A little ray of sunshine

I woke up with a smile on my face. Despite my goo-crusted eyes, runny nose and hack-up-a-lung cough, I was happy. The sun was creeping through my industrial strength shutters and I remembered that it was in fact Friday, and not Thursday (which explains why I'm writing today; got a little confused). Two weeks of vacation--one week of glorious alone time and one week with the rents--is in sight.

As I cracked open my computer and sipped my tea (THERE'S NO MORE COFFEE. Well, correction. There was one more Nespresso coffee capsule. Hidden beneath all of the decafs. I knew who had hidden it and I knew I couldn't take it. Even though it has been two days since I have had a cup of dynamite strength french coffee. But I will come back to that subject.) I checked the weather, hoping for good news. Do you know what I saw?

SIX BALLS OF SUN.

This never happens. I'm lucky if there is one ball of cloudy sun per week. Normally I see a cloudy sun ball, cloudy rain, dramatic rain, sprinkly rain, clouds. My widget is excellent at announcing the rain nuances.

But forget the rain. My vacation is going to be full of huge sun balls projecting their golden rays down on me.

However, this does not bode well for the week after. My parents arrive Friday, just in time for bad weather karma. I mean, if we have a week of sun balls, we're sure to have a week of dramatic rain drops. To represent rain, my little dashboard widget goes all melodramatic, and the rain symbol takes up the entire widget box. How come sun doesn't get that much space??

Well, I will enjoy it while it lasts. I plan on buying as much beer resembling Bud Light as I can find, stocking up on trashy mags, and creating a redneck beach in the backyard (translation: me in my bathing suit in a lawn chair). I can even hear the rush of the creek at the bottom of our garden; it's almost like being at the seaside. Almost.

But coming back to the coffee siuation. French coffee and I have had a love-hate relationship. Basically, I love to drink it, and it hates my stomach. Or rather, my stomach hates the coffee. I'm pretty sure I gave myself a nasty ulcer my first month or two after arriving. I'd have a coffee at breakfast, lunch and snack. That did not bode well for my ultra-Jewish digestion system. I had to learn to cut back and take Nexium and eventually things improved.

Somehow we got onto this subject at the dinner party I "hosted" a few weeks ago. Alain was joking that I couldn't handle french coffee and explaining my terrible stomach problems post-arrival. The woman guest chimes in (translation), saying, "Oh yea, well it doesn't surprise me given that sock juice they drink in the U.S."

EXCUSE ME?!! Yes, she said sock juice. Jus de chaussette. A term used by the French to describe really weak coffee. I was like "bitch please, I am prepared to fight it out over a cup of Panera Hazelnut coffee, so you better watch out or it's on." We may not drink tiny cups of acidic stomach lining scorcher, but we don't drink sock juice either! I happen to think that you can definitely get a good cup of coffee in the U.S., and sometimes I even wake up dreaming about a cup of coffee from our little insta'cup capsule brewer at home.

The French, so condescending.

Wednesday I made coq au vin. Alain came home and said, "I bought a coq!" which sounds like " I bought a coke!". So I said, "hey! me too, it's in the fridge". I actually didn't realize until dinner time that he meant coq and not coke. Maybe he thought I was trying to make a funny? Either way, I made the coq. Now, I have eaten a lot of things in my day, but for some reason, the coq kinda grossed me out. It's just a really huge chicken. I mean huge. It was all tough and meaty and just...ew. Anyways, the point of the story. There's a step in the recipe where you have to add a glass of cognac and then set it on fire. On TV, the chefs always tip the pan and expertly flame the cognac. Well, it didn't go exactly that way for me. First of all, we were using a cafeteria-lady sized pot. There was no version of tipping this baby into the flame. We had to resort to using an extra long match. With Alain playing camera man, I took the match and stuck it in the pot.

I did not expect what was to come.

A huge blue flame shot out of the pot, singeing every hair off of my hand and wrist. I jumped back, did some version of a screamy laugh, and managed to utter in french "that scared me".

Now, keep in mind, this is all on tape. You can hear me laughing like a hyena and Alain telling me to stir harder to put out the flames. His remarks after the cognac-flaming? "If I had known the flame would be so big, I would have told you to watch your hair". And, "at least you didn't say shit or oh my God".

