Prepared? Yeah, right!

NOTE: This post is more than a bit outdated, as I wrote most of it two weeks ago, and then -- silly me! -- never wrapped it up and "published" it here on the blog... But just thought I would do so now, before moving on to my latest thoughts...

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Boy, I'm so tired of that question already, and I guess I've been getting it for weeks: "Are you ready?" "Are you prepared? Have you done everything?" And I never know whether people mean physically, mentally, emotionally or just materialistically prepared... I guess it's a combination of all of these, of course. And I know that it's meant with the best of intentions. But how can one ever be really and truly prepared for such an experience, and is there really ONE tried-and-true, specific way of preparing yourself?! Who knows...

Okay, so the past few days I have been spending a lot of my time preparing the baby clothes for the maternité and just trying to take my time washing them, folding them, and putting away as much as possible in the one piece of furniture I have for the baby so far -- the mint-green dresser! I quite like it, although the quality is obviously not fabulous -- it's pretty-much the same as Ikea-quality, but I guess I couldn't expect much more than that for the price I paid. Still, I'm hesitating about the matching bed, and I have a feeling the decision won't be made before the Little Bean arrives. In the meantime, I'm bound and determined to get us either a couffin or a landau, barring an actual combination stroller. My boyfriend did finally make it up to his sister's place in Lille this past weekend and drove back in her car, that he will be buying from her used -- so we officially have wheels again, and therefore a way to get to the clinic on the Big Day! But apparently her baby's stroller was in pretty bad condition and didn't seem to be working very well, so my boyfriend said to forget about it... Which leads us back to square one in that department. I think we may very well end up buying our own stroller; I may bite the bullet and convince him to go with me at the end of this week, when he finally has a couple of days off and we can go to a shop or two. But managing to convince him to go to some shops with me will be quite the challenge, to say the least...

So no, my life is not very exciting right now, but that's OK (and of course that will change any time now!). I'm feeling the constant need for rest anyway, and I'm also feeling excessively lazy -- it's insane! I keep telling myself I need to be doing more housecleaning (story of my life -- how many times have I mentioned this before?!) but all I want to do is kick back, relax and read, get my mind off my worries and just not think too much at this point. I put off going to bed at night, though, and I'm becoming more and more nocturnal; I'm really going to have to kick this habit soon, as I will regret it later on... But I think it's psychological, because now when I go to bed at night, I either wake up really early in the morning, or whenever I do wake up, I'm aching all over, mainly in my back, my feet and my hands, strangely enough. I get that my feet are swelling and I may be retaining some water (mental note: really need to watch my salt intake a bit better, I guess!), and also that no matter what I do, I can't seem to stay asleep in the right position at night, but what's with the achey hands?! Is the swelling thing meant to apply to ALL extremities, and not just my feet? In any case, I find myself occasionally cracking my knuckles during the day -- which I know is far from pretty, much less healthy, and not exactly a recommended little habit to be acquiring. But it seems to temporarily ease the pain, so...

Yes, there you have it, my blog has officially transformed into one of the expat expectant mommy blogs -- I guess this has been coming for a while! I try to alternate posts and talk about other things, but obviously this is what my life is revolving around right now, so what can I do? No matter what I read, the subject is always there in the back of my mind. For example, when I read last week's French Elle horoscope, I almost fell off my seat in the RER -- you see, my birthday falls on August 22, so I'm right "on the cusp", as they say, of both Leo and Virgo. I often jokingly like to say in French that I'm "Lion, presque Vierge" -- not too many out there who can say that, right?! In any case, these days I don't even know which sign to read, because Elle has stopped Leo at August 21st, whereas all my life I've pretty much considered myself more of a Leo than a Virgo. But I guess my personality is a mix of both... Then again, it's not as if I take all that much stock in horoscope predictions, trust me! It's just that on occasion I find them uncannily accurate... For example, in the week from June 30th to July 6th, Lion says: "... si vous ne partez pas encore en vacances, relâcher la pression, celle que vous mettez sur les autres... et sur vous. De votre capacité à vous détendre et à accepter les choses telles qu'elles sont dépendent vos succès futurs [!!!!]. Nés autour du 21 août [!!], agissez pour le changement."

Um, sorta kinda makes you stop and think, non ? I mean, trust me, with getting out to spend time with friends, I've definitely been making time to relax, but admittedly I'm the worst about "accepting things the way they are" -- I'm always wanting to somehow "fix" things at the last minute, and I'm definitely not a planner. I know this is kindof the stars' way of telling me that I'm going to have to learn to live with things being less-than-perfect for a while!

And if that one wasn't uncanny enough, read Virgo's from the same week (keeping in mind that I have usually considered myself more of a Leo up until now, but again, this was freaky nonetheless...): "... ne cherchez pas à tout résoudre, procédez par étapes. Nés autour du 24 août, préparez-vous, la semaine prochaine peut être importante [!!!!]." Of course, since then, that week has come and gone, and the "big event" hasn't happened yet -- but STILL, at the time it surprised me to read that!

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People also keep asking us if we're going to be leaving on vacation, and obviously that hinges on the baby's arrival: due date being the end of July, early August, there's just no way of knowing when the Little Bean will officially pop out! I really hope that we will be able to head down to the Atlantic Coast for at least a couple weeks after the birth, but I imagine it all depends on how well the delivery goes, and obviously the baby's and my health afterwards. Although the sage-femme did say last week that normally a week to 10 days after birth was plenty of time to allow before going away, I'm just wondering how I will be handling everything. So no predictions at this point... It would be SO nice to get away from the city and to enjoy the ocean a bit after the baby's birth, but again, I'm obviously going to focus on making sure everything just goes well before thinking about all of that...

Oh, and I looked a bit into both the Bum Genius and Fuzzi Bunz cloth diapers -- and OH my WORD, I must have been living on another planet, because I had NO IDEA how expensive they were going to be! Then again, I know a baby goes through a heck of a lot of disposables in one day, so I imagine the cloth diapers are not only the better long-term investment, leading to less spending in the long run, but they are also so much better for the environment. But *gulp* that first order is going to be painful, to say the least! Aimée has given me some good advice in that department as well, so I may plan on putting through an order for a starter kit to give the Bum Genius diapers a try, and have my parents bring them over from the U.S. when they come to visit in September...

In the meantime, I'm busy preparing my valise for the clinic, for both myself and the Little Bean. I've been dragging this out, though, and still need a few things from the pharmacy. I hope to wrap that all up very soon!

Down to the Wire... 36 Weeks!

I was sitting here eating my requisite daily apple and peanut butter (don't ask me how much I spent on a tiny container of Skippy last week -- I feel guilty enough as it is! -- and I keep eating it straight out of the container...) when I thought I should probably finally get around to making an update on my blog, and more specifically a pregnancy update! The baby's been moving around quite a bit for the last few hours, whereas usually the Little Bean saves his/her jigging around for nighttime, just when I'm climbing into bed. The sage-femme told us yesterday, at my last birth preparation class, that this is pretty much always the way it works -- for some reason the baby's clock is exactly opposite our own, so as we go about our daily activities, the Little Bean sleeps away, pretty much through everything, and then wakes up when we're heading off to bed.

And I've now officially hit that tough period I was dreading -- yep, the insomnia period. I had been forewarned by numerous friends, and of course the recent heatwave isn't helping. Trust me, I'm not complaining -- I'm as happy as the next gal that we've finally got some sunshine in the City of Light -- but the heat is definitely not pleasant when you're pregnant, and even less so when you're pregnant and have to take public transportation, which has fast become my nemesis. Thank goodness most people are nice enough to give me a seat at this point, but it's not always the case.

