunately we're a half hour walk from the school, which is too far for the kids, so we must take the bus. It winds up being about 30 minutes anyway once we've waited for the bus, ridden four stops, and then walked a few more blocks to the school entrance. I love how much we walk here, and I can feel the benefits in my own health. But because the kids aren't ready to eat at the "cantine" at school yet, I spend FOUR HOURS per day commuting. Half an hour each way to and from the school at 8:30, 11:30, 1:30, and 4:30, four days per week. Of course some days I take the kids out to lunch, or spend one of those 'off' periods in between shopping or something near the school, but it's an inordinate amount of time nonetheless.

I'm tired. The plan was for Lincoln to start eating at the cantine one or two day a week starting about now, but he doesn't want to yet and I don't want to pile one more stressor onto him when he's just started CE1. Lunch at school for the older kids means at least an hour of running around wild with all the other primary kids, in a concrete courtyard - that's "recess" here - and then eating whatever's on the menu when your class is called. Brown bag lunches are strictly forbidden, so some days it'll be a burger and green beans and yogurt, and other days it's squid provençal with bleu cheese after! I think Lincoln would actually love the food, but the extra 'recess' time is intimidating for now. Sylvia's not allowed to eat at cantine until she can speak French. So. I'm tired, and of course Josh hasn't been able to do any of the school runs yet because of his leg. Just this morning he was able to bring them for the first time, so there's an end in sight! Oh, and yes - I could drive. But there is no designated parking for the school, the streets are half the width of those in the U.S., and traffic is heavy in the mornings. It wouldn't wind up saving much time in the long run, and the stress of dealing with parking isn't worth it.

There you have it: French school so far! The kids get a little anxious when I drop them off, but in the afternoons and evenings they're always happy to have been at school. I'm sure I've missed lots of the funny differences, so ask away if there's something you've wondered about! I'll answer questions in either language - may be Lincoln can read the French ones to me.

Road trip!

I am typing this on a French keyboard, which means that every fifth letter I write is wrong. Z is where A should be, M is under my right pinky finger, and for some reason I have to use the shift key in order to make a period. The shift key is also in the wrong place, of course, along with the comma. Thank goodness for autocorrect! Oh, and Google France will not unhide password characters on the login page, so it took be about an hour, 8 verification codes, and a LOT of swearing to get logged in on my Airbnb host's computer.

All of this is a fitting introduction to today's story about our first roadtrip in France! Somehow Mr. Sullins and I, despite having three undergraduate and one Master's between us, neglected to select "with tolls" on our car's GPS system before striking out. And, being totally dependent on GPS to get around, our 3 1/2 hour drive to Annecy by way of Lyon turned out to be a 6 1/2 hour drive to Annecy by way of Nowhere l'Est! See for yourself:

 Yeah. Whoops. We sure saved money on tolls though!

So, thanks to our foolishness, we found ourselves in a tiny town called Le Donjon for lunch. With no cell signal and therefore no reviews or directions to be found, we stopped at the first place that said "restaurant" and had people inside. Given that it's summer vacation time, we were lucky to find a place at all! So we parked the car, walked in and took a seat. An older man approached us, looking perplexed, and when I saw his face, I realized that all the patrons looked perplexed, too. So I said:

"Bonjour! Nous voudrions avoir le déjeuner; s'il vous plaît. Avez-vous une carte?" which means roughly that we want to eat lunch; do you have a menu? And it was then that I noticed that the puzzled patrons were all smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, and staring at us - not eating. Our friend the proprietor said as much, and I choked out enough broken French to ask for a recommendation. Fortunately he was very kind and directed us to a restaurant across the street. "Une bonne cuisine," he promised, "et pas cher."

So with the promise of good food, not too expensive, we walked across the street and found another bar, but this time the old man in the front gently guided us through what appeared to be his family's dining room and into the restaurant.

 At last, lunch! The owner/hostess/server/proprietor greeted us all individually with a "Bonjour!" and a handshake, even for the children, who obliged cautiously. As soon as we were seated I asked for the restroom and followed both kids up a tiny spiral staircase to les toilettes - well, la toilette, anyway. It was a single toilet in a tiny room, with no sink but a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall. We all did our business and then coated our hands in sanitizer WHICH WAS ACTUALLY SOAP. With no sink. If you've never had to spit in your children's hands and then wipe them down with toilet paper, I don't recommend it. And yet the best was yet to come.

