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Another Milestone for Momma

So, the other week I drove in Paris as well as on the peripherique (bypass) by myself for the first time. I was not technically by myself as I had my charming 3-foot-tall companion with me, but that fact just ratcheted up my anxiety level even more (and she's not yet at the point where she can really assist with merging into traffic). Things worked out fine considering the car was malfunctioning, but all clouds *did* have a silver lining that day -- in my case it was a cloud of black smoke billowing out the exhaust pipe so that the cars around me tended to give me a wide berth.

Driving in France was stressful for me in the beginning. I had to adjust to driving a straight gear, adjust to the differences in driving regulations, adjust to the fact that I was driving a car smaller than my former US refrigerator on smaller roads around people who tended to leave smaller margins of error (and at speeds that can only be described as zippy). Perhaps it wasn't as much a cultural difference between countries as it was a cultural difference between city driving and country driving.

My husband and I had an interesting discussion this week about driving differences between the Paris region and Virginia. I was talking about the epiphany I had that radically altered my ability to cope with roundabouts and crowded roads here. Back home, turn signals indicated an intent to change direction whereas here turn signals seem to indicate an act. "At some point I would like to change lanes" versus "I am changing lanes; yes, I mean right now, back off." He mentioned that he felt it was more difficult to change lanes back in Virginia because people wouldn't necessarily let you over if you had your turn signal on. For example, let's say you were at a certain multi-lane traffic light for the first time and you realized you were in the wrong lane and needed to get over so you could go to Wal-Mart and buy a bag of ice. Let's say you put on your turn signal and the light turns green -- what happens next?

Well, in many cases (unless you were driving a granny car and some nice person assumed you were elderly and let you in) you'd probably have to wait your turn and when the light turned yellow, you might be able to get over. Otherwise it looks like you're butting in line and people don't like that, right? Here, on the other hand, if I put on my turn signal and just change lanes, the people behind me are expecting it and I'm able to switch without too much of a problem. I guess everyone does it so it somehow all works out.

My wonderful friend, Kathy, taught me one surefire trick for changing lanes in stopped traffic and it does still work here: make eye contact with the other driver, smile, point to where you want to go and mouth the words, "Can I please get over?" In Virginia, it worked like a charm and without fail, every single person smiled back and let me in. Here, no one smiles back and they look at me like I'm this huge weirdo (which I guess in all fairness I am, in this respect) but they do let me over. Of course, I haven't used this trick once I realized all I had to do was put on my turn signal and go...no eye contact or smiling was necessary. But the whole issue of what a smile means is a completely different topic...

Just Another Late State of the Union Address

We've just returned from our second vacation down south to the in-laws' for a wedding. Who would have ever thought I'd have a life in which we'd take our cat on vacation to the Mediterranean (and the Alps, for that matter)?

The week before we left, I harvested close to 4 kilos of tomatoes from the garden. Some friends of the family helped us out while we were gone and picked the ripe ones, and I am still picking 'maters! This weekend I'm going to make sauce and freeze it. And I don't want mean to brag (well, maybe only a little) -- but they are seriously the best tomatoes I've ever had in my life. Food is just so much better when you grow it yourself!

Bo Bella is still a hoot. As soon as we got back, she noticed that the cat's bowl was empty and took it upon herself to fill it up. She went over to the bag, unfastened the zip-lock opening, took the scoop and made several trips over to the bowl, and then even closed the bag back up. I know it isn't rocket science or anything, but it's just fascinating to me to see her do little stuff like this on her own, without being asked or shown. They do grow up so fast!

This week she returned to the halte-garderie, where she'll now go for one full day a week. We also took her trike out to the forest and collected various bits and bobs to make a nest for the squirrels, which was a lot of fun for us both. Yesterday we went to a recently opened indoor playground with several other anglophone mothers and today we made scones with a Scottish friend and her son. Life is good!

Just Call Me the Space Cowboy

We went to mail a couple of packages today, and Stinkerbella didn't stop jabbering away the whole time we were there. There was a man in front of us with long, stringy hair who kept turning around to look at us. Even though he looked a little like Killer BOB from Twin Peaks he seemed fairly harmless. At first, Ella just kept asking "Momma, is that a man up there? Him a man?" Then when he left, she demanded, "HEY MOMMA, WHERE DID WILD, WILD WEST GO?" And I was all like, "I dunno, honey, maybe he had to go find his horse."

Just kidding about the horse part; I was too busy trying not to laugh to give any kind of good answer. But it was pretty funny...

