Yannick Noah vs. the "f" word...

It's hard to turn on the radio at the moment without hearing the newest song by France's most popular celebrity, Yannick Noah. "Hello", his duet with Asa, is the newest release from his album, Frontières. As I find myself singing along to the catchy, sentimenally PoPpy chorus, I'm once again struck by what it means to be a mother.

Is is just me or are there alot of songs on the radio at the moment that have the 'f' word somewhere in the title or lyrics? In France, nothing is censored, so instead of the more child-friendly version of Enrique Iglesias' "Tonight I'm lovin' you", we get the "Tonight I'm f@#$in' you" version. Pink weighs in with her "F"ing Perfect", and Cee-Lo Green says "F you" here in France, not "Forget You". I'm pretty sure these songs are censored or bleeped in the States, aren't they?

Anyway, the little ladies sing happily along whenever these songs come on the radio, blissfully unaware (hopefully) of what they are actually singing. Don't get me wrong, I've been known to use the "f" word in all of its glorious permutations on occasion(s). However, I come from an era where songs like George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" and Madonna's "Like a Virgin" were banned or censored by most radio stations and where the only way you could hear Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Relax" was to go out and by the album. God, am I old or what?

So although Yannick's new song may seem a little cheesy and not something I would normally have on my personal playlist, the mother in me finds it refreshing. In a world where, thanks to Rhianna, my kids think the saying goes 'sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me', a little light pop can't really do too much damage, can it?

Blog post number 200...

The really interesting post where I tell you that we've been busy working, sunning ourselves and just generally running around chaotically with the girls' activities. No matter if you live in a suburb in America, central London or a small village in the Languedoc, if you have kids, they tend to want to 'do' things, which means as parents you are expected to deliver them to these things at the appointed hour. (And when it gets close to the end of year shows, there seem to be alot more of these appointed hours.)

The girls both have dance recitals coming up, an exhibition for the oldest little lady's atelier mosaique, school trips and picnics and the end of the year kermesse (carnival) needs planning, and somewhere in between I'm meant to be working.

I had a mad, ridiculous night the other night where I allowed my mind to wonder what it would be like with three children. I'd obviously been hitting the sauce a little too hard, or had temporarily lost my marbles, but luckily when I woke up the next morning the insanity had passed.

I was hoping my 200th post would be something profound and insightful, or maybe just terribly witty, but then I thought I might as well just carry on in my usual fashion... ;-)

Little something for the weekend...

It's raining again, must be Sunday. Looks like we'll be doing mostly brunch, laundry, puzzles and homework today, then.

I did manage to get the cabin-fevered girls out yesterday, though. We discovered a new children's theme park/play park that's just opened up outside of Béziers, Captain Frimousse. The difference between this one and all the other children themed places around here is that this one is inside, a concept that up until now has seemed slightly alien to the southern French. Plenty to do when the sun is shining, but not so much for a rainy day. I know the States and the UK are full of places like this, but you don't see too many down here in our neck of the woods.

This new place is in a converted wine domaine hangar and has trampolines, a luge slide, massive McDonalds-style play stuctures, giant legos, a dance floor and a motorized car track. Costs 8.50 euros to get in, parents are free, and you can buy drinks and snacks, too. I managed to stay 2 hours without the kids getting even remotely bored, so I'm thinking that since it's cheaper than a movie and it's open on Sundays and all bank and school holidays, we might just have found somewhere to go when it's not fine enough to go to the beach. It's nice to have some options.

Here's some more Sunday music for you. Number one on the charts this week, Magic System with Même Pas Fatigué.

Putting baby in a corner...

The following note was pasted into both my little ladies' cahiers de liasion (the notebook used to communicate between the teachers and the parents) yesterday at school:

Madame, Monsieur,
Un enseignant a été agressé verbalement par un parent dans l'enceinte de l'école. Cette attitude inadmissible face à un fonctionnaire attaché à son école et à sa mission de service public est fermement condamnée par l'ensemble de l'équipe éducative.
Nous soutenons notre collègue et nous rappelons que toute agression verbale ou physique est punie par la loi.

