My NOT to do during Summer list

For this week's writer's workshop over at Mama Kat's Losing it, I picked prompt #5: Your top 10 Summer Don’ts. You do know I love lists AND I also like telling others what to do -or in this case, not to do- so I think Mama Kat really thought of me there.

1- Don't fall in love with the bartender/surf instructor/lifeguard: he will not be Tom Cruise nor Kelly Slater nor any of those hotties from TV shows. Wipe off his tan, picture him in jeans walking in the grey city. There. Now listen to him speak. I don't think I need to add anything.

2- Don't go away on vacation in July: you'll just hate everyone when you get back in August. They will all be making fantastic holiday plans when you'll be losing your tan at the office. Chances are you won't have a tan at all, because we all know that it rains in July (especially in France, I know).

3- Don't go away on vacation in August: you'll just spend the whole of July envying those who take their holidays before you and chances are you'll see them coming back with a tan and this 'I'm just back from holidays and I am fine' look. Also, we all know it's too hot in August.

4- Don't buy ANY souvenirs. Those shoes look adorable ON THE BEACH. They'll just make you look plain stupid back home.

5- Dont you EVER have your hair braided. There is no excuse for that unless you are under 14 years old.

6- Don't go on a diet. Summertime was made for BBQs, rosé and cocktails. You'll be fat, but happy.

7- Don't go to parties on the beach. You'll just end up wasted and sleeping with a bartender/surf instructor/lifeguard (see point 1)

8- Don't follow any advice in women's magazines. They'll try and make you believe you can find true love (point 1 again), that you'll be thinner and that you will look fabulous with that green hat on.

9- Don't think it's the Summer until it's actually hot outside. Also, there is no excuse for flip-flops in the city. Just don't wear them. Please.

10- Don't think it'll last. We Parisians very well know actual Summer lasts for approximately two weeks. And that's if we're lucky.

Oh, one last thing. If you liked this post, would you mind terribly clicking on the RSS feed, here, or the Google connect buttons (top left), or by email at the bottom of this page? And if you didn't like it, you might still want to look around. There's three of us, you know, so you're (almost) bound to find something you like. And then, if you've still got time, you could share this post or stumble it, or both and get in touch with your local tv station to sing our praises. We'll love you forever.

Terrible twos (and ones, and threes)

For this week's writer's workshop at Mama Kat's fantastic blog, I chose prompt #2: 'What did they get into now? Describe a time your toddler got into something they shouldn't have.'

I have two children. The eldest, Alexandre, barely did anything forbidden or exotic during his toddler years. Granted, he did swallow one of my rings while jumping on the bed with the ring in his mouth, but it didn't hurt him, he just got it out the natural way - and boy was I glad that it was my husband who digged for it, I'll spare you the details. Alex is not that kind of boy. However, he will make others do crazy stuff, he'll enjoy the planning more than the doing.

My youngest, on the other hand, seems to have a special gift for doing crazy things. She's a little monster. Sweet, funny, smart but the girl has no limit. I think she's already done everything that could be done. Of course there's the usual drawings on the wall, the applying my very expensive make-up to her dolls and herself, carrying the new kitten by its tail to show it around the house, showing me, very proudly, one of its whiskers pulled off with her fingers, pouring my shampoo and conditioner into the cat's bowl, putting all the toilet paper down the toilets because after all, that's what it's for, isn't it? - amongst other things. All between the age of one and three.

A few weeks ago, I heard her cry in her room. I ran -O.K., three steps, but still, I managed to run into the wall and hurt myself - stupid, stupid small Parisians flats - and I found her choking. I did what any mother would do: I panicked. I tried to make her swallow whatever it was, or spit it out, but it was obviously stuck in her throat. Her life was in no danger, she was breathing by then, but it obviously hurt. I called the firemen and there they came, two and a half minutes later, all three of them. My boy was all excited, needless to say.