Okay, Then, Just So's You Know...

Stinkerbella (attaching herself to my knees): I love you, momma.

Me (overwhelmed): Oh, honey, I really, really, really love you, too.

Stinkerbella (shrugging): Well...I know.

State of the Garden Address

So. I spent an entire month in Virginia and just ask me how much time I devoted to absorbing garden knowledge from my parents. I know, I know; it's just sad. Granted, their entire veggie garden is surrounded by an electric fence (deer issues) which makes it a little difficult to just pop in and walk up and down the rows, but still...

Thus I have returned to my own tiny plot none the wiser but still determined to grow food. Initially I put in 8 tiny tomato plants, thinking not all of them would survive. I chose not to prune the suckers, whatever those things are, because I once read in a book that I didn't technically have to. Those 8 tomato plants are now looking wildly out of control, but I'm managing to keep them upright thanks to some spare yarn I had around the house. Right now my plan of attack is to water and pray.

It's amazing how many weeds can grow in one months' time. Seriously. When I left, I had carefully nurtured some leeks, sunflowers, and sweet peas, but upon my homecoming they were nowhere to be found and uninvited guests were growing in their place. My mint and parsley had flowered, and now I'm trying to figure out what I should do with those. As far as happy surprises go, the clematis in the front yard is blooming again along with one I didn't even know about in the back yard. So that's good.

The biggest news is that we finally ordered a garden shed from England, it has arrived, and my husband is working hard at assembling the thing. It does take up a significant chunk of garden in a prime sunlight location, but there's no getting around the fact that we need some storage space. Once that's installed, I hope to work on enlarging some of the beds and getting rid of that gravel, to which I still just cannot see any benefit. I have to weed it, it's a pain in the rear to try to sit on, it gets stuck in my shoes and we track it in the house, and doesn't prevent mud. Ack.

And the really big news is that once we get rid of that horrid stuff, I'm not sure it's worth the effort to try to get grass to grow in its place and might opt for a terrace instead. In the end, we'd have a workable "backyard" area more quickly and with a lot less effort. I'll get my green fix with more plants in containers and am going to work on maximizing the little actual gardening space I have. I've spent a lot of time agonizing over what to do with my patch of land that in all probability is about the size of my parents' living room and this just makes the most sense at the moment. I know I should post a picture of it in its current state, what with the shed-in-progress, patchy, weed-filled gravel, unruly tomato plants next to flowering mint, and giant pile of dirt smack dab in the middle, but I'm just too ashamed. Y'all would definitely think I'm crazy for spending so much time writing about it.

The weeds have taken over

(This was my first thought upon arriving home.)

Well, we made it through another very long 19-hour trip! This time I was solo with the babe, but it was just fine -- except the incident with the baggage cart at the very, very end. Thankfully my husband was there to save me.

So much has happened, I don't know where to start. The biggest news is that Bo Bella does in fact seem to be potty trained. It feels a little bit like cheating, actually. I'm pretty sure the karmic dial just clicked over to "You are so screwed for the teenage years," not that I had very much to do with the fact she's trained. She's had very few accidents so far and the trend seems to be continuing here in France, though I think she really prefers Granny's comfy bathroom to our water closet. I have some work to do in figuring out how to handle excursions, what with the famous lack of available public restrooms around.

Virginia was wonderful, with mostly wonderful weather. We were able to hang with friends and family, I did a little shopping, and caught the newest Harry Potter with my sister. Bo Bella saw her first fireworks, had her first haircut, swam in the lake, had her first horse and pony ride, went down to the creek just about every day, and did lots and lots of swinging and playing with friends. She also displayed a fondness for cars, just like my dad, so the legacy lives on.

Oh, and we did do some fancy dancing to bluegrass music. Originally we were just sitting in the grass and watching, but before long Bo Bella had marched up to the dancing platform, managed to climb up on it, and demanded, "HEY, MOMMA. Get on up here! Come on up here and DANCE TOGETHER!" The person next to me turned and said, 'Yeah, Momma...get on up there and dance." There is nothing to do except comply in this circumstance, what with the cuteness on the stage and all those people sitting in lawn chairs looking at you. She did just fine, moved her feet and kicked her legs and everything.

Personally, I really needed that trip home and if I can swing it, I'd spend every single summer there. It's good to be back here, even with some serious work to do. I'm off to try to salvage my garden -- though good news! I've got green tomatoes!! And we've eaten our first carrots, shrimpy though they were. RIP to my rhubarb...