Basically, it says that a teacher was verbally abused by one of the parents at the school, and they are reminding us that this sort of behaviour, verbal or physical abuse, it punishable by law.

As it was the Duke that picked the ladies up from school, I didn't have a chance to hear from the other mothers outside the school gates what the story was. I don't know which teacher it was, nor which parent. But oh la la, what a village drama it must be.

I'm pretty new at this 'mother of school age children' thing, and I'm sure there may come a time when something happens at school that may propel me to have words with the teacher. (Actually, the littlest lady's teacher did accidentally slam her little fingers in the door the other day, resulting in purple fingers and the certainty of a loss of fingernails, but still, accidents happen....)

However, I just can't imagine feeling heated enough to verbally attack one of the teachers. I'm desperately trying to imagine a hypothetical example. Had the teacher punished the child in some way (unjustly in the eyes of the parent)? Was the child given a bad grade? Did the teacher step over the line with a 'Yo mama...' joke? Did the teacher not pay little kevy wevy enough attention?

I'm sure I'll get the full details tomorrow at dance class; lord knows it must be all everyone around here is talking about.

For an expat living in France, I know that the education system here is considered a little more strict than in the US or England. I've heard stories from English parents who say they don't approve of the discipline or consequential punishment that is dealt out to kids who don't behave in class.

Maybe it's the hard-ass in me, or maybe it's because I was once a teacher, but I think one of the problems with English and American educational institutions these days is that there isn't enough discipline. Respect for authority and your elders seems to have gotten lost somewhere in that great big politically correct Bermuda triangle.

Not that I'm condoning verbal or physical abuse, by either teacher or parent. I'm just wondering where the line is drawn between discipline in the classroom and looking after your child's best interests.

***********update*****************

Okay, so it was a father who started shouting at his son's male teacher. Apparently the boy had been picking fights with other students and was disciplined by the teacher. I guess the father didn't like his son being disciplined, so he picked a fight with the teacher. I wonder where the boy could have learned such behavior....

des gros mots...

Now that I'm a responsible grown-up, uh-um, and mother, it has become my duty to become the strict regulator of language in the house. For those of you who know me, I'm sure you've just peed yourselves laughing.

Anyway, it's hard enough controlling my language sometimes, but more difficult than that is knowing whether or not my 6-year old is cursing like a truck driver in French. Of course I know all the usual, traditional French swear words, and a little bit of slang, but apparently I'm not 'au fait' with the 'gros mots des tout-petits'.

Both my girls started saying 'caca boudin' around their first year in school, which I guess roughly translates into 'poo sausage' which is fairly childish and innocuous, but not something I'd particularly want them to say when they are visiting the old folks at the maison de retraite. It just gets me wondering what else my little darling ladies are saying that I should know isn't trop polite.

I found this little diddy by Titou Le Lapinou on you tube, aptly named 'Les Gros Mots des Tout-Petits'. In the chorus there is a litany of playground vulgarities:

Crotte de bique
Pipi d'chat, pipi d'chien,
Proute de dinosaure,
Cucu, cacaboudin,

Je pète dans tes chaussettes,
Je rote dans ta culotte,
Pipi-rouette, caca-houette,
Zizi, zouzou, p'tite crotte

I have a feeling most of these word combinations won't be in my Oxford French-English dictionary, but I'm sure I'll get the general gist of the insult. There does however seem to be a certain fixation on poo. I'm sure that's the same in any language.

I'm not proud of my youngest little lady when she says something that vaguely resembles 'fook sack', but she could be picking up all sorts of profanity at school and using it when she goes to her friend's house without me being any the wiser.

I know 3-6 is the sort of normal age for young kids to start picking up on these things, and I'm sure all the other kids at school are doing the same. And part of me thinks how proud(?) I will be when they are older and can express themselves with vulgarities in two languages. I just hope that our general little chats about 'gros mots' sinks in and they think to apply it to both languages.

Gotta love this bilingual parenting thing!

Birthday parties à la français...