So last night, for the second night in a row, I tossed and turned for nearly 2 hours before passing out, and waking up, per my usual, on my back. Recently I've been going to bed on my left side, with this supportive "pregnancy" cushion propped up against my back and several pillows under my calves. But then of course by morning the cushions and pillows are all on the floor, and I'm flat on my back. Oh well... I have no idea how other gals do it, but maybe their beds are up against a wall or something... In any case, I almost got up and moved to the sofa last night, as my boy fell fast asleep right away, immediately after we didn't settle our disagreement as to whether to leave the window open or not. I need the air, otherwise I feel like I'm broiling away in an oven, but at the same time, in spite of the fact that we're on the third floor, the street gets pretty noisy at night (we're in the centre ville of our town, and apparently it's unavoidable) so leaving the windows open is not the best option either. Last night I seriously thought I was going to slam open the shutters and start screaming at the hoodlums in the street, racing their stupid scooters up and down and making all kinds of who-knows-what kind of noise after midnight. I know it would have been pointless, but my hormones almost got the better of me... I swear, how satisfying would it have felt to scream, "Foutez le camp, foutez-nous la paix, il y a des gens qui essaient de DORMIR, bande de cons !!"?!

Enfin, I digress... And basically I would never have the balls to do such a thing anyway. I finally made it to sleep, but not without some effort, but the only thing that saves me is the fact that I can sleep in in the morning at this point, if I really need to, even though I don't like wasting the day away in bed with all that has to be done in the next few weeks... Then again, here I am now in front of the computer, so I'm not exactly making much progress here either!

So yesterday was my last birth preparation class at the clinic where I will be delivering the Little Bean in Paris, and up until now I have to admit I've been a bit disappointed in things... Well, overall everything has been going fine, but I couldn't help but think we were racing through so much information, and there was hardly any time to ask any questions, much less enough time to take actual notes during each jam-packed session. They've consolidated each 2 1/2 hour session of three classes so that we won't have to make the trips in to the clinic as often, and I totally understand this (granted, I don't know if I would have liked having to make the trip back and forth 8 times rather than only 3...) but at the same time, it's all just terribly overwhelming for first-time moms! Thank goodness at this point in my life in France I have a pretty good grasp of the language, because I know that otherwise things would be even harder. Then again, I don't know that even language understanding will make much of a difference on the Big Day, as I have a feeling most of the expletives will be coming out in my native tongue as I struggle through the contractions...

And I'm at the stage where I'm trying not to think about delivery too much, as I've heard SO MANY different things, and I know that it can be so different for everyone. Aside from the fact that I realize it will be painful, and that this is unavoidable, I just wonder how far along I will be able to make it before I beg for the epidural, and whether I'll even recognize the actual labor contractions -- I mean, I imagine they must be pretty clear when the due date becomes imminent, but then again I've heard about so many false alerts that I just don't know what to expect... In the meantime, I've found that actually reading less has made me feel better than reading more, and as much as I've always been of the mind that informing oneself is important, this is one area where I wonder if staying in the murky end isn't a little bit better! It's funny, because even the sage-femme pointed out yesterday that in the Western world we tend to intellectualize the experience, as well as breastfeeding, and we think about it so much that it tends to make it even more difficult. I don't know how true that actually is, but it seems to make sense to me! I do hope that things will come naturally, but again, I'm trying to be both pragmatic and realistic, figuring that I will take things as they come: J'essaie de faire confiance à la vie, pour une fois !

For the first time yesterday, after class was over, I ran into a couple of the futures mamans in front of the elevator on my way out of the building... I had been so disappointed up until now mainly because I painfully felt the lack of contact and communication among moms-to-be, and my American side was aching for some interaction, some camaraderie, quoi ! I've adjusted to many elements of life in France, but I think this is something I will always miss, and I do admit that I relish the opportunities I get to meet up with fellow anglophones to chat about all kinds of things. On occasion I've been able to do this with French gals, but deep down I'm obviously American and that will never change -- so I find that I'm more myself when I'm with other Americans. But it was so funny, because these two gals were talking about how the classes threw so much medical information at us, how overwhelming and intimidating they were, how fast the sage-femme spoke, how everyone else seemed to know exactly what was going on... It was crazy, because they were basically voicing every single thought that I had had running through my head! It felt SO GOOD to finally share things, to commiserate and bond a bit. They were both super-sweet, and I only wish we could have exchanged numbers and gotten together. But alas -- that kind of thing just doesn't happen as easily here... I had an appointment with my anesthésiste just after the class, so we did chat for nearly a half-hour before I headed back upstairs, exchanging ideas and suggestions for baby equipment shopping, advice for various ills (namely the heartburn -- the one gal told me about Rennie Chew, which she said was not as unpleasant as the Gaviscon -- take note!), and our upcoming due dates, whether the babies would arrive early or late, etc...

The funniest thing was that the one gal, who was super-adorable, had practically the same due date as me, only off by a day, and her belly was definitely MUCH bigger! I've been reassured numerous times that the size of the belly doesn't necessarily mean anything, but it's still always surprising for me to compare how differently my body has changed to those of other moms-to-be. Most people think I'm only 6 months along at this point, whereas I'm nearing the beginning of my 9th month! But she said that her baby had been pressing down on her cervix for a few weeks now, and that she has been having contractions already, fairly often even. This really surprised me... The other gal was hilarious, very frank and friendly, and she even admitted to being psychologically nervous about things, to the extent that she had practically passed out in birth preparation class at the clinic last week, when all the information was being thrown at us! She had just found out that she has to watch her sugar intake, though, for a diabetes issue, and that this was a challenge -- I know it would be for me too, especially since I have such a sweet tooth and have been eating far too much chocolate and ice cream over the past couple months. Ooops! I've been told that I've put on about 13 kilos at this point, but I do want to keep an eye on my weight gain over the next few weeks...

And as to the baby equipment -- well, believe it or not, I haven't made a whole heck of a lot more progress in that department from a month ago, I'm embarrassed to say. I scoped out some shops at the beginning of the sales but was really disappointed with what I found. Natalys only ended up having the support cushion I bought, as well as some cute clothes for the baby (that I definitely didn't need!). I still want to make a trip back to Aubert at les Grands Boulevards, but I've probably already missed the really good deals... One of the gals I met yesterday mentioned a big baby shop in the 17th on rue St. Ferdinand, so I may try to make it there sometime before the end of this week as well... The baby dresser I ordered from Vertbaudet finally arrived today, so now I just need to put it together (or beg my boy to do so -- we'll see how tough it is!) and then wash the baby clothes. My goal before the end of this week is to put together the bulk of my maternity suitcase, for the baby and me both, and to have the baby's clothes washed and stored away. Speaking of which: when I went through the bags this past weekend, I realized that I had fallen into the same trap that people had warned me about ahead of time -- far too many 1-month and 3-month things!! ARGH. So I'm definitely going to have to let people know to bring us older-sized clothes if they'd like to get us anything... Not to mention the fact that my mom pointed out, which is that if it's super-hot in August, I guess the baby will mostly only be in diapers and little onesies most of the time! So I won't need much. And I'm so afraid that some of the adorable outfits I have will go to waste! Oh well, guess I'll have to wait and see...