You see, when the three of us walked out of the door to return to our seats, we heard a shout. And there to our left was the old man from the front of the shop, yelling for his wife at the top of the stairs in his underwear. Not even boxers; full skivvies in Navy blue. Quite a start to the meal! And of course he said bonjour as we walked swiftly by.

Meanwhile in the dining room, Josh was enjoying the decor.

 Une boisson pour le bébé?

The menu was, as always in family-run restaurants in France, small and mostly local. The children were served a small salad with local ham for their appetizers, and Josh chose charcuterie while I opted for a filet of herring. Ordering was an adventure - in the presence of the owner, I asked Josh (in English) if he was going to have steak and he said he would. Evidently, Madame understood enough English to consider that his order and left the table, with us assuming that not only was she not going to feed him, but that she'd asked me how rare I wanted my duck! It all worked out in the end, though, and the food was delicious.

Filet of herring that wound up coming on a salad; with a delicious potato and bread on the side. 

Beautiful antique furniture is par for the course. 

 After the entrees (which is what appetizers are called here), came our main dishes. The kids had "steak haché," which is ubiquitous on kids' menus here and is basically a burger patty. As usual, Lincoln chose fries while Sylvia opted for noodles - once we saw on a neighboring table's plates that pasta was an option! After a long, circuitous, frustrating morning of driving, we all felt much better with some home-cooked food in our bellies and were relieved when Josh got a main course after all. We felt so good, in fact, that we got a little goofy.

 Again, as is the custom here, everyone had dessert. The kids were served creme caramel which both of them loved. Sylvia showed off the superpower of not finishing all of a dessert even though she likes it - whose child is she, anyway?

 I had îles flottante again, just like at Le Kitchen in Clermont. It was delicious, but I prefer the version from home*.

 And Josh ordered le fromage - the cheese - instead of sweets. It's a huge disappointment to realize that I forgot to take a photo! Because instead of bringing him a personal selection of cheese on a plate, they brought an enormous, cutting board with seven or eight large chunks of local cheeses. Some hard, some soft, bleus and whites and creamy ivory ones. He had to wait until the couple across from us finished their fromage before it could be brought to him. It was wonderful - and Lincoln, our adventurous eater, found three new French cheeses that he loved. If only we knew their names!

After lunch we used the restroom one more time and were disappointed to miss out on the naked old man show, haha! I fired up The Incredibles on the car DVD player that we save for emergencies (thanks, Ashley!) and we finally fixed the GPS and slowly made our way to the highway. Annecy is a lake city in the foothills of the French Alps, so the drive was punctuated by long, impressive tunnels followed by breathtaking vistas at the ends. I was driving, so I don't have pictures, but I was in awe. We arrived at our three bedroom vacation rental in the heart of town without problems and set about planning our next few days. Part of me wishes that we'd gotten the directions right, but for the most part I'm glad for the adventure of it all. I still have to keep pinching myself to be sure this is all real.

*Home. Talk about a relative term.

L'Anniversaire de Sylvia

I had been dreading Sylvia's birthday, ever since we learned we were going to expatriate in the month of July. Her August birthday was, ahem, planned for - with the rest of us born in January AND a February anniversary, neither Josh nor I wanted yet another party to plan in the winter months. But that meant last year that her special day was the second day of preschool, too chaotic a time to plan much of a celebration. And this year it meant we would have just left all of her friends behind, the first year that she was old enough to really want them around to celebrate. All spring and summer long she asked for a My Little Pony party with Gracyn, Shireen, Morgan, Niko, and her other friends from school and our Simpsonville neighborhood. She would ask Nana and Pappy whether they were coming. And the pit in my stomach would get a little pittier.

