can I have some baguette with that butter, please

We have decided to stop by the Normandy landing beaches on our way to go visit Micheline in Rennes (Bretagne) for the Easter weekend. It was raining as we hit the coast and nobody was in the mood to stroll on the beach so we've made a quick decision to stop by a movie theater to see "Shaun the sheep" and then dinner at McDonalds. The spirits have lifted instantly.

It was still windy and rainy the next day but we couldn't put off the visiting of the beaches any longer so after a breakfast at the hotel (Chocapic seems to be the French substitute for the North American Fruit Loops always found at the hotels' breakfasts) we headed out. First stop: the Canadian cemetery. In the middle of a field, surrounded by maple trees, white headstones looked peaceful and humbling. We walked in a misty rain reading names; Emilia reading ages of soldiers...

Next we stopped by the Canadian landing beach: Juno beach and the Juno Beach Centre. The guides at the museum were young Canadians and as they spoke I caught a smile on Emilia's face. I gave her a questioning look and she whispered "she speaks with a funny accent" :) Give it a few more months and you will be back to the same 'funny' accent yourself, I thought. The museum had a number of interactive exhibit rooms relating the story not only of the D-Day landings of the 14,000 Canadian troops and the military contributions to the war effort but also the story of civilian life in Canada before and during the war. There was even a 'treasure hunt' organized for children with a maple candy at the end. 

It finally stopped raining and we took a walk on a beach and in the fields where the German Gun Battery were still standing. It felt unreal that thousands have died right here not so long ago so our two little girls could run those fields laughing today. And as I watched them giggling and picking flowers oblivious to the history of this place I realized how much more meaning for me this one day visit had compared to all the learning about D-Day as a 16 year old during my history classes. 

After a day of reflection it was time for some chocolate. And thankfully there was plenty of it to be found in Micheline's garden. 

We spent Easter Sunday in St Malo. Girls picking out treasures from the sand of the enormous beach created by a low tide, Nicolas remembering his visits to the city as a child and all of us enjoying good food and good dose of sun (and wind). 

But I think the most important and life altering moment came with a visit to a local fromagerie and a discovery of THE butter! Any butter in France, even bought at a regular supermarket is significantly tastier than anything we can find in North America, but until this day I was not aware that there is something better; a butter that has a following! Seven months in France and only now thanks to Micheline we got introduced to le beurre Bordier.

The most delicious butter I have ever tasted. I think I would have just eaten it with a spoon (to make up for all the lost time in France without knowing of its existence) if it wasn't for the price and the looks that my husband was giving me. So I did end up putting some baguette under my thick slices of the heavenly goodness. I don't know what makes this butter so incredibly rich and creamy: is it the fact that it is still hand-churned, or is it the milk from all those happy cows that we saw everywhere in Bretagne and Normandy as we drove back to Paris, grazing on green pastures practically all year round. Whatever is it, I was hooked and this butter alone could make me consider moving to Bretagne.

We drove through small roads on our way back to Paris, stopping in St. Hilaire du Harcouet to find the childhood house of papy, and in St Céneri-le-Gérei which not by accident was listed in the book of 'Most beautiful villages of France' that Nicolas got as a gift before we left Montreal. 

We got home late, and all the bakeries were closed. I had THE butter but no baguette... oh well... spoons were just an arm's reach away ;) 

french classes from my daughter

Emilia has two teachers at school this year: Madam Robillaud for four days of the week and Madam Portel on Thursdays. She often talks about her Thursday teacher as the scary one who yells a lot and "gets all red like a tomato".

The other day Emilia announced: "Madam Portel is un garçon manqué."
I quickly searched the corners of my brain for a translation... does she have a boy missing?? something did not sound right. I asked what that means.
"She is a girl but she wants to be a boy" - explained Emilia.
Deep breath... I was not quite prepared to have a transgender discussion with my 7 year old but I couldn't just brush it off.
"Well, yes, sometimes that happens... But how do you know that Emilko? Did she tell you about it?"
"No. Everybody else said that; because she has short hair and she always wears pants."

And just like that a new word got added to my french vocabulary: garçon manqué = Tomboy.

cutting the cord a little more

Emilia's school is just across the street from our apartment building, a 95 meters walk, according to Google maps. Yet she insists we walk her to school every morning. This morning, after a night of gastro for Camille and Nic and a night of holding Camille's puke bucket for me, I asked Emilia to walk to school alone as nobody in the household was in a shape presentable enough to meet the outside Parisian world. She agreed after I promised I would be looking out the window until I see her cross the street (that's the only part that we can see from our window).

