Appendix A

A certain southern lawyer I know, who shall remain nameless, has forwarded this hilarious link in reponse to yesterday's blog. Fortunately THIS the cradle-robbed husband can appreciate:
Click Here!

The Six Million Euro Man, and other sordid tales

There are moments when you just feel like your humor and your entire range of references goes unsavored by your spouse. For example, yesterday Thomas came home and stripped down to reveal a heart monitor which he had to wear for 24 hours as part of some exams he's had done. I immediately burst out in a rousing rendition of Styx's massive 80's hit "Mr. Roboto", and was rewarded with just a blank stare.
Tragic, but true. That's when you wince to yourself and say "Dang, I almost forgot for a minute there...." and then you think sheepishly "Not only does this reconfirm that I married out of my culture, but I also cradle-robbed, if this guy doesn't even recognize Mr. Roboto, or the name Styx even. Dang."

In other news, Her Highness seems to be possibly (knock on French wood) on the upswing? Had a perfect day at the nanny's yesterday where she went down for naps with no fussing and slept well, and last night hit the pillow for 12 hours without a peep. Mr. Roboto and I (yes, he had to sleep with that thing strapped on last night - which incidentally felt a little like I was in the 1970's thriller film "Coma", which p.s. I didn't even both asking him if he had heard of.....) woke up and looked at each other and said "C'est pas possible!".
To celebrate, here are photos of her today, playing in her crib, and, to my surprise, the last shot: I plopped her on the floor in her room while I picked up toys in the living room and when I came back, she was babbling away to herself and seemed to be intently reading a book. In French. Yikes.

A Day at the Beach

The auction is off. After 3 days/nights of life restored slightly to normal following a few weeks of comparative of chaos, we're keeping her. 12 hour nights and good naps is making everybody a little saner.
That doesn't diminish yesterday's vomit episode, including Papa sliding across the floor after hitting a puddle of it. (We laughed about it later). An hour and a half of clean-up, baths, laundry, and scrubbing later, we went out.

Ascension-Day Auction

Today is Ascension, yet another national holiday in the month of May in France. This makes this month's Day Off #3 for the lucky French.
To honor this holiday (something religious, obviously, not that you can tell by the non-church-going French), I'm considering auctioning off Estelle, or perhaps myself, if it means I can leave my present day-to-day and night-to-night existence and "ascend" immediately into heaven - or hell, which can't be any worse than the deal I've got now, so I'll take either.
Here are some recent shots to get the bidding going.

6 years

This scrawny, gangly little boy with a twisted elbow after falling out of an ice house, and ears to speak of, is my Dad. Gone 6 years ago on this day. Hard to believe when you look at that little guy born and bred in the Depression that he would grow up to fly to Japan during the height of the cold war and teach about engineering, cultivate a mean blackberry patch, be forever chagrined that none of his children were basketball stars, write various geneaology books, master computers, belt out a church hymn, hunt moose with fervor, found a historical society, fix anything - I mean ANYTHING, stoke a wood fire to within an inch of its life, design and construct his own homes and camps, sire 11 children and 24 grandchildren and running, build a proper darkroom in his basement, dance elegantly to the big bands, never tire of enjoying a piece of pie, and give cancer a decade-long run for its money.
Amidst teething drool and diaper changes, translation deadlines, private lessons, and a in-law visit, I take pause over here on the French Riviera to remember the little Vermont boy who left so much and so many who loved him behind.

Bonne Fete Estelle!

Meant to post this yesterday but due to the events of the day we are late in posting. Read on.......
So, every day has a Saint's name attached to it in France. This Saint's Day is referred to as your "fête". Fêtes are on calendars and diaries, engagement books, listed in the daily paper. They are announced on each news program, usually by the weatherman. People will send you emails and text messages on your cell phone, or call you up and say "Bonne Fête!". It's a whole thing.

My fête is April 8th. This year it also happenned to be Easter. Kind of like having your birthday be on Christmas - everyone forgot. But May 11th is the fête de Sainte Estelle, and so yesterday was Estelle's first "fête".

She celebrated by waking up twice in the nice Thursday night, and then, at the end of her big nap yesterday, vomiting profusely all over herself, her crib bedding, sleep sac, stuffed animals, in short, a wreck. When I called the Dr. he said, based on a fever she had at the beginning of the week, "better bring her in".