And finally...no picture but hopefully a good mental image. I was driving down our little country road yesterday and was asked by a woman on a bike to stop. Before I could ask why, I saw why. Ten men--all around the age of seventy--had stopped their bike trip to take a whiz. I mean, not just a whiz. This was like a ten minute production. I just sat and watched from my car while they pulled their biking gear back on and then drove on by, honking and waving as I passed.

cochonneries

I went to the Alimentation Générale—our version of a convenience store—and was surprised that the guy working there recognized me. We chatted for a minute, he asked me about my vacation and I told him about my parents coming to visit in a few weeks. It’s nice to imagine that I am actually becoming a local here! When I go into the pharmacy or the bakery (because there isn’t much else to do here…), they know me! We have a nice little “Ca va? Oui, ca va, et vous? Vous allez bien?” conversation. It could be the intro to a (terrible) show—cue corny theme music and me breezing out of the boulangerie with a sac of fresh bread in hand…

Alright, enough of my daydreaming. That paragraph was actually supposed to go in a different direction. What I actually wanted to say is that time is flying! When the guy at the store asked about my vacation, he was referring to my trip home at Christmas. When I realized that it was actually April already, I stood there stunned for a few moments before regaining composure and muttering something about how the time passes quickly. I only have three and a half more months in this crazy, wonderful, aggravating country.

And now I’m going to bitch/rant a little. I promised myself I wouldn’t, but I think I’ll indulge. If you’re reading this and shouldn’t be, well, tant pis.

How’s that for a disclaimer?

So Friday some friends of the family came over for dinner. Zoe had some sort of parent-teacher meeting and so Alain didn’t have a lot of time to cook. Luckily for them, I was exhausted from a night out and agreed to stay home and help. Which is fine, I didn’t mind. But: NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY. A very, VERY nice favor. I basically made an entire dinner for nine people. I’ll give Alain credit for sticking the leg of lamb in the oven and helping peel apples. I, however, peeled three kilos of potatoes and made a gratin as well as a homemade piecrust for an apple tart. I also made a salad and cleaned the rather messy house. I’m not bitching about that part though. I actually like cooking. The part I’m bitching about is that no one, NO ONE, said any sort of thank you. Yea, yea, I know, I shouldn’t expect thanks, but I did them a HUGE favor. There was no “I really appreciate your help”, “Thanks for giving up your Friday night to make such a great dinner”, “YOU’RE THE BEST AU PAIR EVER”, NOTHING. The evening wouldn’t have been possible without me, and no one recognized that fact.

Also. Alain told us last night that if we didn’t eat organic food we would get Alzheimer’s or “one of those other new diseases”. Oh really doctor? Is that your medical opinion? Last time I checked, no medical journal was praising organic food as the end of AD http://www.nia.nih.gov/Alzheimers/AlzheimersInformation/Causes/.

We also had a discussion about junk food. He has very specific ideas about what is and isn’t good for you. Most of them are completely irrational and have nothing to do with actual nutrition facts. Yesterday, I had to put a few of those irrational thoughts to rest. I can’t help myself sometimes! He was insisting that some sugary yogurt shit the kids were eating was terrible for you. He was actually right about that. I won’t argue. But then, he was like, go drink some chocolate milk. I thought to myself, how is CHOCOLATE milk any different than fruity yogurt? Sugar is sugar. So I got online and found all the nutrition facts and showed him that actually, in reality, the chocolate milk is worse for you. Even if it is organic. BOOYAH.

So the kids can drink all the chocolate milk they want and eat at least five chocolate Easter eggs per day, but guess what? We aren’t allowed to have ketchup in the house because there is—quote—“too much sugar”.

GIVE ME A BREAK.

A la tienne

I'd say that about once every month, Zoe and Eliott have this burst of sibling affection towards each other. They walk around the house with their arms slung over the other's shoulders, they hug, they sing, and for about 48 hours, they don't fight. It's all very Sound of Music-y. Yesterday was one of those days. Eliott cleaned Zoe's room, they built a secret fort, and I got to read my book in peaceful--if yes, only fleeting--bliss.

