After France We're Buying This Boat & Sailing to Cyprus

Portofino, Italy

Just kidding!

Humor or funny fibs, seems to be a conversation starter often employed over here. It's in jest but opens up a lot of "would ifs" and "can you imagine" conversations. It's not said in a jester like fashion, in fact the opposite. Typically dry and slightly mischievous.

In the States, it seems that after basic introductions, the next question always is: "And what do you do?" It's our go-to conversation starter. Does it really start conversations? Sometimes, I guess. But I think it's mostly a habitual question.

In France, it's considered borderline rude to ask this question. The idea is that this question facilitates an instant "sizing someone up" based on their profession. Within seconds there is an assessing of their level of education, salary, esteem, worth, etc. Très gauche. I'd never really thought about this before, but ... it's rather true. It's not a conscious thing for most of us, but we're zeroing in on just one facet of a person as the basis to understand someone.

Certainly French people find out each other's professions ... but not necessarily the first time you meet someone. In a way, you earn access to the "inner layers" as time and conversation continue. Kind of refreshing, actually.

La Poésie de Noël

At school, the children in Jane's class work on memorizing a new poem each month. I'm amazed with Jane's increasing capacity. We still have to look up a lot of the words for meaning, but her pronunciation is incroyable! 

A Christmas poem from Jane to you!

Without Skipping a Beat

While sitting around the breakfast table:

Peter: So, Jane. When are ya' going to grow a beard?
Jane: (completely deadpan) Noon.

Well, That's Pretty Much Correct

Dinnertime conversation:

Pops: I was talking to our neighbors and found out that Mrs. R is going to have twins!
- (general excitement commences) -
Mama: Jane, Mrs. R is having twins! Do you know what twins means?
 Jane: Yup! It means she's going to lay two babies at once!

Reminders of Love

When I was little, Grandpa and Nanie V. lived on a farm. We'd run the cornfields looking for baby kittens, eat our lunches in those big tractor scoops, carve monstrous pumpkins in the fall, and eat Pudding Pops to our hearts content. And always, I remember Nana puttering with plants. Iris by the front window, geraniums in the garage planters, African violets under those funny indoor purple lights. They do not live on the farm any more, but I do cherish those childhood memories.

We had Nanie V. in the hospital for a few days. She is back at home now, recovering well. We are thankful. My sweet Aunt Dawn, who has deep gifting in care-taking, emailed us all to give an update and soothe any worries.

She reported that she spent the night to make sure all continued well. This morning she happened to overhear Grandpa speak to Nana in regards to the night. He said, "I heard you cough and that reminded me that I love you."

 My heart swells.

Hello, Pussycat

"Mom. I'm not a pussycat. I'm a Wildcat."

Oh, yes. I see that now. Most ferocious, indeed.

Surprise Bunnies and Probable Unions

Oh. My. Goodness! We have bunnies! Darling, fluffy, furry bunnies!

We knew they had dug a burrow, but had no idea that it was as deep as it is and that they already had produced ... a family of new baby bunnies! I figured we'd get some sort of clue before they appeared, but out one pops nearly as big as Nibbles and Harvey were when we first got them just last May!


I was heading up the stairs this morning, casually looked out the window ... and there was a fuzzy little bun hopping about the rabbit coup! I started hollering and exclaiming about a bunny, to which Jane responded, "Mom. I know. We've had bunnies out there for a long time." When I explained about a baby bunny, she flat out called me a liar.

So out we ran in our jammies. To our delight the darling baby hopped out for a quick hello, before popping back into the burrow.
I've now discovered, it's quite hard to take a picture of an underground burrow. Mama and Papa bunny weren't too sure what they thought of me rootin' around down there, either. But from what I can tell they may have two tunnels underground.

 So. Darn. Exciting!

I happened to be working at school today and was able to whisper the news to Peter and Lucette. Oh how big their eyes got with wonder! Such fun they'll have thinking happy bunny thoughts all day long at school. I bet they can't wait to get home. I don't know how many more are down there, but we are on alert! Hurrah!

As we were discussing the event, Jane says to me (regarding the new parents), "Well. I guess thems are married. Must've had a wedding in their tunnel."

I like that idea very much!

Fruited Sugar Pots

The girls discovered that we had some blueberries ready in the backyard. Not an abundant supply, but definitely enough to make something tasty with.

Lucette wanted to make a dessert without a recipe ... "And don't even check on the computer for one, Mom!" While I tend to love directions, I was pretty confident we could handle this culinary expedition on our own.

So, out came the ramekins, the sugar, the brown sugar, the flour, butter, oats, and a dash of nutmeg. The girls both help with the mixing, cutting in, and readying for the oven.

25 minutes later we had bubbling berry goodness. The girls dubbed the delectable dish as "Fruity Sugar Pots." Works for me.

It was agreed that the berry pots should be saved for an after dinner treat. Jane, however, couldn't stop smelling them and wishing, wishing she could take a taste. "Mama, just looking at them is so tilting." Tempting or tilting, I was right there with her. They did look very good.

Two little girls, berries, butter, and a whole lot of sugar? The combo is bound to be scrumptious. And it was.

A New Use for an Old Thing

She padded past me with these on her feet. "What happened?" I asked. Without breaking her stride she responded, "They got wounded in the war."

Oh. Of course. The war. The war? Apparently it was a good thing I never got around to throwing out that box of old, dried-up baby wipes. War-wounds call for quick thinking and creative action. After all, necessity is the mother of invention.