When I arrived (after bathing her and changing my own clothes), he himself came to the door and bellowed out "Bonne Fête Estelle!" as did his secretary. This prompted the same from various strangers in the waiting room. I said "You can have her."

In the end, it appears to be a teething issue, as she only has 2 teeth and that has been the case for 2 months. Now there appear to be several lurking, wreaking their evil havoc. Let's hope that is the reason for the recent madness over the past 3 weeks, prompting me to declare, as Scarlett did "Well I'm simply not going to have any more children Rhett. I intend to lock my door."

Victoire 1945

Aside from Sunday night when I thought I'd just throw in the towel for good after spending 3 1/2 hours to get her to sleep, we're having lovely days here in the sun after 2 national holidays last Tuesday (Labor Day) and today (celebration of the end of WWII in France - remember it was the Americans who liberated Paris, if I'm not mistaken....). In any case, here are some recent photos:
Teaching Estelle how to brush her teeth.

Estelle is reunited for 5 days with Maxence, who is visiting from Paris.

Maxence with her daddy Emmanuel at their summer place in Cannes.

Just the girls - us with Melanie and Maxence. Behind us is the bay of Cannes, and beyond the Esterel mountains. Yes, this is the high life on the French Rivieria!

Today's national holiday begat a reunion of all the women I sweltered with in pregnancy last summer. Here we are with our babies. From left to right: Me with Estelle, Melanie & Maxence, behind is Sylvianne holding Pauline, Fransiska holding Elliot in yellow, and Isabelleb with glasses with Alessandro. In front of Isabelle is Celine with Thomas, and finally Noelle with Lucille (born on the same day as Estelle). There is another baby on the far right in a carrier who was being sat for by Noelle. Note we are mostly in tanktops. It was hot today!

Vive la République

Well, it was a bit lackluster last night at 8:02 pm when Ségolene Royal conceded her defeat. Not much hoopla.

Pales in comparison to the email I got this morning from Xavier, father of two brothers whom I've been giving lessons to for 6 years. He's a high school chemistry and physics teacher who has lived in many overseas French departments over the years, including Benin and New Caledonia. Here is his reaction, followed by the translation IN ALL CAPS. Nouméa is a reference to New Caledonia. The "Thomas" he refers to is his 17 1/2 yr old son, a senior in high school and an excellent and very serious student.

Eh Voilà ! C'est parti pour 5 ans (au moins !!) d'ultra libéralisme sanglant à la gloire des Dieux Croissance (de la pollution) ,
HERE WE GO FOR 5 YEARS (AT LEAST!) OF ULTRA LIBERALISM, BLEEDING FOR THE GODS OF "GROWTH" (POLLUTION, THAT IS),
Travail (pour les pauvres, ces sales faignants) et Résultats (pour les grands patrons et les actionnaires)...
WORK (FOR POOR PEOPLE, THE LAZY FILTH) AND RESULTS (FOR THE BIG BOSSES AND THE STOCKHOLDERS)...
On fait quand même très fort dans le département 68 % pour Sarkozy!! ( Ah! Que Voilà un beau département .....)
HOW ABOUT RIGHT HERE IN OUR REGION, WHICH VOTED 68% FOR SARKOZY!!! (AH, WHAT A LOVELY REGION...)
Ca commence à ressembler à la Calédonie et il va falloir raser les murs...
IT'S STARTING TO SEEM LIKE CALEDONIA AND PRETTY SOON WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TO DEMOLISH EVERYTHING
Thomas avait l'autre jour un Tee-Shirt avec le Che, sa prof d'histoire lui a sorti horrifiée: "Et maintenant il faut que j'ai un communiste en face de moi! Il ne manquait plus que ça..
THE OTHER DAY THOMAS WAS WEARING A T-SHIRT WITH CHE GUEVERA AND HIS HISTORY TEACHER THREW HIM OUT OF CLASS SAYING "NOW I HAVE TO HAVE A COMMUNIST SITTING IN MY CLASS?" THAT'S ALL WE NEED.
En plus on ne pourra même plus se moquer des Américains avec Bush puisqu'on a pris le même !!!
WHAT'S WORSE IS NOW WE CAN'T EVEN MAKE FUN OF THE AMERICANS WITH BUSH, BECAUSE WE JUST SIGNED UP FOR THE SAME THING!
Bon, on a tenu à Nouméa , on tiendra bien ici...Heureusement le vin est très bon cette année et j'ai des provisions...
WELL, WE HELD ON AT NOUMEA, AND WE'LL MAKE IT THRU HERE TOO. THANK GOD THE WINE CROP IS GOOD THIS YEAR AND I'VE GOT PROVISIONS TO LAST IT.