On that note, I just had to share this little nugget from a conversation I had with my boyfriend this morning: he mentioned that we may very well need to get a table à langer, which I agreed with, although originally I had thought a little mattress on top of the dresser would be fine, but now I'm not so sure... Just the fact that he mentioned the changing table was an improvement, trust me! As it is, we still need to pick up the carseat from my office (one of the diplomats was returning to Japan and asked me if I'd like to have it -- and obviously my answer was of course!), as well as figure out the bed issue... But then he went on to say, "Et on aura besoin d'un pot aussi, n'est-ce pas ?" I turned and looked at him quizzically. "Un pot ? Eh, je pense qu'on a le temps pour ça, un bébé n'apprend pas à aller sur le pot avant au moins un an, un an et demi..." And then he went on to say that no, he seriously thought it would be better to start earlier, like before 9 months! I started laughing and muttered that maybe he might want to get reading a little bit himself, because it sounds like he has a lot to learn. And here I thought *I* was bad!! I think he might want to learn how to change a diaper before purchasing a potty... What do you think?!

Ultrasound Scenes

I had my last ultrasound visit a little over a week ago (at least the last official one anyway!) and all appears to be in order at this point... I've hit my 32nd week, folks, and my Little Bean is apparently already "in position" -- meaning, his/her little head is down below, bum is up in the air, and legs are curled underneath. Ready to go, when the time is right -- now it's all a question of patience! And we're talking probably eight more weeks of patience, unless my wee one wants to come into the world a little early -- which I wouldn't mind all that much, as long as it's not too early! I'm still feeling movements like crazy, at certain times of the day, and it's entertaining to try to figure out exactly what's going on in there: was that an an elbow? A kick? Yikes, I feel this strong pressure pushing up into my diaphragm, and the doctor told me that's probably when the little guy is pushing up on his bottom! This often seems to happen when I go to the movies, strangely enough, and I can't help but wonder if the baby's trying to tell me that it's TOO.LOUD.OUT.THERE! (All the sound resonating from the speakers and stuff...)

Then again, I've been thinking a lot about something one of my colleagues here at work told me: she said that in fact it's apparently pretty noisy in the womb, and that when the baby is born, he/she is used to lots of sound, sort of white noise, and that you don't necessarily have to be super-quiet when the baby is sleeping, because the baby kind of LIKES noise. She said that sometimes a hairdryer can help a newborn go back to sleep! An interesting thought, really... And one I actually observed at a cocktail party I attended last Sunday, where a three-week-old newborn slept soundly on the sofa while more than 20-30 people buzzed and chattered around him. It was pretty impressive.

Some of my most memorable moments from my ultrasound visits date back a few months, but I love bringing them to mind and I thought it might be a good idea to record them here, so I can come back and read and remember one day -- especially given my terrible memory in general! Early in my pregnancy, maybe somewhere around the 4th month, my boy sent me a text message as I was on my way to visit my OB/GYN; he couldn't go with me that day as he had to work. His message read: "You give her my cell phone number and she send me a texto saying if it's a girl or a guy" HA! He so wanted to know, right from the beginning, whereas I wanted it to be a surprise... And of course it was too soon at that point anyway, so I had to quickly type back that he was going to have to wait... He's so HILARIOUS sometimes, especially the way he phrases things. My boyfriend loves speaking English and learning new words, so anytime we watch movies together he's constantly asking me to explain things -- which can be cute and/or a pain in the butt, depending on how you look at it -- and whether I've ever seen the movie before myself!

So of course the day the echographe asked us if we wanted to know the sex, I shook my head vehemently, and my boy tapped the doctor on his shoulder from behind -- he held up two slips of paper on which he had scribbled the symbols for male and female; I scolded him and muttered that the doctor probably had his own way of doing things. But thank goodness the ultrasound doctor was such a good sport -- he chuckled, leaned back a bit, and once he figured out what my boy had drawn, he pointed to the one slip of paper... A huge smile spread across my boy's face, and from that moment on he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. He was so PROUD of that secret! I of course thought he was going to give it away in a heartbeat, or at least tell his family, but he's tried pretty hard to keep it to himself -- aside from one little slip that I'm not convinced was unintentional. As a matter of fact, I'm still not sure if he slipped up or was trying to confuse me on purpose. So let's just say that I have an inkling, but I'm still not definitely sure! And most people think I'm crazy, but I've just always wanted my first baby to be a bit of a surprise.

Two months after that visit we went back to see this doctor again so he could take a bunch of official measurements to find out if everything was on track. As he went through all the necessary steps, he recorded notes on a file in front of him and took snapshots with the machine. He checked the baby's heartbeat, the blood flow, etc... As my baby stubbornly refused to turn around and show his/her face, the doctor had to push around on my belly a bit to get the baby to move. He managed to measure the baby's nose and upper lip in profile, and commented that the baby's size was just a little above average, explaining that if ten expectant moms had been in the waiting room, only three would have babies bigger than mine (how do you react to THAT?!). I think he was trying to reassure us, as so many people had been commenting on how small my belly seemed, and how small the baby "must" be if my belly isn't so big... But he said that this wasn't a true indicator of the baby's size. At this point, my boy leaned over again and asked, deadpan, but with a twinkle in his sye, "Well, are you able to tell if the baby's nose is above average in size?" I had to swallow back a guffaw -- my boy is extremely sensitive about his nose and has this fear that the baby will inherit it... Ah, talk about entertainment!

A few days ago, I woke up one morning to find my boy holding his hand on my belly. It was FAR too early to be awake -- we're talking crack-of-dawn before the sun is up early here -- and I was struggling to get another hour's worth of sleep. Half-awake, all of a sudden I felt a prominent kick in my belly and I said, "Hey, did you feel that?" And my boy said, "Are you kidding me? This little guy's been moving around like crazy for ages now! I don't know how you can SLEEP with all that activity going on inside of you!"

It was so cute, and my heart just melted... It's moments like these that I hope I'll remember forever.

Twice in Two Years... Enough is Enough!

Yesterday was a jumbled day in more ways than one... I had such focused plans for the day, and a to-do list (in my head anyway -- I never tend to put those things on paper!) to complete, including some more work on the children's story contest, which absolutely MUST be wrapped up in the next week so I can get the winning booklets assembled and ready for the Awards Party on the 31st. I was planning on spending a good part of my day on that, while alt-tabbing back and forth between some regular office work, and catching up on anything else in cyberspace, per my usual...

But I also had a doctor's appointment for my monthly check-up -- 7 months and counting! Although for some reason I appear to have had the due date off by a week -- my doctor has it down as August 5th, and for months now I've been calculating it as July 28th. (After all, who was there when this little bean was conceived -- her or me?!) I waited in the doctor's office for nearly 2 HOURS before I actually saw my OB/GYN. Now, I know she's in great demand and you have to expect these kinds of delays, but two hours seems to be stretching it just a wee bit. I literally fell asleep in the waiting room, if you can believe it. I was reading there for a while, but then started nodding off, surrounded by a dozen other patients waiting their turn. Each time a name was called we'd all look up, surprised that it wasn't yet our turn.

I had expected to be back to the office by 4:00, given that my appointment was at 2:30 and the cabinet médical is only 4 métro stops away. Plus, she usually has me in and out in a flash, just checking to make sure everything is on track and there are no major problems. I had a few issues to address with her, but I've learned now to make it quick... Basically just little typical pregnancy ails (trust me, you don't want to know!), and she gave me the prescriptions for all that I needed. But with the delay, I didn't make it back to the office until nearly 5:30, and all of a sudden I was incredibly behind schedule. And for once I really needed to leave on-time to make it to the SCBWI event I was attending at 7:00 -- all the way on the other side of the Seine, in the Montparnasse neighborhood.

Bridget was warm and wonderful, sharing a bit about her creative process and lots of images of her work -- both in progress and as a finished product. I fell in love with her book, How Do You Make a Baby Smile and knew I had to have it. But when I told Bridget afterwards that I wanted to buy a copy, she told me that she had hoped to give me a copy as a gift for my baby on the way, with (and this is the best part!) her signature and a drawing inside. So she's going to give it to me the next time I see her, probably at the end of the month for the Red Wheelbarrow Contest Awards Party.