Tomorrow the littlest lady turns 4 and is having a party, or a goûter d'anniversaire as it's called here. Her friends from her class- Faustine, Margot, Ornelia, Celia, Maelys, Ava, Emma, and Léna are coming over for a two hour TinkerBell (la fée clochette) themed party.

I feel like I'm getting the hang of these kid birthday parties in France. One of my first attempts still gets the occasional giggle from one of the French mothers who said the other mothers were very amused at my crudités, pinata and organized games. Apparently here, all that's called for is a cake, a bowl of bon bons and enough space for the kids to run around in a sugar-induced frenzy.

So compared to some of the stories I hear of people in the UK (and possibly the US?) who spend shed loads of money on entertainers, food and party favors, we get off pretty lightly here. And the kids still manage to get over excited and talk of nothing else for the next week.

The hardest part this time will be the small talk with the other parents who stick around, as I don't know that many of them and will have to get through the whole 'oh-you're-foreign-I-can-barely-understand-your-French-but-tell-me-your-life-story-anyway' routine. Integration into a small French village is a never-ending process (or at least it feels like it after 8 years).

The oldest little lady's friends' parents are used to me by now. Let's just hope this new set are as cooperative, er, I mean, nice.....

This is what we'll mostly be up to this weekend.....

Our neighboring village has a 5-day festival that starts tonight. Five days of outdoor meals, music, free wine, bouncy castles and merry go rounds. The 14th of July has overtaken the 4th for this American in France. Although I do miss the sparklers and parades.

Sunday our village is having a 'vide grenier', which basically is a village wide yard sale. Nothing like browsing around your neighbors junk to get to know them better!

The Duke's company bbq chez nous and then a birthday party for the little ladies to go to on Tuesday. I should be just about ready to go back to work on Wednesday.

Early morning swimming lessons finished today, so I'm looking forward to the next 7 weeks or so of not having to worry about being late for school, dance, music, swimming etc.

This is the silver lining of summer holidays with two small children, right?

L'âne et le chèvre...

I helped out in the littlest lady's petite section class the other day when they went on an excursion to see the donkey and the goat that live in the center of the village.
Who knew that a 5-minute walk with 26 3-4 year olds could take 25 minutes? Our calm village road became a treacherous obstacle course for the children as they tried to remember to stay in line, hold their partner's hand, and stay on the sidewalk.
Meanwhile, I tried to remember the names of the kids in the class to shout out at the appropriate times, 'Faustine, watch where you're going!', 'Quentin, no pushing!', 'Leopold, take Solange's hand!', etc. My memories of learning command tenses in French class came back quite easily, except I didn't have to use the commands I'd been taught back then by a cynical French teacher, like 'Laissez-moi tranquil!' and 'Ne me touchez pas!'.
I couldn't help but think how different this excursion would have been had we'd been in the States. Permission slips would have had to have been signed and the venue vetted beforehand. I'm sure the donkey and the goat would have had to have had their police records checked too.
The chaos at the actual site was a lawsuit waiting to happen. The goat broke free quite early on, and proceeded to run around the group of children being chased by the owner's dog. I seemed to be the only one imagining the goat spiking up one of the children with its little horns. Everyone else seemed oblivious to the inherent danger of the donkey stampeding the little gaggle of pre-schoolers.
As the goat, named Noisette, charged around under the olive trees, the kids took turns feeding stale baguette ends to Nanette, the donkey. While the children waited for their turn, they discovered a rickety plastic slide in the garden and took turns throwing themselves down it, sometimes 2 at a time.
At the point where I was weighing up which was the most dangerous activity between the charging goat, the kicking donkey, and the swaying tower of plastic pleasure, Leopold announced he had to go pee pee, and was taken off to a corner of the garden to do his thing by one of the teachers. They teach them young to pee on the side of the road here.
We made it back to school just before the end of the morning session, and as I watched the kids rush into the arms of their unsuspecting parents, full of tales of Noisette and Nanette, I couldn't help thinking that this was all part of the reason I love raising my children here. They are loved and cherished by society, but not swathed in bubble wrap. And while this makes for some anxious moments, I do appreciate the way they are allowed to behave as children, without too many rules and restrictions. They'll have plenty of those to deal with later in life...