Just thought some of you might like to see a 52 year old Frenchman's reaction.

The Great Debate

Enough about Estelle and vacation. For those on the other side of the pond who don't know, in France we are 4 days away from Change with a capital C.

Did you know that a new president will be elected Sunday? It's true. Jacques Chirac has been in power for, wait for it, TWELVE years. You think 8 with Bush seems long? Try 12 with a man who is 75 or something. Yet hats off to Chirac who, during his first term as President, changed the law to make the French presidential term only 5 years, instead of 7. Hence his 12 years from 2 terms. He rides off into the sunset as the lacklustre president, it appears to me from what I can gather from my French sources.
And here come the two candidates swinging. On April 22 was the "First Round", where anyone who gets 500 mayors from across the Republique to sign a petition backing them can appear on the ballot for President. The rule seems to be that the top 2 vote getters advance to the 2nd round, or, if one of the candidates gets more than 50% of the vote, he wins flat out and there is no 2nd round.
So, on April 22 all kinds of people from the rightest of right wingers, hollering about all the lousy immigrants and wielding the re-implementation of mandatory military service to pot-smoking aging hippies, mailmen, or environmental leftists were on the ballot. Here's a few of them:
After that vote of the 1st round, now we're down to just two, the two everyone knew would move on to the 2nd round. Segolène Royal (a woman) and Nicolas Sarkozy, who has already been Minister of the Interior for the past 5 years under Chirac's 2nd term.
Last night was their one and only debate, and allegedly the first time the two have met face to face in 14 years. I watched the whole thing, from 9 to 11:40 pm. I won't try and sum it up or analyze it because clearly I'm not qualified for that. But one thing interested me - Sarkozy rarely looked Royal in the eye - he consistently looked down, or more often than not, addressed the two journalist moderators. But Royal looks him squarely in the eye from start to finish - almost destabilizingly so. I wondered who was coaching Sarkozy to not face off with her - it seemed a foolish tactic. I was almost pleased to see the analysts are clamouring about the very same point this morning on the "talk shows". Even in heavy political debate in a foreign language, I can still claim myself as having some perception!
Thomas says Sarko (as he is called) will win, for a hundred reasons but probably sadly because in some ways the country just isn't ready for a woman in the hot seat. We'll see.

VT, Part Deux

After returning home from MacDonald's the other day, I found my internet and phone back up. Glory Be! Let it be known I never consumed anything other than tea at McDonald's throughout all this.
More photos from VT escapades:

My dad's sister, Aunt Elaine, with Estelle.

Estelle is surrounded by 4 of her girl cousins, all daughters of my identical twin brothers. Poor Thomas, he can never remember who is who.

With Uncle Cedric in the sugarhouse, looking out at one of his chickens. Estelle has the sap cup in her hand.

Visiting Dad/Grampie with Cole.
Estelle experienced 4 true-blue barbeques once the snow melted. Everything from chicken to burgers to venison and ribs. Finger-lickin'! Here's Wesley with cousin Lillian and Cedric. Note my Dad's Chevy in the background, and the quiet Molson bottle below, a nice companion to being with the grill.

Give me the Internet for the love of GOD

So, I went home to VT for a quick 13 day trip, if you didn't know. I took Estelle. It was great. There was snow, then sun, and sap, then syrup. It was just as it should be. Lots of brothers and sisters, aunts, cousins, babies, all of it. Said goodbye to my house in the event that it sells before I go back this summer.
But there is one less than idyllic thing about home - no internet, or, when I do "get" it, it's dial-up. Painful dial-up. Works, not Word. In short, one long painful wait after another for often no results. How I looked forward to coming back to my little apt which ain't got snow or sap, but does have sun, and most importantly, wireless broadband.
But no, not to be. The internet, AND the landline, have been down for 4 days ever since my return. Here I am, reduced to going to the MacDonald's. Crazy.
Who cares. Here are some photos from our trip to Vermont:

This is us with nephew and godson extraordinaire checking out the sap on a tree on our land.