Afterwards, I had dinner with a group of SCBWI France members, and headed home exhausted just before midnight -- an exceptionally late night for me these days... But unfortunately, my night was far from over, as terrible news awaited me on my arrival home. Actually, I got a call from my boy when I was in the train, and he had just arrived himself after spending the evening with his father. When he told me what had happened, I was immediately distraught, and completely oblivious to the stares from people around me... He kept saying he was hoping that it was only an attempted break-in, because he couldn't get into the apartment and couldn't yet tell if anything had been taken. But I already knew that he was holding out hope for nothing -- it was clear that it was a burglary. The locks were mangled, just as they had been nearly two years ago in July, barely 6 months or so after we moved into the place. You'd think we would have learned our lesson the first time around... But life gets away from you, and even if the first 6 months after that burglary left us both skittish and suspicious of basically everyone in our neighborhood, a year later we had other things on our minds, namely my boy's heart attack, and then after that my pregnancy...

So many thoughts whirled around in my head as the train dragged its way from one station to the next... What had they taken this time? How bad was the damage? Did they only take insignificant, replaceable things or did they take anything and everything of any sentimental value? I kept trying to tell myself to be rational, to put things in perspective, as obviously the most important thing is that we are safe, healthy and that no one is hurt... physically, anyway. But that still didn't stop me from picturing the worst, and knowing somehow that we wouldn't have gotten off scot free one way or another. Why hadn't we moved sooner? Why hadn't we gotten our butts in gear and made a move HAPPEN? Why had I hemmed and hawed for so long on the few apartments I HAD visited and not made a decision? Why am I so gosh-darn indecisive, PERIOD? My one small consolation, I told myself, was that I had for some random reason grabbed my digital camera that morning, at the last minute as I was running out the door, thinking I might take a few pictures at the SCBWI event. I also had my iPod in my bag, as well as my most important documents... I feared the possible dissappearance of my U.S. Passport, which I don't keep on me at all times, but miraculously they didn't take that, possibly not knowing what value it may have. Or what do I know? Maybe these days people don't steal passports anymore...

In the end, the burglary definitely could have been worse -- things can always be worse, right? But more than anything else, I've come through these experiences feeling like it's definitely a violation of our intimacy, our security... Everything you can imagine it to be, only worse when it actually happens... The drawers turned upside down, clothes -- lingerie, for God's sake -- everywhere, on the floor, scattered on every surface. And on my dresser, where I keep the few pieces of jewelry I own in small pouches in a wooden box, things were topsy-turvy, and I had to go through one by one and see what they had taken. The bedroom is apparently where they spent most of their time, going meticulously through my things to find that rare piece that might actually be worth something. Because trust me, most of my jewelry is sentimentally precious to me, but nothing more than costume jewelry, or sterling silver, my one small luxury. But I do have -- or check that, I did have some gold rings from my childhood, namely one tiny gold signet ring my grandmother gave me when I was 10 years old, with my initials on it, and another ring that once belonged to my grandmother. As well as some earrings that I don't actually wear that often but still held a certain value.

What can you do in these cases? You try to make an inventory of what's missing in order to give it to the police in your statement, and then of course to the insurance company for any possible reimbursement. But unfortunately, this time around, all that was taken was jewelry I've had for years but held onto, once again, more for sentimental value than anything else (also more than likely because we really don't own much of value -- how reassuring is that, huh?!). So I don't have any receipts, nor any recent photos of my wearing the pieces. So no chance of recouping anything for them from the insurance company.

In any case, more than anything else I was just numb from the whole mess, and my stomach was tied in knots. I thought I might get sick last night before finally crawling into bed, but I did finally manage to fall asleep somewhere around 3:00. This morning I woke up feeling not much better, and I knew it was pointless for me to try to go in to work. I rarely call in sick anyway, but this was just one of those times when it had to be done... For my own mental sanity more than anything else. And I needed to get some extra rest as well -- I'm glad I laid down for a while, because a few hours later I started feeling a bit better. My boy took care of the major formalities, including the official statement at the police station as well as the phone calls to our insurance provider and to the locksmith, who spent several hours this afternoon installing a new, heftier system on our door, although it's far from a guaranteed form of protection from any future break-ins. We can only pray that we will be out of here before that happens again...

Because more than anything else, there's that one French expression that just keeps trotting through my mind, and no matter how hard I try I can't seem to get rid of it: "Jamais deux sans trois..." Say it ain't so.

On the Road Again

Tuesday evening I was chatting away with Jenn on the phone when she mentioned that she would be making a little road trip to visit dear Doc of 10, rue de la Charme on May 1st, France's own Labor Day. She wondered if I would be up for joining her on the road for a little adventure and lots of laughter... The clincher to the deal, of course, was that my boyfriend would have the opportunity to knock himself out playing tennis with her husband, while I could goof away the day guilt-free with my pal Jenn. So everyone would come out happy!

And what a day -- full of more silliness and tummy-clutching laughter than I ever could have imagined -- and I'm tellin' ya, I think the baby got a little exercise in there as a result! Armed with what we thought would be a fistful of fun music to keep us company (which fell short as for some reason the car's CD player was on the fritz... Mr. C?!), as well as lots of bottled water, we hit the road fairly bright and early, chattering away for the first half of the trip. I thought the car would put me to sleep, as it tends to do more and more these days, but for some reason I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed yesterday morning, in spite of the lack of caffeine beforehand. My mood really varies from one day to the next!

After locating Doc, the three of us piled into the local brasserie/restaurant, pretty much the only place open on that hallowed workers' day off, and wound up spending the next three hours laughing until tears rolled down our cheeks. I seriously thought the baby might wonder what the heck was going on, because just the day before I had been falling asleep with exhaustion after returning home from work, and here I was guffawing while downing enormous garlic-infused shrimp and glass after glass of -- yes, that's right, water! [What did you think? That I was downing WINE while pregnant? I'm not THAT French, my friends...]

One of the highlights of the afternoon came in the form of the following exchange, which I have faithfully reproduced for your entertainment. Now, just imagine the scene: seated around an ordinary café table are us three gals from North America, drawing all kinds of stares from the local village Frenchies because of our raucous laughter and more than likely the ENGLISH we were speaking... We've just finished our main dishes and, while trying to disguise the hilarity our burping older neighbor is causing us (seriously, you'd think he was having a competition back there, all by his lonesome!), are contemplating the dessert menu. These days dessert pretty much consists of one word for me: C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E, so I was leaning towards a chocolat liegeois, as ice cream was a definite requirement as well. When Doc said she was going to order another particular ice cream speciality of the house, I took a closer look at the menu and realized I might be missing out...

Doc: Yeah, I'm gonna go with the *****.

Me: The *****? Hmm, what's in that? [Looking down I see that not only is there chocolate in that concoction, but coconut as well...] Oooo, I'm going to have to have one of those too!

Jenn: That'll make it three.

Me: Trois *****!! Wait -- who's going to order that?!

[We fall all over ourselves once again as we realize the awkwardness of the order and how pathetically hilarious it sounds... Trust me, at this point it didn't take much to send us into fits of laughter -- we're seriously lucky they didn't kick us out for rowdiness!]

Doc: Seriously, you do the honors!

Me: No way! I couldn't even get that out if I tried!

Jenn: [between gasps] Come on, you know you want to!

Just then, the waitress came over to take our dessert order.

Waitress: Et qu'est-ce qui vous ferait plaisir, mesdames ?