But there was nothing to be done about it, so as we settled into our French apartment and August crept closer, I planned a little gathering in the park.  Some of our new expat friends were traveling in August, but many were still around. Thanks to a happy accident, we wandered into a party supply store that had My Little Pony invitations - Sylvie was overjoyed! And a local chain store had all of the baking supplies I was missing; the cookie sheets and cooling racks and spatulas that didn't make it into our shipping container. The birthday girl chose a chocolate cake with chocolate frosting and strawberry filling, and together we found all the ingredients we needed to pull it off. 

When the weather forecast showed rain and cold for the morning of the big day, I looked around at our enormous flat and decided to hold it here instead of the park. This place just begs to be filled with people, coffee or wine in hand and kids off making mischief in a bedroom. So we obliged.

It was beautiful outside when the day actually came, of course. Birthday girl with friends in our little courtyard.

So nice to see our big window framing happy friends!

And here they are from the inside.

When the day finally arrived, we had nearly 20 guests, many of whom we'd never met before. The expat community here, like most, is friendly and kind and happy for an excuse to gather in the slow summertime.

We made short work of the cake!

Naturally, the kids instantly found every toy that has 1,000 tiny pieces and strew them about the bedroom floors. There wasn't a single fight or tussle, just English-speaking kids of all ages, from at least three countries, playing together.

Sylvia's room

And then there was the piñata! She's been asking for that for a long time too, and luckily the unicorn she picked out has ribbons to pull - no swinging a bat inside our home! Mr. Sullins held it aloft and all the kids, ages 2-11, grabbed a ribbon to pull. With My Little Pony treat bags in hand.

I love this picture of Josh!

We had a small technical difficulty when the ribbons failed to break the thing open, though!

 Luckily there were no injuries, and with a little adult help, the treats were freed. This is a nice way of saying that I ripped a unicorn in half in a room full of children.

Birthday girl and friends, in the thick of the hunt!

 Here was where we ran into the one problem of the day. For all her piñata enthusiasm, Sylvia had never actually seen one in action before. So when the candy and toys came falling out, she started carefully looking through them to choose the ones she wanted most. Of course, the other, more experienced kids were (politely and appropriately!) grabbing treats by the handfuls - so when the floor was clear, the birthday girl had an empty treat bag and started to cry.

And that was probably the sweetest moment of the entire party. All of the kids, even the youngest ones, saw her crying and brought her treats from their own collections. The Kinder Buenos, mini chupachups, and plastic rings were a hit, and everyone wound up happy.

It was such a sweet, busy, fun party that I forgot all about my anxiety earlier in the year. Friends who have been here longest taught us the birthday song in French, new friends who'd just arrived came and were introduced around, and a bunch of us semi-newbies grilled the expat veterans about school supplies, first day schedules, and how to operate French appliances. Everyone left before lunchtime (morning party means no conflicts with nap times), and Sylvia declared it "her best France birthday!" And that was even before we started opening Legos, puppets, art supplies, and other thoughtful gifts late that afternoon. I needed another coffee for that process.

I'm so lucky to be Sylvia's mom. I am so proud of this brave, sweet, brilliant, hilarious four year old kid who can just roll with a thousand big and little changes. I can't wait to see what the next four years will bring.

This week's meal plan

In an attempt to stick with meal planning and sensible eating, and to return to blogging, I've decided to publish this week's meal plan and give you updates during the week. Please comment on this format and let me know what you'd like to see!

Following the typical holiday indulgences and a renewed focus on sensible budgeting, Josh and I are eating differently these days. More vegetarian meals are in the plan (to help with weight loss and savings), but simple carbs and processed foods are out. This includes bacon, which is a loss we mourn. Here's the plan for this week:

Sunday: Pork Tenderloin a la Mexicana, from Rick Bayless' "Mexican Everyday." This is my #1 go-to cookbook, and this recipe finds pork tenderloin cut into chunks and sauteed with roasted poblano strips (which I've got in the freezer) and canned tomatoes. Serving with garlicky green beans in the skillet.

Monday: Cilantro chicken salads with guacamole, also from Mexican Everyday. Yum!