It's a love/hate thing.....

The relationship between France and McDonalds has always been an awkward one. The older generation hate it, the younger generation love it (but make fun of the Big- Mac-eating, obese kids in the States at the same time), the anti-globalization gang like to burn them down, and the average parent will probably only admit to the occasional Happy Meal transgression.

Growing up in the States, I remember fondly the late 70's/early 80's notion of going to McDonalds on a Saturday as a treat. I remember when chicken nuggets first appeared. I had a bizarre hobby of collecting large size fry cartons. We hung out in the parking lot of McDonalds every Friday night in high school, and I remember discovering the exquisite taste of a french fry dipped into a chocolate shake.

The Duke isn't a big fan, and after living outside of the States for 15 years, I've slowly found myself drifting away from thinking that a supersized meal is really a necessary part of my diet. (Besides, I myself would prefer Burger King, but here in the south of France, it's either Quick Burger (the French equivalent of McDonalds) or McDonalds.)

Now, like smoking, it's a thing which one doesn't mention one does in polite company. At least not more than once a month. Although the tell tale is always having a quick glance at the child's toy basket to see how many happy meal toys are there.....

Anyway, I think it's my children's heritage to be acquainted with McDonalds and think that to truly understand where their mom comes from, they too need to learn to dip their french fries into their chocolate shakes.

So imagine my delight when the 5 year old lady came home with a birthday invitation today which read, "Je t'invite à fêter mon 'wouaaanniversaire' chez McDonald's!'.

See, at the end of the day, this parenting thing really isn't so different between France and the States.......

A little bit of what I love about being a parent in France...

Although it wasn't the only reason the Duke and I moved to the Languedoc in 2000, the idea of starting our family in France appealed to us, and made the permanent move feel more 'right'.

Now that the little ladies are 5 and 3, I'm able to appreciate the fact that we made the right decision. France is a wonderful place for families. Not a utopia, mind you, but a comfortable place for parents to watch their kids grow, and a place full of interest for the budding curiosities of the small ones.

Here, in no particular order, are some of the reasons why I love being a parent in France:

1. Children are still seen as a priority. They are important people here, right up there with the elderly. I think the ladies visit the retirement home in the village at least once a month with their school classes. This sort of respect is not only healthy and constructive, but socially imperative for community life.

2. Watching my children grow up bilingual must be right up there with the Seven Wonders of the World. I compare how long and hard I've struggled to have a working knowledge of French to the ease of them learning naturally, and I'm amazed on a daily basis how incredible their young minds are. Now we are at the point (already!) where they are correcting me, and even though I have a degree in French, I can see that the money my father spent on my education could never have bought me the accent and subtle knowledge of the language that they have already acquired. Surely this is one of the best gifts I could ever hope to give them.

3. We truly live in a beautiful place. Every time we turn a corner we are faced with another incredible landscape, whether it's the mountains behind us, the vineyards all around us, or the Mediterranean to the south of us. Biking, walking the dogs through the vines, throwing stones in the river, building sandcastles, watching the sun rise as we walk to school, these are some of the ways we appreciate where we live together. I'm pleased every single day with our simple life in our simple village, and I think the ladies are growing up in a wholesome environment. Will the simplicity one day cease to be seen as a plus? I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when and if we ever get there.....

4. When people ask us why we decided to live in France, my first response is always 'For the food!’ Of course the idea of transplanting yourself to a foreign country simply in order to eat well may sound a little crazy, but I place a huge level of importance on my food, which you would know if you ever saw me eat. And I'm happy to report that French schools think food is important too. The canteen menu reads like a page from a Michelin-starred restaurant, with dishes I would never even have thought of feeding my children, like salsify, blanquette de veau, braised cabbage, and turkey with chestnut sauce. Most meals are at least four courses, and all include some form of cheese or another, whether it's brie, blue cheese, goat's cheese or sheep's cheese. Not a Kraft single in sight! Some of the other English mothers I know send their kids to the canteen just so they can be introduced to new foods. There is a confidence here knowing that my kids are being fed well and hopefully in a way that will form a healthy love affair with food that will last their whole lives.