[Ah, the choice of phrasing -- of course! We all looked at each other, completely incapable of holding back the laughter -- I swallowed hard and knew I couldn't get it out without making a complete fool out of myself...]

[....]

(The waitress continued to stare down at us patiently yet uncomprehendingly.)

Doc: Trois africaines, s'il vous plaît. [Through gritted teeth -- and then turning to me.] Wimp!!

[Cue laughter once again...]

We gobbled those babies up in mere seconds, and even now I'm regretting not getting a photo of those bowls of perfection...

* Disclaimer: No offense was intended by this exchange! I know it's not exactly PC, but you have to admit it would be funny for ANYONE to have to make such an order in a restaurant!*

By the way...

Yep, it's me -- I know, I know, I've been MIA once again, and I realize there's no use in my listing off all my excuses... I was pretty much suffering from the longest-extended-and-excrutiatingly-miserably cold-flu-virus thingie in the history of time, and it totally zapped my energy, my motivation and any level of creativity. Add to that the actual WORK I've had to do in my day job for a change, and I wonder how I'm ever able to fit in time for personal e-mails and catching up on all my favorite blogs -- forgive me if I've gotten behind in my commenting as well...

But I did want to squeeze in a much-belated mention of the fact that I passed the one-year mark of blogging sometime last month -- okay, now that's actually more than a month, so shoot me! -- and I can hardly believe that so much time has gone by so quickly. It feels like yesterday that several of my favorite blogging divas twisted my arm and talked me into starting this here blog, and although I still have aspirations of improving it, adding in a more personalized banner one of these days, posting more often and possibly increasing my traffic, I also know that I'll probably never be as "hard-core" about blogging as so many of my favorite bloggers really are -- perhaps this all stems from the fact that I've had a hard time keeping a personal journal or diary all my life, or perhaps it's just my laziness kicking in. Who knows?! In any case, I'm grateful to the wonderful friends I've made in this here blogosphere, and I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for being out there, for supporting me, for stopping by, for commenting -- for just being YOU!

And on that note, I realized that I also hadn't even taken a moment to thank so many of you for your warm, encouraging words regarding my pregnancy and the months ahead. I really appreciate all the nice things you had to say in response to my "Year of Promise" post, and all the lovely things you've said to me since then as well, either by e-mail, via the blog, or in person. As a matter of fact, I was lucky enough to see some of my blogging friends once again this past Friday night at Petite Anglaise's book launch party, and I was so happy to have the chance to catch up with so many of you! I think I may have almost forgotten I was pregnant that night, because the time got away from me and before I knew it it was after midnight, and I was running down to the métro like Cinderella after leaving her glass slipper on the stairs of the palace. Luckily I ran into King Negrito and his lovely friends on the way, and they shared a taxi with me to Châtelet, where I managed to catch the RER and make my way home just in the nick of time! I had a great time, although obviously without the champagne that was flowing so freely (Petite and friends kept my glass filled with some grapefruit juice most of the evening), and made sure to have a taste of as many of Meg's delish canapés as possible. After all, I was STARVING! Go figure.

Anyway, the only photographic evidence of me at the party is, as usual, atrocious -- why is it that I simply never seem to take a good photo?! Cameras are just NOT my friends. In spite of Frog's friendly efforts to make me feel otherwise -- and trust me, your sweet words sure did make me feel much better, Frog! And it should also come as no surprise that I completely forgot to pull out my own digital camera to take some pics for the blog. Oh well! Again, nothing new there. I simply don't have the instinct for these kinds of things, I guess.

All in all the weekend was a whirlwind of busy-ness... Between the party Friday night, my participation in a children's writing workshop on Saturday afternoon, and a trip up to Le Havre and back on Sunday, it was pretty much non-stop. But in a nice way for a change... Here's hoping I'm really starting to feel the "second wind" of my pregnancy and am moving into a good place in my second trimester! Now all I need is some true spring weather here in Paris and a real change of seasons so I can pack away all of that winter blues and put it behind me... (And I don't count those few days of teasing warm weather in February -- I think that's the kind of thing that gets us all sick anyway!)

Clotilde in Elle à table!

Yesterday I had just picked up the last of my weekly fresh supplies at the market -- this time around mainly consisting of more clementines, some pink grapefruits, a handful of Comice pears (I'm completely addicted to these!) and some fresh cabillaud -- when I asked my boyfriend if he wanted to stop into the nearby Maison de la presse to check out a few magazines. I had seen a few titles on a newsstand the day before that I thought might interest him, and I was also in the mood to pick up a new cooking magazine for some inspiration. I hadn't gotten anything new since devouring Saveurs a few months back...

At first I was planning on bringing home the new issue of Régal, with a spread on simmering winter soups and stews (next weekend I may try my hand at rabbit once again), but I picked up the new February issue of Elle à table out of curiosity. I haven't actually bought it in months, because the last few times I grabbed it without a second thought I didn't even end up using any of the recipes. I hated feeling disappointed when it sat unused on my coffee table -- especially since many of the recipes are actually available on-line now! But there are admittedly some great articles in Elle à table -- case in point: I was just quickly paging through it to get a general idea of the latest articles when, lo and behold, whose familiar face jumped out at me? Paris's own Clotilde Dusoulier of the highly acclaimed, always appetizing and inspiring Chocolate & Zucchini! Six pages devoted to Clotilde, the story behind her blog, some snippets on her approach to cooking (as well as some sample signature recipes), and a glimpse into her rise to food blogging fame. Of course, her book develops all of these subjects even more fully, and it hit me that its French translation is to be released in just a few days' time -- apparently on February 1st! Congrats once again to Clotilde and her much-deserved success. I'm looking forward to her new book as well, due out in April.

So if you happen to be in France or can get your hands on Elle à table, I highly recommend this month's issue -- in addition to the great C&Z piece, there are variations on the classic roasted chicken, some wonderful winter cake recipes, as well as some unexpected suggestions for how to put a twist on everyone's favorite chocolat chaud! Mmmm, dig in...

What a Morning!

Well, it's been one of those days... already. I'm trying to take it in stride, because in all honesty I should be used to these kinds of Murphy's-Law situations by now, but it still gets to me... Especially when everything seems to run together in a series of mishaps or unexpected baffling moments.

After running out the door, nearly five minutes later than planned -- as usual -- (That plan to turn over a new leaf and really allow myself more time in getting to the train station in the morning has not been working -- wonder why? Maybe because I know I'll never change...), I did still manage to get my train, but only just as the buzzer was ringing and I thought I was going to get trapped between the doors. Nothing new for me, but it still puts the fear of God in me. Which is one of the reasons why I had also recently told myself not to even run or rush anymore, because it simply isn't worth it, not for a train for goodness' sake, even if it means getting to work late. Life is too short and far more valuable...

But anyway, I digress. I got this train, but had to make a change at the next station. Once I arrive there, I know things should go pretty smoothly, which they did. But I have to say, in line with some of my expat friends out there, that there truly is some région parisienne behavior that will remain a mystery to me to the end of my days... Granted, we're all harried and tired, from the start of the day to the end, but some people have longer commutes than others (ahem, Jenn?) and some people have more stressful jobs as well. I can't honestly claim to have either one of those at this point, but of course I like to be able to sit down and rest my feet a bit as much as the next guy. And I'm at that stage where absolutely no one knows that I'm pregnant yet anyway, so it's not as if that would help matters. Although from past experience, and from what people have told me over the years, I know that doesn't tend to faze most commuters anyway. They want that sacred seat, come hell or high water!

