February 19, Saint-Ismier.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Southern escapade.
February 19, Saint-Ismier.
An escapade to the South, to Nice and my friend Isabelle, to Avignon and the grandiose austerity of the Popes' Palace, breathtaking (more so because on the day we arrived the city was in the grips of the Mistral, a wind from the North that rules over the Rhone region of France with painful force,) back to the garrigue around Pont du Gard for a hike among thyme and rosemary and the benevolent olive trees that reigned with loveliness and legend over my childhood, on to the village of Grignan with its castle and its tortuous streets.
An escapade, with the kids and my parenting demons, Dylan and I like rams, and I am not sure which needs to learn more, but we had fun, the three of us, listening to swinging French children songs, Hélène Bohy and her sailors, swear words under my breath at each missed turn on the road, but we have time, what do we care.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Monday, February 06, 2012
The kids.
February 6, Saint-Ismier.
A month of school has passed, and my fears about Nicolas not developing right have dissolved as he goes a' skipping into class each morning jumping up to the sweet fabulous Fanny, his teacher, with a resounding Bonjour! and she tells me he's learning just fine. Dylan is in demanding first grade and still catching up but he's doing it so fast his teacher says she can see smoke coming out of his ears. We work at home every day; he's endearingly eager to learn, and likes math best.
The week ends go just as fast. Yesterday we went out to the movies to see Le Tableau, a gorgeous intelligent trip through painting, had a smorgasbord of a lunch with Dylan's new fancy, sauerkraut, did school, ran out to a meadow up the road from my mother's house where we go sleighing every day it seems since I finally bought the kids a sleigh on Wednesday, then came home to a kid painting session before munching on fresh bread and cheese for dinner and the usual protracted reading time before bed.
I don't have a minute to spare with them, they're two free electrons bouncing up my walls and if it is exhausting most of the time, it is also damn lucky as can be. If I wasn't profoundly agnostic I'd say we're blessed.
Winter.
February 6, Saint-Ismier.
It snowed here in the Alps last week, before a Siberian cold descended upon the country, breaking records not seen for decades. Finally a sleigh for the kids, and we're out on a pasture above my mother's house every day it seems.
I had forgotten how much I enjoy winter, when it's white and sunny and stepping outside slaps you in the face.
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