Roxane had swallowed a coin. A small one. She had totally swallowed it by the time the firemen were here but they still wanted to take her to the hospital to check her out, make sure it went down the right tube. Alex was excited about being in the truck, so was I (oh come on, three firemen, a truck and a child out of danger, you gotta enjoy things a little) and it was then that my adorable son chose to tell them about the time he had swallowed the ring. One of the guys asked me if I made a habit out of having kids who swallowed the wrong things. Hem.

Roxane turned out to be fine and it was at her daddy's place that she got the coin out, the same way her brother had. I am pretty sure she'll keep on doing crazy things. One day, she and Alex will team up and then, the serious stuff will begin.

I do wonder why she does all that. I also wonder why my whole family keeps calling her Marianne instead of Roxane. Beats me.

Oh, one last thing. If you liked this post, would you mind terribly clicking on the RSS feed, here, or the Google connect buttons (top left)? And if you didn't like it, you might still want to look around. There's three of us, you know, so you're (almost) bound to find something you like. And then, if you've still got time, you could share this post or stumble it, or both and get in touch with your local tv station to sing our praises. We'll love you forever.

Social media Gaga

For this week's Mama Kat's workshop, I chose prompt #5 'How has social media changed you'.

My immediate thought was 'well, I am not choosing that one, seeing as I am the exact same person I was before the advent of social media'. Right. Hem. After a few seconds, I realized that I would probably be slightly depressed if I didn't have an easy access to Facebook for more than, say, two hours.

I check it at home, on my Blackberry and at work. I originally joined because Sandrine thought it would be a good place to share pictures and thoughts. Gradually, I looked for friends, people found me and, as much as I hate to admit it, I was addicted in no time.

I love it. I love the way I think of a status update and write it, secretly hoping my friends will laugh. I love checking my buddies' pictures, being a part of their everyday life.

My personal favorite is the chat option. It's like the phone, only better. And you get to chat with two or three people at the same time.

I know it's superficial, shallow, I know it's a unique marketing tool, but seriously, I'm in this world, I want to share. Sharing is my thing, you see. I hate being alone and Facebook keeps me close to the ones I love.

So yeah, it changed me a little, because I didn't need it before, but really, I've always been like that. I become addicted easily. I think it's the tools that change, not us.

Enchanted

For this week's writer's workshop at Mama Kat's, I chose prompt #4 "Enchanted".

Last Sunday, I took the munchkins to see Rapunzel. Great movie. It really felt like watching a good, smart romantic comedy. Lots of hilarious scenes, lovely songs -and not boring, loved it. Now of course the children want a cameleon, but other than that, I highly recommend it, even for grown-ups.

When I got back home, I wondered how come I'd enjoyed it so much, why it felt like magic and then it struck me. Not only did I believe in the love story, but I also knew I could have it. As in, it could happen to me. Not that I want my hair to grow like that nor meet a thief who fights with a horse, but I thought "hey, this could be me, falling in love, feeling that again".

I realized that each time I saw a movie, say, during the past five years, I was sad whenever there was a big love story. I just couldn't help thinking that it could happen, sure, but not to me. I had a good life, I did love my husband, but well, you know.

I'm a big girl, I know those are not true stories, but I also know that one should never give up, that love is right there, somewhere, that true love can happen, that things can be simple, easy. I'm not talking about ideal love for life, I'm talking about two people finding each other, soul-mates. I somehow always knew it was a possibility, but I was sad because I wasn't going to get it.

Now that I'm single again, I want that. Nothing less. Just not now. But someday, yeah, I'll meet my thief. I just hope he won't fight with horses.

Oh, one last thing. If you liked this post, would you mind terribly clicking on the RSS feed, here, or the Google connect buttons (top left), or by email at the bottom of this page? And if you didn't like it, you might still want to look around. There's three of us, you know, so you're (almost) bound to find something you like. And then, if you've still got time, you could share this post or stumble it, or both and get in touch with your local tv station to sing our praises. We'll love you forever.

Dear Alexander Skaarsgard

For this week's Writer's Workshop at Mama Kat's, I chose prompt # 4: "an open letter to a celebrity".

