Progress... in More Ways Than One!

Right now I'm feeling the need to write about Emma and all that we're experiencing together these days: her discoveries, her reactions to everything around her, our exchanges... And I'm realizing that if I don't get some of this down, NOW, that I'll regret it later. I'm trying to recall now some of the things that she has done over the last couple of weeks that have really made me laugh or smile, thinking to myself how important it is that I remember that particular moment. For example, when I was lacing up my tennis shoes a few days ago, she looked up at me from her transat chair and just started giggling -- I haven't the slightest idea what made her laugh (maybe it was how big her mommy's feet are?), but it was of course contagious, and I started laughing too... She's been giggling more and more like that, but often for completely inexplicable reasons. She'll also laugh a lot when I'm playing with her little feet or goofing around with her before her bathtime. Sometimes she seems like she's outsmarting me, even now, and she blows my mind with her intuitiveness... Just last week I took her to the pediatrician for her 3-month check-up (which involved a second set of vaccination shots -- UGH!), and as I started getting her out of her winter coat in her stroller, she looked up at me as if to say, "What are we doing back HERE, Mommy?" Her lower lip trembled and she started crying. At the time, I couldn't figure out for the life of me what had provoked this reaction, and it was only later when I told my boy about it that he said, "Well, maybe she recognized the place where she was given the shots last month..."

I couldn't believe it! Granted, we're only surmising, and maybe she simply had a bellyache, but she doesn't usually get that trembly lip thing going on unless she's really upset about something. I'm always talking to her, just chit-chatting away, and my boyfriend commented to his father that I basically have a constant "monologue" going on -- and while he thinks this is hilarious, he also felt like it must be good for Emma. I hope so anyway! But the thing is, I'm almost always either being silly or talking in what I think is a positive tone of voice, so she has really come to sense when something is wrong. After nursing her early on Tuesday morning this week, we fell back asleep, as it was a national holiday here in France and Daddy was home with us as well... When Emma woke up around 9:00, Daddy brought her into the bed and we spent some time together before he took her to change her diaper. I joined them in the living room a few minutes later, but I was still trying to drag myself up out of sleep. As I looked down at Emma, I noticed that she had scratched her face again in several spots -- she hasn't done this in a while, and I've been trying to be vigilant about trimming her fingernails on a regular basis. But since she started sucking her thumb, she puts her fingers up around her nose like a claw, often in the middle of the night, trying to get her thumb in just the right position... And hence the dragging away at her nose and the scratches.

A bit dismayed, I said out loud, "Oh no, you've scratched yourself again!" And of course my tone of voice was a wee bit negative... Poor Emma took one look at me and the trembling lip came back! She burst out crying, little sweetheart, and I felt terrible. I reassured her that of course it wasn't her fault, and started talking to her as usual, and she calmed down. But it was just incredible how she sensed immediately that I wasn't talking like I usually do! And she felt like she had done something wrong and I was yelling at her...

Other times her understanding of things impresses me as well, like at bedtime. After nursing her, usually she'll fall asleep on my shoulder when I'm trying to get that last little burp. And I'll gently put her in bed for the night. But once this week she woke up with a start and looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I thought, oh man, now she's really awake! But I told her quietly that it was bedtime, and that she needed to sleep now; I laid her in bed, and she looked up at me with a big smile. Ten minutes later, when I came in to check on her, she was sound asleep. Again, incredible! At least I felt like it was... In any case, her personality is really beginning to shine, and it's really exciting to see how much she's changing all the time.

Last weekend was really nice as we spent a couple days up in Le Havre again, at my father-in-law's house, where I was finally able to cook for the first time in months. I cracked out a new recipe I had wanted to try for a canette aux figues. I'm crazy about figs and hadn't had a chance to cook with them at all this year, and as the season is coming to an end, I didn't want to miss out. I didn't know whether I'd pull off this particular recipe, but it turned out really well, even better than I had hoped. Definitely one to try again, maybe even before the end of the month! Here's hoping the figs will hang in there for a couple more weeks at the local market... I'd also like to bake my fig tart again, the one I first made last year, with an almond cream.