Tuesday: Braised and Glazed Butternut Squash with pesto, from Mark Bittman's "How to Cook Everything Vegetarian." Here's my go-to cookbook for vegetarian inspiration, as well as for condiment recipes. I love his hummus and homemade ketchups, but this recipe will be a new one for us. Cubed squash is browned in a skillet, braised in broth, then glazed in the pan. I'll toss in a half cup of homemade walnut pesto, also from the freezer, during the glazing stage. Serving with roasted zucchini.

Wednesday: Braised Kale with Black Beans and Tomatoes, from food.com. We made this on a whim last week and loved it! Trim, tear, and wash your kale during a quiet daytime moment and keep it in the fridge in a mesh bag, and this recipe is a breeze. Serving over a cauliflower and celeriac puree - that last part is new, but celeriac was on sale at the farmer's market, so why not?

Thursday: Pea and Tofu Curry with parsnips, from Bittman's Vegetarian again. This is a total whim, and I'll use curry paste instead of powder. Wish me luck. One-pot meal, although I'd add rice if we weren't off carbs.

Friday: Crock-pot chili, a recipe I'll likely make up on the spot, with grass-fed beef from the grocery store and home-cooked beans. Yum.

Saturday: Fresh from the farmer's market again, we'll make the usual rosemary-roasted pork shoulder and rosemary-roasted potatoes, with a vegetable to be determined by what's fresh and gorgeous. This pork recipe is a winner if there are grapes at the store, but a lot will depend on what Joe and Maggie feel like eating.

So that's week one! I'll publish some more updates as we go, and please let me know if you start following along!

Heads up!

I can't believe it. My son is more than two months old now, and everything has changed.Wait, what? Let's try that again.There we go. Look at that! Lincoln has gotten so strong in the past few weeks. He's holding his head up 90 degrees during tummy time now, seeing toys, and babbling like crazy. And one day this week, he did something incredible.
MY BABY CAN ROLL OVER. It was a revelation! It's, like, the first thing he's ever done! He just leads with that big head of his, kicks a leg a bit, and over he goes! Clearly he is gifted.

And speaking of BIG. Lincoln had his two month pediatrician appointment last week, and of course he impressed everyone. He is quite literally off the growth charts, at 100% for weight and height and 95% for head circumference. At first the doc's eyes bugged out a bit, but once he examined him he declared Lincoln to be just perfect. "Keep doing what you're doing," he told me, which was lucky because I don't know what else we could do!

And then came The Shots. As far as I'm concerned there is no question about vaccinating infants and children: herd immunity doesn't protect a kid when their classmate's parents bring mumps back from an overseas vacation, and there is absolutely no evidence that vaccines cause neurological problems other than in extremely rare cases or when a fever gets out of control. So at the end of Lincoln's appointment two nurses came in, asked me to look in his eyes and hold his arms, and at once they each plunged a needle into one of his thighs.

And he SCREAMED. He stared into my eyes, beet red, shocked, and in pain, and screamed like I'd never heard before. My heart broke for him and I understood why the nurses bolted from the room, because I wasn't feeling very friendly toward them at that point. Fortunately it was only a few minutes before Lincoln was calm enough to leave, and he fell asleep in the car on the way home.

The evening was a blur. He was just fine when we got home, playful and happy. He never developed a fever, thank God, but by dinner time he was just distraught. I know now he was overstimulated, exhausted, and in a little pain at the injection sites, but at the time I was sure he was in terrible agony and would never recover. For the first time since the birth, I asked Josh to take care of Lincoln overnight while I slept alone in my room. I just couldn't take it! Even though he was sleeping peacefully long before I went to bed, the emotion of the day was just too much.

The next day, everybody woke up refreshed and recovered. (Lincoln and I at 6, Josh at 10:00. He deserved some extra rest). And since then he's been just awesome, sleeping in his crib now and smiling and cooing more every day. What a crazy ride these first two months have been! Thank goodness there will be more exciting milestones than there will be innoculations.