Estelle, baffled by the sled, snowsuit, glaring white, and of course, the snow.

Wayne and Estelle, whom he frequently mis-referred to as "Heather", his own 4-month old baby sister.

Does he look like a superman? He is. My amazing and talented brother Cedric, at work on a day off from his real job as wildlife biologist, in his self-built sugarhouse, boiling his sap down to syrup with his evaporator. What sheer delight that we were able to go and hang out with him for a few hours while he boiled. There is nothing in the world like the smell of the sweet steam of boiling sap, and then fresh hot syrup to dip a raised donut into. Above and beyond my absolute favorite moment of my entire trip. Estelle drank cold sap and even licked the syrup spoon. She did NOT make a face, but rather lunged for more!

My never-say-no sister Martha making Sugar-on-Snow with my other brother Wesley's syrup. She fetched the snow herself that day from the fields, and boiled the syrup down to the "right" consistency for making Sugar on Snow. Wayne and Cole looking eagerly on. We had a feeding frenzy just moments after this photo was taken.....

Vermont in Winter?

here we are in VT it is 8:42 i can't see i'm in the dark outsid the tozn library in my dad's old truck and can't send photos truly in the middle of nowhere
more another time with photos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Easter Bonnet

Our Easter trip to the Maine-et-Loire: no one got much sleep, there was some interesting first-time projectile vomiting, and I introduced dyeing eggs to my inlaws.

Give Us This Day...

Give her the heel of the baguette, and all is well.
Take it away, and this is pretty much what you get to look at. There are two teeth now, officially. Sharp teeth!

Hand in the Cookie Jar

Everyone thinks that I had a lot of playmates as a child because of all my siblings. In some ways, that is true - people to give me piggy back rides, take me to the mall on special occasions, teach me how to glue shingles on a dollhouse, and keep on eye on me swimming in the pond. But for the day to day stuff, like let's play "War" with the same deck of cards over and over and over until we get bored with it, or, let's race home after school to pick up that game of monopoly where we left off last night, still set up on the old wooden card table in the basement - well, for THOSE things, it was like I was in a 2-child family. My brother Wesley was the playmate - 3 years older, sometimes wiser, but not always.
I remember punching him as hard as I could in the stomach, at his request, to see if I could knock the wind out of him. "Nope, I can still breathe. Do it again." Then there were the common moments of sibling fustration: like "You're a fool" retorted with "no you are!" followed by "no you are!" and finally, "No YOU are, infinity!". Ah, the old "inifinity" safety - inarguable in kid-world. At any rate, I think we worried my mother a little, the poor woman trying to slide gracefully into her twilight years from intensive-11-kid-motherhood.
Today, at ages 36 and 39, I can say we are still stupid. Wes is stupider, of course, but we are still wreaking havoc on my mother. Today I called my mom, like every Sunday, and like every Sunday, Wes is over visiting my mom, checking in. Like every Sunday, she struggles with the buttons but manages to put me on speaker phone so he and his son Wayne can hear our conversation. After a while I say "Go up and get the Easter eggs out of the attic for Mom". He dutifully obeys, and as he goes picks up a portable extension phone and tells my mom to turn off the speaker phone, claiming it will create feedback. Off he goes upstairs, cordless phone in hand.
"Good, now I can talk to you..." And we proceed to have a solid 10 minute conversation (or more) about not only my surprise trip to the states next Friday to see my mother, but the much bigger picture--and the main reason why I am coming: her impending decision to move out of our house and where she's going next, due to her health. We discuss the latest news, which brother or sister said this or that, who thinks what, our concerns, her options, what we see as good, what worries not just us, but the whole gang. I break in at one point and say "Where are you? Do you see the boxes with the Easter stuff?"
He locates them, with his son gleefully trailing behind with a dancing singing chick that pops out of an egg held by a bunny. But in the two old worn Milwaukee's Best cardboard boxes are our Easter eggs - ones made in the mid-1970's by he and I with guidance from our mom, the pungent smell of hot vinegar lingering. The eggs so lovingly packed away and protected, year after year, so that 30 years later, we can pull out the one that says on it with a magic marker: "This great egg was made by Wes for Easter 1979. It is great because Wes made it." What he lacked in originality he made up for in bluntness.
He heads back downstairs, and suddennly I hear him suck in his breath and then choke out a "Mom, mom---is the speaker phone still on? Have you been listening this whole time?" This is when I sat right up on my couch here in France cringing. Ah, if only I was standing in the room to REALLY punch my brother in the stomach.
We fumbled, we covered, we think we pulled it off - but who cares about the surprise - we were more worried about all the other stuff. I think, though, that after 11 kids, there must just be times when stuff rolls off you. I got Wes to get Mom off the phone with a cover about a Mother's Day gift, at which point I said "Why didn't you CHECK to make sure the speaker was off, you DUMMY!"
It felt like that time when she left us alone during the day on a Saturday and we ate an entire 13 x 9 inch deep dish apple pie she had made for a family dinner the next day. We didn't touch any of the other perfectly yummy food she had left us. I don't know how it happenned - it just happenned. He took a piece, then I did - suddennly there was just one edge left.
After much reassuring apologies from me and my bumbling brother, today's phone call ended when I said, as always: "Bye Mom, love you". She said, as always: "You too". They she paused and added "Despite all those things you said about me." and she burst out laughing. I heard Wes sigh in relief in the background. Poor Wes--I was always the sneaky one - he was, and still is, just all heart.