This morning's hilarious observation really took the cake, though: as the next train pulled into the station, we all quietly ushered into the train as usual, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed it wasn't all that crowded -- a rarity! Out of the corner of my eye, I caught this one guy, middle-aged, perfectly healthy-looking (although I do realize looks can be deceiving...), literally racing down the train aisle to the only empty seat available. I almost laughed out loud! It was so utterly ridiculous, and yet entirely typical. I shouldn't have been surprised, but I have to admit that I was... It's times like those when I literally want to lean down and say, "Hey buddy, it's all yours! If it's that important to you, please, by my guest -- enjoy that comfortable seat for the next 15 minutes!" But of course I keep my trap shut... Making any commentary is pointless, and not to mention inappropriate, according to the unwritten but perfectly understood Paris commuting "rules".

So having caught the right train, I managed to make it down the Avenue a bit earlier than usual, allowing me just enough time to stop into the local Franprix market to pick up a few necessities -- listen, a girl has to have her snacks and French yogurts nearby, especially when she's constantly hungry! I figured I had just enough time to snatch up a few items, run through the cash register, and still make it to the office by 9:30. That, of course, was a pipedream, and certainly not counting on the behavior, once again, of those around me. Now, when I'm in a hurry, I know I can be a bit of a pain too, but I sincerely try to be respectful of those around me. I stood behind the guy in front of me at the cash register, who was apparently doing his WEEKLY SHOPPING TRIP at the local miniscule Franprix, his shopping cart overflowing with bottles, boxes and pretty much half the shop (I know it's a free country, but STILL). Not only that, but his attitude was incredible -- apparently the gal at the cash register was on her own, the only cashier available, which is not surprising either. They're usually stocking the shelves at that hour of the morning, and are often short-staffed. And, well, they didn't have any plastic bags -- and to be perfectly frank, I think that people should not be surprised by that these days. And if I'm not mistaken, I believe a new law is going to be passed in the next year or so eliminating the distribution of plastic bags in grocery stores -- about time, really (do we really need any more of those environmentally destructive things?!). I try to carry my own shopping bag folded up in my purse at all times, for emergency runs like this (but I do sometimes forget it!), and in la province, anywhere outside of Paris, I know that when you make hefty, major grocery shopping trips, you're expected to bring your own bags and boxes to places like Carrefour and Auchan. I think they still HAVE bags on offer, but you have to pay for them. It's only here in the city that people still expect plastic bags to be overflowing and aplenty. This guy was nasty about it, too -- the fact that there weren't any bags on offer. And so his groceries were piling up at the end of the register, and he was shrugging, expecting someone else to find him a solution, refusing to put his things back in the shopping cart or to step aside for a moment.

At this point, I realized that my arriving-on-time plan was pretty much shot -- I quickly thought to call a colleague to punch in for me (because, yes, that's right -- we have to punch in! And no, I don't work in a factory...hmph), exceptionally, something I don't usually like to do. As the cashier ran my purchases through, I popped them into my own bag, paid quickly, and ran out the door. I did manage to arrive only a few minutes late, but it was ironic that on one of the days that I was actually running early, I still appeared to be late. And then, just after I walked through the office door and prepared to settle into my daily quiet, low-key office routine, one of my bosses sprinted right up to me and proceeded to make a random immediate request (this rarely happens). Of course, entirely normal -- to be expected, right? Yeah, sure, except that I still had my coat on my back and my purse on my shoulder -- I hadn't even had a chance to sit down yet. I looked at her a bit incredulously, nodded my assent, and turned on my computer. It was no problem, an absolutely trivial, small request, but the irony of these kinds of tasks is that my bosses always precede them with "When you have time, will you...?" Instead of saying, "This is kindof urgent..." When I'm fully aware that they pretty much expect it to be done pronto. This lack of communication and straightforwardness (or shall we call it beating around the bush?) irks me, but it's one of the few small pesky aspects of my job, so honestly, I can't complain.

And that brings me to now, a few hours later, quietly assessing the day ahead of me, and hoping that it will speed by so I can enjoy my evening at home with my boy and perhaps a good movie. Oh, except for lunchtime, of course -- I'm lucky enough to have a lunch date with my dear friend Jenn, so of course I'd like for that part to stretch out and last as long as possible (hey, we've got LOTS to talk about)! And at least I won't have to rehash this whole morning all over again -- she'll already know about it! Then again, hold on a sec -- I think her days are a bit busier than mine, so she may only read about it later...

In any case, an "eventful" morning, shall we say -- well, I don't know if I would go that far, but it was certainly more mouvementé than usual!

Event-Filled Week(s)

Sometimes these days I can't seem to keep up with things, but then there are other times, in the middle of the day, when I feel like I'm not doing nearly enough -- the irony of our time, I guess... I know that as the holidays approach time is only going to fly by faster, and the end of the month always hits me before I even realize it, with a pile of holidays cards still sitting on my desk patiently waiting to be stamped and sent. This year I'm determined to at least send out my cards to the U.S. by the 15th, holding onto my French cartes de voeux until the New Year -- one of the advantages of the French holiday traditions being that cards are sent in the New Year, and that custom holds that you have until the end of the month of January to get them out to one and all. Of course, in the past I've taken full advantage of this extended deadline, sending out some of my American cards down to the wire (using the French system as an excuse!), but I'd like to improve my card-sending skills, and avoid this procrastination that I appear to have ingrained in me.

Last week I unexpectedly attended several events that turned out to be wonderful experiences, ones I will not soon forget, and I have to admit that it is nice to have these kinds of appointments on my calendar at this time of year, when I'm inclined to get a bit of the cafard if I spend too much time at home alone. The curse of all expats, I guess! On Monday I crossed the Seine for a book-signing at Shakespeare & Co. -- Jeanette Winterson read from her latest book, The Stone Gods, and I couldn't resist picking up several books from her backlist as well, for myself and a few friends. I only just discovered her writing, I have to admit, thanks to dear Lauren, of course, who is my favorite source of wonderful literary (and cultural) inspiration these days. I'm looking forward to plunging into her writing over the holidays, when I'll have some time off from the daily grind and will be able to (finally!) throw myself into a few good novels. For some reason recently I've been having a really hard time reading for pleasure, a pastime that I've always taken for granted. I don't know if it's just the distractions of every day life or other preoccupations that are taking up too much space in my mind, but in any case I'm impatient to dive back into a good book again. I've also been disappointed by a few recent reads, and I have to admit that I count on a good book to pull me in fairly quickly in order to stick it out until the end... Perhaps I'm a bit too impatient and demanding, but I've reached a point now where I've decided that there are simply too many books waiting on my bedside table to be read, and I'm not about to waste my reading time forcing myself to enjoy a book that just doesn't do it for me. Basta -- life is simply too short, and I'm no longer reading out of obligation after all! Although sometimes I wonder if I may have missed my calling...

Winterson's reading was spectacular, by the way -- she was so dramatic and passionate when reading from her text, and she even went so far as to say that she practices a bit beforehand, that it's the least she can do, given the fact that we go out of our way to come to see her read. She really got into it, and climbed up on the table in the back of the shop so that we could all have a clear view of her throughout the reading. When I had her sign my books afterwards, I even picked up a copy of her children's book, The King of Capri, illustrated by Jane Ray -- when I saw it sitting there, tantalizingly, on the table, I knew I had to add it to my growing collection of children's books at home. It's a lovely fairy tale, with all the best elements: gorgeous, colorful illustrations, a story with a moral, and some appealing characters, including a little Italian cat.