5. As an American, the fact that within a few hours driving time I can be in Spain, Italy or Germany is definitely a bonus of living in France. And the fact that the little ladies have already been to England, Italy, Spain, Corsica, and the Cote d'Azur on holiday reminds me of why I have always felt drawn to living in Europe. On our list of very next must sees are Morocco, Sicily, Sardinia and Madrid. I've always thought that travel is the best education a person can have, and I love the fact that my girls will have so many horizons opened up to them, unlike my fairly sheltered childhood. Who knows, they may well turn against travel later in life and become hometown girls, but at least they will have experienced other people and places and hopefully will have a more open mind when it comes to cultural differences. Lord knows we could all do with a bit more of that today!

6. As much as I feel settled in France now, feeling at home here like nowhere else in the world, there are still things that remind me that I'm not in Kansas anymore. Watching my kids run around on a summer's evening at the village fete, dancing under the trees to the sounds of the accordion with their friends, never fails to make me feel a little warm and fuzzy. Taking the oldest little lady to her Seveillana dance class in her traditional Spanish dress and watching her dance to the sounds of the Spanish guitar reminds me again of how important it has always been for me to live in a place surrounded by culture and tradition. I know that it's entirely possible that the girls will know the words to the Marseillaise before they will know the Pledge of Allegiance, or conversely that they would be perfectly within their rights to leave their parents in the 20's and install themselves half way round the world. But what excites me still about living in a foreign country is the fact that these options exist, making the world seem filled with endless possibilities.

Look, I know that any or all of the above experiences can be found in the States or in England, and don't get me wrong, I can be as patriotic as the next American. But what can I say, I love France, I feel happy being a mother in France, and for the time being, all is well in the Dukedom.

Now, if you thought this post was long, I won't scare you off with the list of things I'm not crazy about in France....... And I know it may sound a bit sappy, all of this, but I’m posting this for posterity’s sake. I may need reminding of these things from time to time!

It's birthday month chez nous.....

The month kicked off yesterday with the 3rd birthday of the littlest lady, who was a ball of excitement all day as she waited every so patiently throughout school until her party afterwards. I chose the easy option this year for her and invited around her 5 best English friends and their parents.

This was the easy option because:

1. She has only just started school and hasn't really made specific friends yet, so going down the class route would have either included alienating some of the kids or inviting all 30 kids (2-3 year olds)... Kind of didn't want to choose this option.....

2. I had to work all day beforehand and new that if some of my English friends and their kids came around, I wouldn't be so ashamed of the fact that my house was a mess. If it had been my French friends I would have felt compelled to clean for days. Why is that? It's not like the French are more obsessed with the housework, I guess it's an acceptance thing. Don't want to give them a reason for singling me out, like '....oh, the American woman, did you see the state of her floors? I mean honestly, how can I let my child mingle with another
culture if that's their idea of cleanliness.' Oh the shame. I just don't want to have that sort of stigma attached to my kids so young. They'll have plenty of time to be embarrassed of me later.

3. I know that on the 21st I'll be having the oldest lady's entire class for her party(5-6 year olds), and just the thought of it exhausts me, so I thought I'd take advantage of the last year I'll probably be able to get away with it and gave her the birthday party of my own design. She can choose who to invite next year. And I'm pretty sure it'll be her entire class. So I'm starting to
squirrel away the Valium now.....

The Duke's birthday is at the end of the month, and once again, I think he'll be getting wine for his present. One of the best wine shops I've come across in a long time, Le Clos St Gabriel, which is located in a very hard to find location in Beziers, has recently opened a tapas and wine bar near the Allées Paul Riquet in the center of town, called Le Chameau Ivre, or drunken camel. Apparently now they do tapas and food, as well as letting you browse and taste and discover new wines. It sounds like a bookshop for wine lovers. I think we'll try it out on the Duke's least favourite day of the year, and I'll keep you informed.

Looks like I blinked and missed the summer......