5 minutes later I was still sticking my head through the window, I could hear the bell ringing in the school but I never saw her cross the street. The rational "me" kept insisting that I must have missed her in the demonstration size crowd of people that cross the street on the way to school every morning. The emotional, mama bear already saw her being kidnapped and driven away somewhere. The panic ensued.

Should I call the school? I did not want to sound ridiculous but I couldn't wait till 4:30 to see that my firstborn is still alive. Just then I remembered that this is the first day of the new trimester and now she has gym as the first class of the day on Mondays. The gymnasium is not actually a part of the school building but it is attached to OUR APARTMENT BUILDING! I put Camille in front of TV, put on some clothes and ran out. As I approached the glass door of the gym I could hear the gym teacher yelling and then... see my firstborn sitting on the floor with the rest of her classmates. She was alive!!! And nobody had to know about my ridiculous, overprotective mother fears!!! And just then I hear Madame Robillaud's - Emilia's room teacher - voice behind me: "Bonjour Madame!"

Busted!

I told Nic the story later that day when he got out of bed feeling better. "You let her go to school by herself??? she is only seven!!!! Seventeen maybe, but seven!!!!"

Emilia has been requesting to walk to school by herself ever since.

First day of school - feels like it was just yesterday!

Testing the French health care system

Camille seems very persistent to not leave Paris without some sort of mark on her body forever reminding her of our year here. In the first few weeks after we arrived she chipped her front tooth on a swing set in the park next door. But given that it was her milk tooth, which will be out anyways in not too long, I should have suspected that the quest for more permanent mark will continue.

She has reached her goal last night as she was trying to climb up on the kitchen counter. To prop herself up she stepped on a little shelf (of off which she fell number of times before!) which being not permanently attached couldn't support the weight of a 5 years old and flew up. Losing her footing, Camille came crashing down, on her way meeting the edge of the counter with her chin and splitting it open.

First stop: the local Pharmacy. I have read somewhere that the pharmacists in France are trained a bit differently than in Canada. For example, they are trained in recognizing mushrooms! So if you go mushroom picking and are not sure if you should be eating what you found you can bring it to any pharmacy and they will tell you. I figured if they can tell good mushrooms from bad, they can surely tell if I needed stitches to put Camille's chin back together.

Second stop: the local clinic. The pharmacists deemed that stitches would be needed. She called a local medical clinic to ask if a doctor there could do it, and 2 minutes later we were on our way. The doctor at the clinic confirmed that stitches would be needed. Unfortunately, it was not a pediatric clinic and so they did not have the laughing gas and Camille was nowhere near laughing at the idea of needles going into her chin without the gas so off we went to test the 'urgences pédiatriques' at the nearest hospital.

Third stop: Hospital, urgences pédiatriques. Well, this was gonna be fun! It was 7:30 pm (prime time for the classic: 'I spent 6 hours in the ER wait room' that gets told at work the next day by exhausted parents), and all I had to present to the good people at the registration was our Québec 'carte soleil'. I kept my credit card handy just in case. Nobody even blinked an eye at the lack of French documentation. They took photocopies of our cards, info on addresses and we were told to wait for the nurse. The triage nurse came an hour later, the doctor another half hour later. A good dose of laughing gas, some very shaky hands of a student doctor and three stitches later we were in a cab going home and it wasn't even 9:30pm yet!

Fourth stop: ??? where to go to get the stitches out? Again, local pharmacists must know! Indeed, she gave me a few phone numbers of nurses living in the area that could do it. One phone call later we are scheduled for the nurse to COME to OUR APARTMENT to take out the stitches next Tuesday evening. Damn! Thank you, French health system!

Injuries from the Parisian battlefield

*UPDATE: A wonderful nurse, with more patience than I could ever imagine possible, came to our apartment and spent an hour(!!!!) trying to convince Camille to let her take the stitches out. And "no, it won't hurt at all." The actual taking out of the stitches took about 23 seconds. With no french health insurance to present we had to pay for this one hour visit... a WHOLE 12.60 Euros!!!! Damn! I think that's less than the min wage in France!

chocolate time! - le goûter

Before we even came to France I was already aware of the idea of 'le goûter' - the afternoon snack for kids (or adults ;)) But I definitely did not understand that there are rules to le goûter. It cannot just be anything! I still remember the strange looks that other kids were giving to Emilia and Camille as they snacked on chunks of red pepper on our way to the park after school. "C'est quoi ça???" Then I witnessed on the park bench a grandparent insisting that the kids have a 'bon goûter' before having the meringue that he brought for them. I stretched my neck to see what healthy things he was insisting they ate before the sugary dessert: they were chocolate covered cookies!