Lucette's 7 Year Reflections

Do you feel any older today, Lucette?
Actually ... I do. And taller too. It happens each year right before my birthday ... I feel it in my knees.
-------
Did you have a nice birthday, my dear?
Oh, yes. It was the best ever.
What made it special?
I have my own bunnies and my own sewing machine!
I'm so happy that you are happy, Lucette.
(Happy sigh.) You have to wait 7 years for a birthday like this.

A Beautiful Attempt

I'm a little late in clearing out the garden box and starting the spring seed plantings, but I just haven't been ready to uproot these cauliflower plants. Aren't they stunning?

True, they've grown over two feet, like some sort of cruciferous Goliath. And yes, I confess, the yield was a big fat zero. No actual cauliflower grown here.

But really. Gardening is about the process and enjoyment, no? I have a very darwinian attitude about gardening. If it thrives, it's a keeper. If it doesn't ... it better, at the very least, be pretty or it's gettin' ripped out, never to be planted again. And believe me, I've ripped out my share of failed attempts.

I've always loved the quote from William Morris saying, "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." Isn't that good? I think it would apply nicely to the garden, as well.

What are you going to try planting this year?

While Riding in the Car

Jane, guess what?
What?
I love you very much.
I know.
You do? How do you know that?
Well, you always love me!
Yes, that's true.
So ... just remember that when I'm naughty.

A View Through

It is not good to cross the bridge before you get to it.

-J. Dench

A Rite of Passage

My mother made this tooth-fairy pillow for me when I was Lucette's age. The age when little girls start turning into bigger little girls ... the age when teeth start a-tumblin' and smiles begin to grow up. A little bit bittersweet, if you ask me.

Lucette has had this tooth-fairy pillow on her bed for almost a year. Lucette has had wiggly teeth for almost a year. Those little pearlies have just hung on, refusing to let go of babyhood and causing Lucette much aggravation.

"Please, yank them!" She would beg us, embracing the potential pain. She gave up on us last night and set to twisting a lower offender. At about eleven o'clock we heard a shout: "I lost a tooth! It's out! I lost a tooth!"

So I asked her, "Are you going to put it in your tooth-fairy pillow?" "Oh, yes," she replied. But after a moments pause, she remarked with a smirk: "I'm going to put it in the pillow, but ... I know she's not real." She went on to explain that she once found a discarded tooth of Peter's before I had time to trash it (No, I don't keep them, it grosses me out beyond words) and she put it under her pillow. Next morning? No cash, no glitter sparkles. The hoax was revealed.

At this point, Pops began to chortle and sputter out peppermint tea. He was never a fairy fan to begin with.

Assuming I don't forget and have to make a bald-faced lie about her having a high-volume tooth night and to try again (everything about that is horrible, I know it), tonight I'll sneak in, snatch the nasty little tooth (and promptly toss it!), and leave a few quarters and some silver glitter sparkles.

It's good not to need to believe ... but pretending is still so much fun.

To Be a Lady

After donning the lacy headscarf from the thrift store, she danced down the pink blossomed sidewalk and declared: "Ladies don't run ... they skip."

And skip she did, all the way to the mailbox and back.

To Be Four and Dance

Jane started ballet lessons today. You can see her enthusiastic hand raised just at the very tip-top right. She was so excited and talked non-stop on the car ride over. She must have had all sorts of ideas swirling as to what the experience would be like.

Mama, they have dressing rooms to change your clothes in. I read it in a book. I also know you have to listen to your teacher. (Brief pause.) Mama, sometimes they put the dancers on top of horses.

Oh really? Well, Jane, they will not be asking you to get on any horses.

That's good. 'Cause I tried it on top of Peter and I couldn't do it.

(Taking great pains to stifle giggles) Well, there are not going to be any horses at the dance studio.

Yeah. It would be really messy.

We had a lovely (and very tidy) morning at the dance studio. Much toe-pointing and gauzy handkerchief waving, little bunned-heads bobbing and sparkling smiles flashing. Now that she's done it once, she's a veritable pro and has no qualms for the next session. I think Saturday mornings will be a winter highlight.

Hung By the Chimney With Care

Peter said to me, "Mom, I really love it when the house is decorated for Christmas. It just makes me feel so ... so nice inside." I know exactly what he means.

Taking an unintended hiatus until our computer woes are over. Something about a bad drive and crashing system. Feeling the nudge to spend this offline interim in the Word and in prayer.

Perhaps this can be a good thing, after all.

And Why Not?

Peter: Hey, Lucette. Tonight, if we have time, wanna do slow-motion wrestling?

Lucette: Yep.

Let's Not Be Practical

I am loving these shoes so much, I want to hop up and down. I saw them at the thrift store a few weeks ago, but couldn't bring myself to buy them. Even though they appeared to be completely unworn, were the perfect size, and all lovely and strappy and mustardy ... they were $6.99. For better or for worse, I tend to think anything over three dollars at the thrift store is expensive. But when you find yourself daydreaming about the seven-dollar shoes for the next week ... and when you go back they still happen to be there ... it's time to snag them.

It really is too chilly to be wearing shoes like these. As Jane commented yesterday morning, "It's awfully froggy out today! We're gonna hafta' walk on clouds." But I've already worn them twice and it was worth the cold tootsies.

Next week, I get to take a birthday getaway with my own mama and these honeys are coming with. I think I'll feel very cute wearing these while lunching at some little cafe with my sweet mother. Can't wait.

An Offending Pepper

I don't want to eat this green pepper.
Well Jane, you need to.
(with a furrowed brown and disrespectful look...)
I am going to cross you off my list.

Yeesh. Her list? Sounds serious. (By the way, she ate the pepper.)