I was very tempted, no, extremely tempted to write on the other prompt "that time you met your online friend for real" but it's way too personal. For those who've been reading me for a while, it has to do with Kiss #4. Yes.

And since I promised myself to write a book about this story, I'll just keep it to myself for now.

So here's the letter.

"Dear Alexander,

You are, by far, the most beautiful man on earth. I haven't met all men, true, but I can tell. You are just perfect.

Even though I know I'm not as perfect as you are, I'd like to draw a list of the reasons you should start dating me:

1- I'm French. This does not need more explaining, I think.

2- I think you and I would be perfect together. And I'm never wrong.

3- I'm not totally crazy. I think most of your fans are. Think about it for a second. Most fans believe in vampires and drool a little whenever they see you. I don't believe in vampires and I only drool when I sleep, sometimes.

4- I'm not photogenic at all. Which means you'd always look great in the pictures we'd send our friends from our vacation spots (by the way, the Bahamas, next February, is that O.K. with you?)

5- I am smart. I'm not sure you are. No offense, sweetie, but you're way too hot to be intelligent. So if you're not that bright, I can be the one talking at dinner parties and you'll be the cute one. If you are intelligent, it's also pretty cool, because we will need to do other things, you, besides, well (cannot write this here, as evil sisters will probably censor me but you know what I'm thinking, right?)

I only chose 5 points because I'm sure you're pretty busy with the shooting of True Blood and trying to look gorgeous at all times. I'm not even slightly worried that you won't answer because, truly, we're soul mates.

You and I are meant to be. (I repeat, though, I'm NOT crazy)

Yours,

Marianne."

Oh, one last thing. If you liked this post, would you mind terribly clicking on the RSS feed, here, or the Google connect buttons (top left), or by email at the bottom of this page? And if you didn't like it, you might still want to look around. There's three of us, you know, so you're (almost) bound to find something you like. And then, if you've still got time, you could share this post or stumble it, or both and get in touch with your local tv station to sing our praises. We'll love you forever.

Happy Halloween

This is my entry for Mama Kat's Writers'Workshop. 


We'll be away in Cappadocia this Halloween so no trick or treating for us.
As a family we're not particularly attached to Halloween - neither my husband nor I grew up with it, as it just wasn't a big thing in France or the UK in the seventies and eighties. But where we live now, there is a sizeable American community, so there are parties and events every year and we usually take part and enjoy it.


So here's some crafty Halloween stuff in honour of the celebration we'll be missing.

This is a witchy pinata, recycled from a Christmas Angel. We actually made it for an Easter party but everyone commented that it would be better suited for Halloween, so...

It's not always easy to find whole pumpkins here, we usually buy them sliced, and when they're whole, they're often the pale green variety and huge. Last year we found one, so we got carving and Zombie school girl and witch boy were able to take a jack o' lantern to the party.

Finally, no Halloween is complete in our household without Doctor Who monsters. Here are some Dalek cookies Charlotte and a friend made:

Happy Halloween!

A rare genetic disorder

This morning, as Max was getting into the lift to go down and wait for the school bus, I noticed that his rubber boots were split at the back. The whole length of rubber was gaping. So I unrolled his trousers a bit to cover as much of it as possible. Not too much: the reason the trousers were rolled up was to hide a big tear at the bottom.

These are not old clothes. They are not even second hand, or cheap. I bought the boots two weeks ago and my husband picked up the trousers around the same time. I have no idea why our children's clothes are always stained, or torn.

Well, maybe. Ours do the same thing. So it's probably  genetic.
That's it. There is a gene for not being able to keep clothes neat.
I can prove it.

We wash our clothes in our own washing machine. My husband is anal very careful about putting them on the right cycle. I'm not, but then I never go near the wash basket.

For the past eight years we've had a person coming in regularly to clean our house - aren't we lucky! - and she irons all our clothes. She's way more careful with them than we'd ever be. If we knew how to handle an iron, that is.