That's what you get for taking summer holidays in June, the rest of the summer goes by in sun scorched blur.....

The last few months have seen the whole slew of Earls trotting around Corsica and England, the beach, village fetes and various action packed toddler theme parks in Cap d'Agde (a nightmare in any other conceivable existence except that of a mother with 2 kids under 5....). Friends and family have been and gone, we've worn the bbq and my basil supply out, and I don't think it would be physically possible for me to drink any more rosé.

And now, schools back on, even the youngest lady started this year, and I finally feel a little like my old self again.

The great thing about being a mom is that you get to trial run all sorts of professions without even leaving your house. Entertainer, teacher, swimming coach, hairdresser, doctor, personal chef, seamstress, McGyver, professional fort builder, you name it, I've tried it out this summer, and I have to say that standard educational institutes really don't prepare you that well for doing all of these jobs in one day, let alone one lifetime. Forget multi-tasking, being a mother is more like split-personaliting, or something like that.....

It's vendange time here in the Languedoc, narrow tractors pulling trailers overflowing with grapes. Nothing reminds me more of where I live than this sight. I haven't heard the latest news on whether or not this will be a good year for wine (has anybody out there heard anything?), but I have to say I'm feeling a bit sorry for the pickers because the last few days have been blindingly hot.

So, as well as all of the other things I've neglected to do over the summer, clean the house, write, exercise, eat sensibly, drink moderately, stop smoking- I hope to get back in the saddle again and share some more useless ramblings from the Dukedom. Thanks for sticking around......

The wonderful world of wipes......

Since becoming a mother, my world has changed (no, really!). Everything, from my daily routines, wardrobe, body, ability to sleep through anything, standards, vocabulary, priorities.... you get the picture, has been turned upside down and inside out.

But there always tends to be a silver lining to everything, and out of this parenting upheaval, I have managed to pick up some useful bits of wisdom along the way.

For example, before becoming a mother, the only time I had ever come across a 'wipe' would have been after some surf-n-turf dinner at the local Chuckwagon restaurant. These were usually wrapped in little foil packages and smelt like fake lemon. These wipes did not usually have much of an affect on my life as a whole, it just meant that I could wipe off all the scampi grease before I tucked into my bowl of chocolate pudding. End of relationship.

Now as a 'grown up', I have been reintroduced to 'wipes' in a whole other concept, and let me tell you, we now have a very beautiful, meaningful relationship. In fact, we are pretty much inseperable. And I'm always on the look out for new wipe products that are going to revolutionize my life, which is rather sad, I know, but don't knock it if you know not of what I speak.

Looking through my cupboards, I can find a wipe for pretty much everything I could hope to need one for- there are of course the baby wipes, the face wipes, and the exfoliating face wipes. There are the dusting wipes, the window wipes, the counter wipes, floor wipes, as well as the toilet and sink wipes, yoga mat cleaning wipes. I also have special car wipes, wipes I carry around in the car, and all purpose wipes in my handbag. I feel completely wiped......

I draw the line at special 'wipe containers', or the hugely insane idea of the 'wipe warmer', but I tell you, if there is a wipe out there that you know about and I don't, please let me know about it. Wipes have shaved hours off my housecleaning, personal hygiene and baby bathing times, and I'm sure we are a better family for it. I have definitely gone insane.

As a result, I find I use the word 'wipe' more than probably socially acceptable- wipe your nose, wipe your bottom, wipe your face, wipe the car down, wipe the grease off the rug, wipe that smile off your face, get something to wipe it off, don't eat the wipes, etc. But it's a great word, sort of does what it says on the tin. The French word is a little less onomatopoeic, 'lingette', which basically translates to small linen. (You know if in doubt in French, if you want to talk about the smaller version of something, just add -ette and you'll be fine. My personal favourite franglais terms are problemette, smokette, and buttette (so true for a 2 year old's backside).

So there you know something completely ridiculous about me, and you are know probably thinking I'm either an obsessive cleaner, or a lazy cow, but either way, you'll now what to buy me in the future!

Lessons I've learned so far from motherhood.....

Bearing in mind I've only had 4 years and 3 months worth of experience....