Funny Family

Every member of my family is funny - and when there's 11 kids, there's a lot of competition to outdo the other ones. But some people in the family, even those that have married in, are just funnier than others. Today I got an email from a family-member-who-will-remain-anonymous-but-there-is-only-one-who-has-enough-technology-savvy-to-create-these-images saying the following: "Please show these 2 photos to Estelle and see which one she recognizes as her mother:" I have been laughing about this all morning.

Other Favorite Pastimes

The last post neglected a few additional things that Estelle also enjoys doing:
namely, playing with a little bottle of water, cruising around in her walker, and having her photo taken:

A Day in the Life

Today included our Romanian cleaning girl coming to watch Estelle for an hour while I rode my bike like the wind along the sea to get my teeth cleaned (yeah!) at one of the good dentists in town, ironically in the bldg on Victor Hugo where I lived almost 4 years. When the other dentist in the office popped in to ask my guy a question, I was happy to be unrecognizable with my mouth wide open and several instruments prodding into it, since said dentist colleague is the same guy who backed into my bike 3 years ago and busted up my luggage rack. He paid for it - once i provided him with the bill to prove the cost. Needless to say, HE'S not my dentist!
Then, smile gleaming, I was Breaking Away-style back to our apt over on the Port. All is well, Romanian girl had it all under control, Estelle sleeping peacefully for her morning snooze. 30 mins later we were out the door to meet Madame Pontier, who is about to become Estelle's occasional "nounou" - woman who takes care of children in her home. She is a 8 minute walk away and I was put on to her by the pediatric nurses who saved my life and Estelle's back in what I now refer to as "The Dark Period" in July. Madame Pontier turned out to be lovely and her own middle-school aged childen were lovely as well. We like her and she likes us. She will be the lucky winner of Estelle for 3 hours three mornings per week. She cares for 2 other little kids too but they are quite a bit older than E.
Two private lessons of my own teaching English later, and our day was finished. In the middle of all this, Estelle had time to do some of her favorite things - chewing on a baguette, rolling around on the floor, and taking a bath in her new bathring. See Exhibits A-D below:

Who needs Teething Biscuits?

Real Vermonters don't milk goats, and real French babies cut their teeth on a baguette.

No Teeth, Can't Sit Up

Photos showing lack of sitting-up-ness and lack of teeth, fondness for yogurt: New favorite toy: the doll from the Island of Misfit Toys from Rudolph, courtesy of one of my many sisters in a fit of impulsive purchasing.