Thursday night I was lucky enough to attend an excellent SCBWI France event held at the home of one of the organization's members in the 17th, where Uri Shulevitz spoke about his work for more than two hours (!!). He answered questions and went into great detail about his inspiration, his favorite forms of media when illustrating, his influences and even his most current work, which is to be published in early 2008. I was fascinated and couldn't help taking notes during the discussion, and I left the event feeling uplifted and inspired, convinced that I will soon apply my own inspiration to some drawings once again, and hopefully soon. Mr. Shulevitz's talk focused on the "invisible picture" in a drawing, as he called it, or the empty spaces in between two objects that ties them together, that unify a drawing and bring it to life. He emphasized that the "third picture" inside of a drawing is one that in fact you cannot necessarily see but that is only visible in your mind and is therefore stimulated by the story itself. In that sense, he explained, the meaning of a series of pictures in a story is often beyond the story itself and is made up of the elements that are underlying the story. The bigger picture, in fact, "needs to be fed by what's underneath."

Another point Mr. Shulevitz made during his talk that stayed with me is the importance of making a moment as specific as possible in a picture book in order to make the story itself more universal -- hence, a universal story can be made more personal and even more appealing. I was thrilled to be able to purchase a copy of one of his most famous books, Snow, which won the Caldecott Honor in 1999 and is magical in its use of spare text with enchanting, evocative and incredibly detailed watercolor images. All in all, I had a really wonderful evening, and thoroughly enjoyed every aspect of the event, including the delicious meal, the captivating presentation and discussion, and, of course, the company!

Tonight I'm off to attend another book-signing, once again at Shakespeare & Co., so I can pick up a few more copies of Clotilde's wonderful first cookbook. I already have a copy of my own, of course, that I got back in the spring when it was first published (fairly stained and a bit beat-up around the edges!), but I'd like to bring one home to my mom for Christmas, and possibly another for one of my closest friends in the States as well. Here's hoping I can get to the bookshop early enough for a good seat, and that I'll be able to get my hot little hands on several copies of her book! It's always a pleasure to hear Clotilde speak about her cooking and her writing, and her success is such an inspiration. This is one extremely multi-talented, warm, engaging and creative gal -- I have to admit that her blog is responsible for my motivation to finally get cracking in the kitchen. So I know this evening is going to be a particularly memorable event as well! I can hardly wait...

The Intrigue of "The Big Sleep"

Thanks to Riana over at These Days in French Life, I came across this fascinating op-ed piece from The New York Times... I have to say, this really got me thinking... And I know we live in an entirely different day and age, of course, and that we are meant to supposedly "move forward" in our approach to modern life, but who's to say that sometimes that act of moving forward might not -- or cannot -- involve a few elements of stepping back in time as well? Or learning from our ancestors and their slower approach to life in order to better preserve the world we live in? And perhaps we could learn to better appreciate our families, all those we love, by detaching ourselves just a bit more from all the material things that tie us to today's society?

I haven't put Riana's lessons to good use yet in my own daily activities, not nearly as much as I'd like, and I fully admit to succumbing to big-city temptations far more often than I should these days... (Yeah, I like some of the finer things too, I won't deny that!) But all that she has accomplished in her Slow Year has really inspired me in my own approach to life, and I will be putting these aspirations into action more and more with time. On that note, I really have conflicting feelings about Sarkozy's approach to certain elements of French society, and how things should change... I've always been a bit "on-the-fence" about my political leanings, and I've never spoken out about them here on my blog, perhaps out of fear of confrontation or disagreement (I've always hated arguments, although I know that French society is basically built on the beauty of debate!). And there are in fact some elements of Sarkozy's proposals that, in theory, make sense and seem to -- perhaps (do you sense my hesitatation here?) -- point us in the right direction. But why is it drummed into us from an early age, in today's society, to work, work, work -- hard and long -- to make more money so that we can, in fact, "be happy"? I know that in today's world we obviously all need to make money, to make a living, to get by, to survive -- but why does this have to be at the cost of our own personal happiness and fulfillment? Why does money have to be ultimately equated with our happiness? More and more I'm questioning this concept, realizing that my own happiness comes from the simplest of things. I'm already tired of the rat race at 33, and I don't even have a particularly stressful job! I'm tired of running after the "almighty dollar" -- or Euro in my case -- I want my happiness and fulfillment to come from those simple things. I know, I know -- you're all going to sigh and say, "You poor thing, but unfortunately, my dear, that's just not the way the world works!" And I guess you'd probably be right...

Or would you? I still have a problem with it. I just don't think I'm wired that way.

And don't get me wrong: I know there's nothing wrong with working hard, being ambitious, accomplishing incredible things. I just don't think I was necessarily cut out to be one of those people. I admire those who do set goals, who make so much happen, who get ahead and make great names for themselves. And I'm certainly not criticizing them. I think it would be great if there could be a better balance of both these kinds of people in the world... And I certainly don't expect anything to be handed to me on a plate, without any effort -- I of course realize that working hard brings great reward as well. But what's so wrong with spending more time with our families instead of working all the time, having in fact different values? Isn't that what a work-life balance is all about? Can we ever escape from this race?

My boyfriend has long said that he agrees with a lot of Sarkozy's principles, but I just don't know if this "work more to earn more" concept really applies to us -- that's the irony of this whole thing! I see how hard he has worked for years in a thankless job that has exhausted him and made him wonder about his own future. But at the same time, his philosophical side has allowed him to find happiness in the smallest, simplest of things, most notably the time he spends with his family and on vacation, away from the craziness of urban city life. It's a contradiction in action: obviously we have to work in that big city to be able to benefit from the comforts of the vacation away, but isn't there a better way of reconciling the two? And I just don't know if I necessarily want to "work more to earn more" myself as I get older... I believe I want more time to treasure the precious, valuable things in life, things that sometimes slip through our fingers faster than we all realize. When my boyfriend's mother passed away less than two years ago, that fact came into focus much sooner than any of us expected -- his father had worked very hard for many years to provide for his family, and after retiring, he planned on spending more time with the ones he loves, doing other things that he loves as well. But then he lost, far too soon, the one person who meant the most to him in the world... These are the curve balls that life throws at us sometimes, but it still makes me question our way of life.

I know that we all must struggle with these questions, and that in a way you may find these reflections of mine fairly clichéd and idealistic -- unrealistic to say the least. And I don't even know if there's a real "point" to my ramblings here today... Except to say that the "stop to smell the roses" approach is one of the main reasons why I fell in love with France! It was what made me feel comfortable here so many years ago, what made me feel at home. I have never really been able to put my finger on it exactly, never been able to describe to my family what kept me here. But I really think that this sense of wonder, this appreciation of the beauty of things around us without feeling compelled to have more at all times, finding happiness with less -- this is one of the primary things that keeps me here.

And to be honest, I'm sometimes a bit frightened that all of that is going to change, and faster than we realize -- far too fast for our own good. I feel lucky to have been able to experience some wonderful things in this country over the last 5-10 years, and very blessed in many ways. And of course I know that France is in need of reform, of improvements on many levels -- but what country isn't? My greatest fear is that this country may become a place that I no longer recognize, a place that it was never meant to be. Do we really want France to turn into another form of America? Please don't misunderstand me: I'm proud of my roots and my heritage, as well as the freedom and democracy that my native country represents, but I call France my home today for a reason. Wouldn't transforming France entirely ruin everything that we have come to know and love about it?

Sorry for this rambling tangent... It was just inspired by the article, and for once I really had to get my thoughts out there.

Now HERE'S a Nice Way to Cheer Me Up...

He had me at "Lunch?" Talk about reading my mind... And raising my wilted spirits, boosting my morale -- all that jazz... The way to a woman's heart is apparently through her stomach as well, at least in my case anyway!