By now I get the rules; le goûter is just any combination of carbs and chocolate: chocolate covered cookies, chocolate croissants, crepes with nutella, or (my favourite) as simple as a chunk of baguette stuffed with squares of chocolate. Hey, who am I to argue, when in Paris, do as the Parisians ;)

Le goûter for the girls

a dream vacation in the Alps

Nicolas tried to organize a European skiing adventure for us for months. He spent endless amount of time checking out options, calculating costs, even booking a chalet for a week during Christmas vacations only to cancel when instead of the snow, rain came down with full force. And when we pretty much gave up on the idea of skiing in the Alps, the skiing Gods have smiled upon us. A good friend of Nic's aunt and uncle offered us their apartment in Montchavin for a weekend of winter fun! And not just any apartment! But a place in a cutest little skiing village, just 50 m away from a ski lift and with perfect tobogganing hills just outside the back door!

We arrived at Montchavin late in the evening and decided to take it easy the next day, explore the village and the tobogganing hills, rent our skiing gear and get mentally ready for the skiing fun. We were not quite sure how this skiing en famille will go this year. Last year we finished the season with Camille finally going down the bunny hills without a leash, but her success at turning and plow-stoping had more to do with luck than comprehension. But apparently a year for a 5yr old is a long enough time to go from 'luck' to 'skill' and after a few runs on the bunny hills she was a 'natural' skier. We quickly let go of the idea of sticking the girls in skiing classes so we could have some time for actual skiing, and hit the slopes en famille for the first time. 

The next few days were a dream skiing vacation. We would take a few lifts up in the morning, have lunch at the Belle Plagne village on top and then slowly make our way down to Montchavin, finishing our skiing around 4pm. 

The parents would then collapse on a couch, (mama popping ibuprofen like candy to stop the 'screaming' knee joints) and the youngsters would grab the sleds and spent the next 2 hours on the tobogganing hill!!

Where did the energy and the enthusiasm come from? - we wondered. Was it the snow and winter deprivation that the girls suffered in Paris? Was it the incredible beauty of the mountains surrounding us? Or was it the never experienced novelty of playing in the snow and not having your eyeballs freezing? heck, even being able to take off your hat and unzip your jacket because you know, it was not the -345C that the girls are used to but the mild -2C! 

To my astonishment the energy and enthusiasm never withered! Every morning they got up ready to strap on the skis. Camille kept making incredible progress, at the end going down some blue trails all on her own with just a few falls. We could hear her muttering under her breath as she was going down in a zigzag fashion across the slopes: "un petit plus, un petit plus, un petit plus eeeet je tourne. un petit plus, un petit plus, un petit plus eeeeeeet je tourne". Emilia kept discovering and enjoying "petits chemines dans les bois". And the parents kept taking in the beauty of it all: the incredible mountains, the sun, the snow, the skiing in the clouds, the stops for chocolat chaud, and the two happy girls on skis.

"kto rozlał to mleko??" - "qui a renversé ce lait??"

We left a day earlier than planned as it started to rain. One thing we were certain of: it will be very hard to go back to Quebec skiing after this Alpine experience. 

la cantine - cultural difference lesson no. 4863

We came for this one year adventure in Paris packed in 7 suitcases. I think at this point I can tell that we've used all of the things we brought with us to some extent. Some much less than others (the winter boots!) but it has all been used. Except...

yes, two cute little thermoses that I packed for girls' school lunches are sitting on a shelf collecting dust, never to be used in France. At the beginning of the school year we got some forms for indicating on which days the girls will have lunch at the school's cafeteria. Back in Montreal Emilia would generally eat one meal a week at the cafeteria (mostly to give mama a break from preparing the daily lunches ;)) and we thought to continue this pattern here. Very quickly however we realized that the alternative to eating at la cantine was to go home for lunch NOT bring lunch to school. So off to the back of the shelf the thermoses went.

The other day Emilia came from school telling us that they were watching a movie and discussing what school used to be like in France in the very old days: the punishments of hitting kids with rulers, the humiliation of wearing a hat with donkey's ears, the cold, unheated classrooms, and ... the horror!!... no cafeteria! kids had to bring lunches from home!!! Emilia mentioned to her friend that we bring lunches from home in Canada even now, "oh!!"-gasped Ophelie.

Recently the teacher asked Emilia to prepare a presentation on Canada for her class. psst... I can see such a great opportunity to play with the young French minds here... no cafeterias in schools, outhouses instead of bathrooms, we live in igloos, instead of cars we have sleds with a couple of reindeers strapped to them... ok, I guess we shouldn't ;)