Honey, I'm home

Well, we're back.

And I drugged up on the flight back so I didn't even need to use a 'motion discomfort' bag.

I found a wallet on the first flight, big and fat and full of cash and cards and I of course gave it immediately to a flight attendant and hoped that the poor soul who left it would have the time to realize he had lost it before getting on another plane.

I didn't find much on the other flight, including sleep.

For future reference

A list of things not to do on vacation.

Throw up on the plane. (Me)

Get strep throat. (Husband)

Give strep throat to sister-in-law. (Husband again)

Get an ear infection. (Boy1)

Pick at cuticle on thumb until pussiness and swelling and pain take over. (Boy2)

Gain 6 pounds. (Me again)

Something's wrong

This tale also begins in France. One Christmas while visiting, my mother became ill. She had bronchitis and some other itis. I took her to see our family doctor. She paid 21 Euros for the office visit and 15 Euros for the prescribed medications - antibiotics and various symptom-relieving potions.

Now, a similar tale in Missouri.

Husband has come down with strep throat. (I know. Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it.)

We waited 2 hours this morning at a walk-in clinic. We were seen by a charming Nurse Practitioner, who confirmed the strep (but nicely suggested we decline the $40 strep test) and prescribed meds. We were charged $150 for the office visit with said practitioning person. And we paid $27 for the meds at Walmart.

Like I said.

Mes bijoux

I had a dream last night. I was living in a time where it was necessary to sew my family jewels into the fabric of my cloak while crossing into a foreign land. When I arrived at my destination, alone and weary, I took comfort in the fact that I had my jewels to help me start again. When I ripped the seams, I found only stones. River stones.

I had carried those jewels so far and they had felt so heavy, but worth their weight. You can imagine my deception.

So here's my question: Which river stone have you been carrying around convinced it was a diamond?

Nothing to say

No, really.

Several things are preventing me from blogging more. Change in routine, this ridiculous keyboard problem, and just generally not having anything interesting to say.

I usually live in a second language but right now I'm mostly living in my first language. So the blog title isn't inspiring me either.

I could talk about how great it is to see everyone. My family, of course, who brush off my antics and seem to love me anyway. My friends, some of whom I haven't seen for years and years but who still really seem like friends. And this place. This place where I grew up that is happiness and sadness and indifference all at once.

But all of that is obvious.

Too much of a good thing

This tale begins in France.


Just a few days before we left, we were invited to to a birthday lunch at a nice spot along the river. The food was traditional French and should've, could've been lovely. A nice cured duck breast salad to start, followed by duck confit and roasted potatoes. But the chef went absolutely crazy - and I'm not exaggerating - with the fresh herbs. S/he snipped and sprinkled them everywhere. On the plate rim, on the salad, on the duck, on the potatoes, on the camembert that followed. It was, as my niece would say, random. And while I consider fresh herbs to almost always be a plus, this was way over the top.

And sadly, so am I apparently. I've been banned from all drug and health food stores until we get back to France. Husband finds my kid-in-a-candy-shop frenzied shopping sprees in those places scary.

So here's my question: when are you over the top?

Several things.

1. The title box isn't working.

2. Flying sucks. In every possible way. It's an inhuman way to travel but everyone around me pretended like it wasn't. The 'motion discomfort' bags I filled tell another truth.

3. The Amercian keyboard is a more logical system. No one should have to shift to type a period. But my fingers have now completely forgotten said system. So it's taken me 20 minutes to type these few lines.

4. My country and friends and family have managed to go on living without me. Which is as it should be.

5. I feel like a foreigner here too. The short in coffee shops has become child's size and the tall is the new short. Has anything escaped supersizing?

Who woudda thought?

A.k.a. more allergy news.

I looked at two back (and favorite) special issues of Martha with a pad of pink mini post-its in my hand.

Each time I found a recipe without eggs in it, I put a post it on the edge of page.

Voilà! Lots of pink.

I now have 15 eggless Martha cookie recipes.

Things are looking up.

And I'll be blogging from the fine state of Illinois tomorrow.

Adjusting to the egg allergy

Boy1 has been very good about dealing with the new allergy information.

I made crêpes the day after we found out. Not because I'm cruel but because I had made the batter before I knew. I was just going to let him have one last crêpe. But he said, "That's ok, I'll just have bread with nutella instead." How go-with-the-flow is that?

So tonight, at bedtime, he told me we should buy a kitty. I said no, because 3 out of the 4 of us are allergic to cats.

He smiled sadly and said, "Oh. Kitties have eggs in them too?"