Generations

I must be the luckiest person on the planet. Or at least in the Northwest, at the moment - no, the planet. I've got a great husband, an incredible, miraculous baby, financial stability, good food, cute pets, and some of the best friends around. And then there is my family, who are generous, kind, supportive, enthusiastic, and brilliant, almost to a person. And this week we were lucky to have two of them come to town.On the left is my cousin Lizz, my mother's sister's daughter, who was born when I was 12 and was the first girl cousin who lived nearby. Thus I was her biggest fan then, and continue to be now that she's a thoughtful, accomplished young woman. In the middle is my dear Grammy Atwood, my mother's mother, who has been a fixture in my life since before my birth, I'm sure, and who continues to inspire me. They flew out from Maine midweek and it has been a joy having them both.Lincoln has never napped so well! Having a comfy Great-Grammy who'll help soothe him when his inevitable gas cramps take over is a gift beyond measure.

Lizz and Gram brought the blessed sun with them from Maine, it seems, so we tried to get out every day. On Wednesday I drove the lot of us to Fay Bainbridge State Park, which is a family favorite. The afternoon haze kept us from spotting Mt. Ranier, but we enjoyed the cool walk and views of the Cascades.

Lincoln slept peacefully in his Ergo baby carrier, and thank goodness he likes it. I'd be lost without the thing, which supports his weight safely on his legs and distributes it over my hips. Some carriers dangle the baby by his crotch and my shoulders, but this one rocks.
What a delight to walk and talk and enjoy the outdoors with adults whom I love and admire.

The rest of their five days here was taken up with walks downtown, communal naps in the living room, fresh local seafood and lots of priceless quality time among family. Josh took part in the fun and we all delighted in the weather and one another - and last night, the ladies watched the baby while Josh and I stole an hour for dinner out together. What a gift! I cannot wait to introduce him to the rest of the clan.

Seven weeks

Time goes so quickly! I mean, I am so, so glad to be past those first few weeks when everything was unknown, but I kind of can't believe how big and different Lincoln has become.

I'm not kidding about the big part, either. This little man has gained almost half his birth weight over again! Earlier this week, Lincoln had a little potty incident (read: peed all over his outfit) and the only spare PJs we had downstairs were six month size. Josh decided to go ahead and try them on, even though I was sure they'd be far too big. Guess what? In our family, six weeks = six months, apparently.

We have had a great couple of weeks. I'm feeling more capable and human every day, so we invited a few friends over last weekend. Their daughter is three, and she led Josh around the house by the hand, playing and talking up a storm while the rest of us played with the baby.
I'm really going to miss that outfit! It's a little too tight now, but it's just so adorable that I might try to stuff him into it one more time.
We are so lucky to have found great friends in all the places the Navy has taken us. This family (I don't want to use their names without permission) gave us a BUNCH of baby supplies from their stockpile, including a diaper bag and two big bins of cloth diapers! They showed us how to fold and use them this week, so I'm hoping to transition to cloth in the next couple weeks.

A few days later, Irish came over with her daughter. Madi is seven months old now, crawling and cooing and eating real food - and wearing the same size diapers as Lincoln. Yikes! She's also just the most beautiful baby you've ever seen. Besides Lincoln, of course.
Those cheeks! Those eyelashes!
Irish got in on the Lincoln cuddling action, and remarked how much smaller than Madi he seems - he's still got that little baby tendency to curl up and be all soft and sweet. When he's not screaming his fool head off, of course.

Irish and her family have handed down a LOT of great baby things to us too, and this visit was no exception. She brought along an A-frame play gym and some rings and toys to dangle from it - Lincoln is old enough to look at the toys and even bat at them now! And the best part is, it gave me an excuse to take more pictures in another cute outfit. The onesie and pants are NINE month size. Hoo boy. And that beautiful sweater was hand knitted for him by his great grandmother, my Grammy Meixell. I am so glad we'll be visiting them in Maine this spring.

Look at that eye contact! That toy has been a HUGE hit. The next day, Daddy got in on the action.
I didn't catch it with the camera, but he actually got his hand around Pooh Bear's leg at one point. Lincoln is a genius.

So it's his seven week birthday today, and our fella weight 14 pounds, 7.5 ounces. He's growing great, and his weight is actually evening out a little - no more two ounces per day, thank goodness. I'll post sometime soon about what he's eating, since just like the birth, it hasn't gone the way we imagined. In the meantime Josh is off to bring home the bacon, and I'm off to marvel at Lincoln's impressive motor skills. Who's up for a visit?