Attention

Dear Person Who Linked To My Blog Today From A Mary Kleyweg Google Search,

S'up?

Yours Truly,

The Person Who Still Talks About The Great Disappearing Therapist Incident of 1994

No, really, I swear

The boys are back in school and I really am going to get back to regular blogging.

I'm one of those people who functions much better with routine. And school is nothing if not rountinier. Well, rountinière actually.

Anyway.

And the bride wore red shoes

I helped cater a wedding this weekend. It was long and hot and tedious at times. I scooped the flesh out of 200 tomatoes and julienned zucchini for hours but it all turned out well and everyone seemed happy.

I only got to a see a few minutes of the ceremony and I apparently missed the dramatic moments - late Parisien guests honking as the rode up to the chateau drive and saw that, duh, the ceremony hadn't waited for them. And someone's granny tripping over ribbons and ending up in the grass (she's fine).

But I did get to see the arrival of the bride. And she was wearing beautiful red shoes.

ohmanohmanohmanohmanohman

I am in the biggest funk ever. Not like depressed funk, just can't get anything done funk. Certainly not creative or inspired enough to blog funk.

In other news, I heard a new expression recently. Il a un hérisson dans la poche. As in 'he has a hedgehog in his pocket.' As in when he reaches in to get out some cash, he gets pricked by one of the little hedgehog prickly things and yanks his hand right back out. As in he's, well, I don't know, what do we say for that? Tight with money. Less creative but it'll work.

Just ignore me.

Kid stuff

Husband and I took the kids to a horrible amusement park thing place. It was really awful. It was hot and dirty and crowded and the lines were long and the food was disgusting and most of the attractions looked unsafe to me. But anyway, we got a little lost on the way there. There being about 90 minutes north of Laval. We were driving around a village looking for signs and we finally found a little grocery store that was open (it was sunday so nothing else was). So I hopped out of the car and went to ask the grocer woman for directions. There were no parking places on that block so Husband kept driving. Boy2 yelled, "No Papa, you can't leave Mama here! I need her."

A few franco-americano things

1. The US government is planning on making visas obligatory for all European travellers, tourists and business poeople alike. Husband's very pleased about that one.

2. It goes without saying, of course, that if they go ahead with that plan, some European governmental body will then make visas obligatory for all American travellers.

3. Isn't this fun?

A few things

1. Husband and I have been invited to a wedding by a count and a countess. Never really thought that would happen.

2. I had a coffee in a castle today. Ditto.

3. Leftover buttercream frosting should be immediately frozen or it should be discarded. It should not be left in the refrigerator. Because I have discovered that everything is better frosted. Butter cookies. Slices of cake that were already frosted. Spoons. My index finger. I know no moderation.

4. My work schedule is a mess for this year. Wish me luck with the whole working mother cooking housecleaning determining life's purpose thing.

Cake anyone?

So, while I was in the States, I bought a Martha Stewart cake decorating kit at K-Mart.
In an effort to nip any bickering in the bud, I also made small cakes for the boys to have fun with.

This one is Boy2's. He was going for a maximum amount of frosting in a minimum amount of space.



And this one is Boy1's. He was going for art. As usual.

The cake's actually a vegan recipe, thanks to Boy2's really fun egg allergy. Oh gosh, I've come full circle and I didn't even want to. And the frosting is the recipe from the Magnolia Bakery. Very tasty. And not vegan, it's buttercream. Buttercream should never be vegan. Although I did have to search for hours to find one without eggs. Did you know most buttercream recipes have eggs, or meringue powder. Like I can get that here. And even if I could, I bet it has eggs in it too.

Laval in August

Well, not much is open. At least not until after the 15th or 21st. All the bakeries in the neighborhood are closed. As well as the butcher shops, magazine shops, and even some cafés.

However, my favorite salon de thé/café, La Maison Renaise, is open. All summer long. Which is so nice. And the owner, Laurent, a most charming man, even makes iced coffee drinks.

And, my good luck doesn't stop there. Remember Ze World? That new place opening up that I made fun of because of that ridiculous name? (And I still stand by that.) Anyway, it opened while we were away. And today, while on our penny walk, the kids and I stopped in to have a look. And we were all very pleased with what we saw. Café and wine bar. One stop consuming for me. It's big and very chic for Laval and a 3 minute walk from my house. On the way to my favorite bakery. How cool is that?

And in case you're wondering, a penny walk is when you let the penny decide where you go. It's vacation, we amuse ourselves however we can.

Happy Birthday Mom!

A dear friend asked for impressions about my homeland. I'll start off with the most important items.

1. The coffee there doesn't make me as jittery as the coffee here. Strange.

2. The kit-kats are better here than in the US. More chocolaty and less sugary.

3. Being uninsured in the US sucks.

4. I'd be really fat if I lived in the US.

I know this is a lot to take in at once. I'll try to make tomorrow's post a little less profound.

Really back home

We got back to Laval yesterday. And it's very nice to be home. In our home. Although I could use a friend like Lorraine to help me get it back (was it ever really?) in order.

August is always a strange month for me. It's summer, I know, but I'm all about fall and winter so I just sort of muddle through these hot months. And honestly, the new year starts for me in September, not January. Too many years of school, I suppose.

It's strange and not to be back here after being over there. And it was strange and not being over there after being over here. For ten years.

Like all of us, I am a stranger and not both here and there.

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?"