She's not so great about putting them away in the right place so I do that. And I am very careful anal about it.

Clothes that need to be dry cleaned are, eventually. Things are repaired when they need to be.
So our clothes are extremely well cared for (well, sort of: we don't have suit bags, shoe horns, padded hangers, fuzz ball removers, we often don't handwash stuff for ages, and only if it really really has to be handwashed and I don't bang it in the main wash 'by mistake' after it's been in the handwashing basin for several weeks - erm. I'm in danger of losing my point here).

So you see, our clothes are perfectly cared for. 
Then we wear them.
We don't climb trees (often).
We try not to walk in the mud if there's a dry pavement (unless we don't see it because we're talking).
We roll up our trousers, or tuck them in our boots if it's raining (then forget to tuck them out again).
Still, we're a mess.
Always.
There are no wardrobe malfunctions.
That's just how we are.
Any cures for it?


This was my post for Mama Kat's Writers Workshop. The prompt was: a wardrobe malfunction.

Blame it on the Bloggin'

For this week's Writers' Workshop over at Mama Kat's , I chose the prompt "Why do you blog?"

Now, that's an interesting question, and so many people have asked me why I blogged that I feel this is the right opportunity to answer properly.

Each time I was asked that question, I always felt the need to justify myself, as if I were doing something bad or illegal. People would tilt their heads a little, looking a little concerned. For the most part, I think they dont really know what it's for. But, what is the point, they ask me.

In France, we teach philosophy in High School. Certainly not as thoroughly as we do in University, but we do read Plato and a few of his buddies. I remember my first philosophy class. I was 16 (going on 17... Sorry, BIG fan of The Sound of Music) and very excited. Sandrine had left for England a few years before that to go study philosophy and I was finally going to know what it was all about - I'm pretty sure she must have explained, but then again, I was 11 years old when she left, I'm not sure I was listening or understanding.

Our teacher was great. He was extremely smart, and like all other philosophy teachers, he taught in High schools but also in Uni, at a very high level. He used to tell us he was here to try and teach us how to think for ourselves. To exit the cave, he said.

We all sat in the classroom, I was late so I could only find a seat in the first row. I never left it after that. I liked him a lot. He thought differently from other teachers, you see. He wanted us to think, for real, and he seemed to believe we were all capable of it.

He waited for us to be quiet, and took a moment to look at us. Then, he asked: "So, what's the use of philosophy?" (in French, "Ca sert à quoi, la philo?). Many students, myself included, tried to say something smart. And then, he said: there's no use. "Ca ne sert à rien".

Blogging has no use, either. It serves no purpose. But it did bring us sisters closer, it's fun, and when I write, I think by myself. It's good enough for me.

Oh, one last thing. If you liked this post, would you mind terribly clicking on the RSS feed, here, or the Google connect buttons (top left), or by email at the bottom of this page? And if you didn't like it, you might still want to look around. There's three of us, you know, so you're (almost) bound to find something you like. And then, if you've still got time, you could share this post or stumble it, or both and get in touch with your local tv station to sing our praises. We'll love you forever.

Me and my childless friends

A list!! There IS a God!! I am actually asked to make a list, one of my favorite things in the world! For Mama Kat's  Writers' Workshop, I am to draw a list of the things that I no longer have in common with my childless friends and tell you why I love them anyway.

So, here it comes (I'm so excited, isn't it sad to be that excited about a list? Anyway.)

Not quite the Marriage of Figaro

This week I'm trying something new: the writer's workshop at Mama Kat's Losing It. Like Josie at Sleep is for the Weak, she gives readers weekly prompts and then you link up to her blog and read the others.


The prompt I chose is 'Write about your wedding song. What was it and why did you choose it?'


We didn't have a wedding song.
We got married on the sly.
We'd been living 'in sin' for five years, but needed to be married so the children could get British passports. I wore a skirt I'd had a while, and a new top. A judge married us in a plain room. It was over in 10 mins. We did it while at work, a conference.