When the phone rang at my desk around 12:30, I picked it up expectantly, recognizing my boyfriend's cell phone number on the raised screen. Perfect timing. It was so nice to hear from him, and even though most of our calls and exchanges throughout the day are completely mundane and inconsequential, this one bode well: he wanted to know if I would like to join him for lunch. After a dentist's appointment in the morning, he had decided to stay in the city a bit longer before taking his time getting back to our apartment in the western suburbs. He had a day off for once, a rarity, and it felt like a real luxury for us to share this time together. We hardly ever go to lunch together, as our lunch hours never coincide and I have to take the métro or bus to get to him anyway, but this time was an exception. Plus, most days I bring some leftovers from home, easier to warm up in our office kitchen and enjoy quietly with a book or with a few colleagues (plus, far more economical, of course!).

We felt like naughty schoolchildren -- or at least I did... When he suggested the brasserie, I couldn't help but say, "Is that really reasonable?" I knew it was exceptional, but it still felt forbidden somehow... But really, how often do we do this? We've been trying to pay attention to our budget, but some days just call for a treat. Today was definitely one of them. After grumbling into work this morning, fighting the crowds at St. Lazare along with hundreds of thousands of other commuters, I definitely needed something to cheer me up. Le Diplomate fit the bill, as it has a couple other times in the past (I'll never forget the time the waitress managed to save me a slice of rapidly-disappearing strawberry tart -- she will forever remain a favorite in my heart! And she still remembers it too...).

We first shared a foie gras aux figues -- heavenly! Really excellent, the best foie gras I've had in a long time. And then on to a fricassée de faisan avec jardinière de légumes... We enjoyed the meal with a glass of red wine, St. Emilion for me and St. Amour for him (I only opted out of the St. Amour because it was served chilled; I just don't like cool red wine! Otherwise, the romantic name is tempting, trust me. OK, you can call me cheesy, I don't care!). And then we shared a fondant au chocolat for dessert. So we managed to make the meal a bit more reasonable by sharing both the entrée and dessert. Still, it was far more expensive than anything we'd usually spend, with a hefty pricetag. But the meal was a nice moment of calm and happiness in the middle of an otherwise hectic period for me right now. So I honestly don't regret one second of it... On the contrary, it brought a broad smile to my face, and put me on a high that I'm sure will last...

At least until I make it back to the Gare St. Lazare to fight my way to the train back home tonight!

** On a sidenote, I managed to get a train around 7:00 last night, and even snagged a seat, which was darn near miraculous... But the only little bémol (I love this expression!) was that as I maneuvered my way down the train's stairs to get off at my station 20 minutes later, I only then realized that I had forgotten my umbrella under my seat (what was I thinking?!). Argh, another umbrella shot to the wind! But it's not as if it was one that I had attached any sentimental value to... I picked it up at Target in the U.S. last year, but it was super-practical in my bag and easy to use. What made me smile once again was when my boyfriend said, "Just think that someone who probably really needed that umbrella figured it was their lucky day." Isn't that a nice way to look at things?!

Now THAT was An Adventure!

So I Vélib'ed for the first time this morning... And although there were a few small hiccups along the way, I had a great time! At least those darn strikes were good for something in the end! (and I so wish I could bicycle to work like that more often...) Now here's just hoping they don't last, because I'd like to return home and sleep in my own bed for once... Apparently the rugby game tonight may have a temporary hand in preventing further extension of the strikes, but who knows how long that will last.

The last few days have seen me trekking around the city, sleeping in friends' and colleagues' spare beds, depending therefore on their kindness and generosity, and traveling to work in the morning by bike or by foot. Wednesday night I had dinner with a friend, who generously allowed me to stay with her and her husband in their adorable apartment in the 11th. I thought I would have to walk from there (between Bastille and the Gare de Lyon) to work near the Parc Monceau on Thursday morning, but as it turns out Line 14 was working perfectly (again, automatic lines like that one seem to be the best solution for avoiding strikes in the future, if you ask me!) and there weren't even that many crowds. I think a lot of people must have ended up staying home to avoid the craziness. But there were also quite a few people on the streets, either hoofing it or cycling away. It was a beautiful, crisp fall morning, the sun was shining, and I must say that I didn't mind the walk from St. Lazare to rue de Courcelles at all... I even had time to stop for coffee and a piece of carrot cake, so I treated myself!

Last night one of my colleagues, who lives on the Left Bank near Denfert-Rochereau, told me I could stay at her place, and it worked out perfectly. I did have to walk to her apartment -- and to be honest with you, once again, I didn't really mind, because even though it was a long walk, it was a pleasant one because it wasn't raining and it wasn't that cold. It took me about an hour and a half, even though she had said it would be less -- but my colleague is a first-class athlete, participating in marathons on a regular basis and walking, running or cycling to work pretty much every day. I was stopped for directions by several befuddled people, either tourists or those who were not used to walking around the city. One poor lady stopped me at the edge of the boulevard St. Germain, just as it hits the Pont de la Concorde, and asked in a daze, "Odéon? Where's Odéon?" I explained that she must have passed it a ways back, because it was in the direction she had been walking from -- and she nodded and mumbled that she had come all the way from Duroc... Yikes! As I passed the crossroads of boulevard Raspail and rue de Rennes, a young guy who appeared to be from Eastern Europe (he had an accent, but I couldn't recognize it) asked me in broken French, "République? Je cherche République..." I was stunned, because République is all the way on the other end of the city, across the Seine, in the northeast -- I tried to explain this to him, and he just looked at me disbelievingly. I think he must have mixed up names or something...

When I got to my colleague's place, we all had couscous for dinner -- she said I was really lucky, because usually during the week she and her husband don't do much cooking (who really has time for it?!), but they had decided ahead of time to have couscous together because she's prepping for a marathon this weekend. So it was nice to enjoy the meal and chat about the strikes, our work situation, and other various and sundry everyday matters.

My colleague loves to Vélib' in to work in the morning, so after dinner she asked me if I was up for it -- and I thought, of course, why not? I had been wanting to have the chance to try out the system for a while, so this was the perfect opportunity -- even if the strikes had crowded up the traffic in the streets, requiring us to be even more vigilant on the bikes. Of course, that's a necessity in any normal circumstances, but we just had to be extra careful. After nabbing two bikes near her building (we were really lucky in this case, because I think we arrived just in the nick of time -- several bikes were damaged, and we got the last two good ones), we set out, but about 25 minutes later we tried to switch them out at another station. For some reason the machine wouldn't accept my card identification code, and after having already locked in the other bike, I needed a new one. The check-in process was pretty simple, but I still needed another bike to make it the rest of the way to work... As luck would have it, two Vélib' employees were stacking damaged bikes on a sort of truck nearby, and we asked them for some help. They were super-friendly, but neither one of them could figure out why the machine wouldn't accept my code. Finally, one of them (a younger chap, with a friendly smile) just swiped his Carte Intégrale on the machine and told me to take one of the bikes -- I couldn't believe it! I was a bit taken aback, and didn't know what to do, because obviously I wanted to use the bike, but I didn't want him to get into any trouble. He insisted that it was okay, and just made me "promise" to return the bike once I got to work! Of course, I said -- that was the plan. Apparently my colleague later explained to me that some people have actually been STEALING the bikes! I couldn't believe that, but then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised...

So we made it to work, on-time even, and after returning our bikes we dashed into the office. I had been wearing two sweaters and a jacket, so you can imagine how sweaty I was at that point! And my colleague had been patiently waiting for me, looking back and making sure I was following closely the whole time. I know I slowed her down, but we both had a good time in the end. Like I said, a real adventure -- and the brighter side of the strikes for me. But the terrible thing is, I read about a horrible accident today on-line, and this did send chills down my spine... Please, all Vélib' riders out there, soyez vigilants ! It only takes a few seconds...