1. If it's lost, it's probably in the garbage, and it depends on the sentimental value of the object whether or not it's retrieved.

2. A father struggling to control his children in the supermarket brings smiles and utterances of 'oh look how sweet he is with them' from fellow shoppers. For the mother, it brings nothing but looks of annoyance and alot of tutting.

3. Divide and conquer. And if that doesn't work, divide yourself from the house and let daddy conquer.

4. If you bring the raspberry bon bon, they will always want the lemon one. If you give them the red cup, they'll freak out because of course they wanted the yellow cup you gave to their sister.

5. If you want your child to poo, change their nappy and wait 5 minutes.

6. It doesn't matter how high up you hide something, they have ways of scaling great heights. But if you ask them to put their books away, they'll insist they can't reach the shelves.

7. One kiss and hug is never enough. They usually wait until you are halfway down the stairs before telling you this, or wait until you are at least 15 minutes late for work, walking out the front door with a piece of toast in your mouth. It's useless to resist.

8. It doesn't matter who you are talking to on the phone, daddy, the plumber, the police, the child will want to talk to them, and render you deaf until you let them say 'hello', or 'grgillgrillyooohh'.

9. No matter how much of a clean freak you are before children, you will have zero control when they are in the house. Jammy fingers, garden soil, spilt milk and lemon bon bons in the rug become facts of life. You just have to deal with it, or go insane.

10. No matter how outrageously horrible your children have been that day, or how high your blood pressure is, you are still able to honestly say that you couldn't imagine not having children. Perhaps because you've already gone insane!

A few minutes of p&q.......

Recipe for the day: a handful of exercise, at least 2 cups of coffee, 2.5litres of bleu de breton paint, and quite possibly, if easily attainable, a quick nap.

I love this kind of morning. Brisk morning walk in to school with the oldest little lady, and down a certain little street, the chateau at the top of the village lights up like a headlight with the dawning sun beaming on it. Come back into a warm and cosy house, to find everyone is still asleep.

With peanut butter toast and a cup of coffee, I hid away in my office, enjoying the silence.
Of course it doesn't last long, and the littlest lady comes running downstairs with her shoes on the wrong feet, a purple fluffy eye mask on her head, and snot pouring out of her nose, to give me a hug and eat the rest of my toast. Now the day begins.

The Christmas lights have been put up in the village streets, but not turned on yet. It's almost, but not quite, the Christmas season.

It has been unseasonably warm here, and I find I'm missing the usual smell of the smoking chimneys as I walk through the village. There are irises flowering in my garden. I'm feeling a little freaked out by how warm it has been, and can't help thinking about how little I know about Global Warming. Where's Al Gore when you need him?

Raising children is hard in any country.....

Recipe for the day: A little discretion, a lot of patience, quite possibly a large bacon sandwich, but definitely no horse meat........

As a newish mother (two girls, 4 and 2), I'm still learning (as if you ever know everything) how to be a good mother. Throughout my pregnancies I was constantly reminded that I was living in a foreign country and surrounded by a different culture.

Most of the time I've been able to draw from both my American heritage and my adopted French culture to find the answers and philosophies that best fit my needs when it comes to raising children. But what I am learning more and more each day is that the trials and tribulations of a mother are pretty much universal. Worries, dilemmas, confusions, they all transcend borders. It's easy as a mother to feel like you are going through things alone, but in fact every mother throughout history has probably dealt with the same issues, in one form or another, and survived.

I decided to hand out my four year old's birthday invitations today. There where only three, but trying to do it in a discreet manner without all of the other kids seeing it was a bit difficult. And I can't help feeling that I've breached some kind of birthday- invitation-etiquette with the other mothers and that there is probably a very strict French way of handling this.

We passed the horse meat seller in the square as we walked up to school this morning. As an American, this is one French delicacy I have never really gotten in to, but I think for the kids growing up here, it should be seen as a 'normal' part of their life. Should I be making horse meat hamburgers at home? I'd like to introduce my kids to as many different foods as possible, but I think it might take me awhile to get around to this one......