Around seven I disturbed them from the sibling love sesh to eat dinner. As I was getting everything ready, Zoe poured herself and then Eliott a glass of water. Watching out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pass a glass to her brother, lift her own in the sign of a toast, slowly raise her head, and say, "à la tienne".

I nearly rolled on the floor. Let me back up. A la tienne/la votre is what French adults say when toasting each other. It basically means to your health. The way she said it, as she slowly raised her glass..well it was just so ceremonial. Not seven year old stuff. And she was dead serious. Sometimes I think this kid is 7 going on 50...

Speaking of kid news, I will admit that things have gotten slightly more tolerable. I spent the entire weekend hanging out with them and didn't want a lobotomy afterwards, so that is a definite improvement. Saturday was the Carnival in Chaumes-en-Brie. Sadly enough, I actually got my hopes up. They were quickly dashed when I realized that the Carnival was in fact a measly group of about 30 people---kindergartners (or kindergarteners? google didn't help me much on that search) and their parents. I walked in the parade around Chaumes as six year olds threw bits of confetti at my face. I kept thinking to myself---this could be my version of hell. There was even fire. The parade ending with a symbolic burn the bonhomme and I, the pyro that I am, was appeased, even if only briefly.

Sunday I roadtripped with Alain and the kids + a friend of Zoe's to Vezelay, a town a couple hundred kilometers southeast of Paris. The good news is that it was a beautiful town; I actually read after that it was one of France's must-see villages. The bad news is that it rained the entire time. And we had to hike. Alain dropped the kids and I off at the head of the trail and peaced out, taking the car to the point where the trail met the road.

I know what you're thinking--that eff-ing sucks.

I like hiking though, and the kids are pretty funny when they're not around parents.

This hike was not that fun though. Within the first two minutes, Eliott had fallen into a mud pit. I tried to rinse him off in the river next to the trail but guess what? He fell into that, too. Nature: 2, Dani: 0. About 15 minutes later, we discovered that we actually had to cross a raging, knee deep creek to continue on the path. The kids refused (rightfully so?) to climb on my back to cross. Eliott, already soaked, plunged in. Zoe and her friend wanted me to stand in the water and hold their hands as they jumped from rock to rock. I. DON'T. THINK. SO. After twenty minutes of contemplating, I thought I had found a path through the raging water (note: it wasn't really raging. But it was cold.) I made it--with the girls trailing behind--about 3/4 of the way before the log I was standing on broke in half and I subsequently got soaked. At least I tried.

The creek incident, along with Zoe's bi-minutely nagging of "are we lost???" was enough to send me over the edge. Sweating, soaked, and a little peeved, I finally made it to the damned road. Alain had tea waiting...I sipped it, pretending it was Woodford.

I shouldn't be complaining, however. The poor little friend of Zoe's had it wayyyyy worse than I did. As we were unpacking the car and eating lunch after arrival, the girl yacked all over the parking lot. Her freshly eaten sandwich was all over her boots. Apparently reading on country roads was NOT a good idea. Then, a little bit later in the day, she had to pee. No big deal right? Well, we were in the middle of nowhere, and her only choice was to pop a squat. I went with her to make sure everything went alright, and just as I thought things were a-okay, she told me that she peed all over her pants.

Of course. We sent that little girl home covered in barf and urine. Criminal.

And that was my weekend. In random news, I saw a homeless woman attack a metro-rider on Tuesday. The woman's harmless begging quickly turned nasty when she saw no one wanted to give her a euro. She started kicking a woman who promptly stood up and headlocked her. Turns out, the woman she decided to mess with was 6'2 and 280 lbs. Watch who you shin-kick next time, biatch.

Lastly--proof the French school really does suck. I was in class on Monday, listening to the professor drone on and laughing at the French students' efforts to try to copy her every word when the professor interrupted the lecture to call someone out. Now, I know that American professors call people out, too. But this woman was ruthless! And the thing is, the poor victim was probably not even being chatty. She was most likely asking her neighbor to repeat something that the professor had said. That's usually how it goes. Anyways---the professor stopped, looked up, honed in on her prey, and said, "With your extremely poor performance and terrible grades last semester, I'm surprised that you haven't learned. You can't really afford to sit in here and talk, can you?"

In the words of my sisters, "CALM THEM PUPPIES MAM".