So I'm gradually adding some other nice things into my days and I'm working on finding a better balance of my time -- although I still need some major improvement in the housecleaning department! Ugh. At least Emma's laundry gets done in a jiffy -- I can spend a good half-hour scrubbing away at her poopoo stains, and it's looking like I'll need a new bar of Octagon soap when I head over to the U.S. in January -- at least if all goes well! I still need to book our plane tickets, but I'm hoping that because it will be low season and after the holidays that I'll be able to find a decent fare. Next Monday we're heading off to the American Embassy to put through Emma's paperwork for her passport, so that will be a step in the right direction!

What a Champ!

Emma B., sitting pretty in shades of blue

OK, so I know I took, like, an unannounced two-month blogging hiatus without saying anything, and there's probably no one out there reading me anymore *chirp, chirp* -- but I have to admit that this blogging gig has never been a very consistent thing for me (um, as if I have to point that out...). And most of the time I can only really post something when I feel GOOD about it and what I have to say and can't wait to get it out there in the blogosphere -- either that or when I really need to rant, which of course has happened on occasion, from time to time... Ha!

But the truth of the matter is, it's not easy for me to talk about my fears, anxieties and concerns when it comes to Emma and doing my best in raising her. I know I have so much to learn, and I do hope most of it will come naturally and with some help and advice from those around me, but I have to admit that I SO wish I could avoid transmitting my neuroses and worries to her, even though in the end I know it's ultimately inevitable... They're just a part of my nature and one of the hardest things to change about me. And virtually impossible to disguise or smother, for that matter.

Emma has been a doll, truly an angel, and I know THAT will probably change a million times over as well, but sometimes I can't get over how wonderful she is... Smiling all the time like crazy, especially in the morning after just waking up, when she's just Baby Sunshine. In the first two months I really did worry about everything and anything, and I imagine that will more than likely continue for a while as well, but these days I'm settling into the whole momma gig a bit better and starting to gain a little more confidence in myself and my capabilities. I still need to learn to be better organized, but, well -- one day at a time! I'm thrilled that I've been able to continue with breastfeeding, especially since that first month was so damn difficult... And I honestly thought so many times that I was going to have to throw in the towel, give up and start doing formula, or at least mixed nursing. But I stuck it out, stuck to my guns if you will, and persisted in my desire to do only exclusive breastfeeding. Bizarrely enough, I never had a major "montée de lait" in the first few days after Emma was born, and that's perhaps where all my anxieties first began (wondering if I had enough milk and all...), because I worried so much about having done something wrong from the get-go, namely letting Emma be taken to the nursery the first couple of nights because I was so wiped out after the delivery. I know SO MANY of the books and experts say not to do it, but I was truly a wreck -- and again, sometime soon I'll try to write more about my delivery experience, so I can explain things in more detail. My experience was far from the most gruesome, truly, but it was far from easy too... In the end, though, my milk did gradually come in, probably much more gradually than for most moms, but the important thing is that I did finally have enough milk!

My little blossomed bean has been growing like a weed in any case, and we'll find out exactly how much she weighs and measures next week at her three-month check-up. Of course TODAY is her official 3-month birthday, so Happy Three Months Emma B.! While my parents were here she was a big show-off, smiling all the time and taking in everything around her. My older brother spoiled her like crazy and kept her constantly entertained with Elmo and Cookie Monster skits and conversations -- my brother is just the best uncle! :-) My parents were of course thrilled to spend so much time with her and only wished they could stay longer... As did I. My dad was particularly good at putting Emma to sleep on his shoulder, as well as making her giggle on her changing table. Speaking of which, how funny is the fact that that's one of her favorite places to be? On the changing table, I mean. Who woulda thunk it?! I know I've got to keep a particularly close eagle eye on her these days, as she starts rolling around even more, but when I lay her down there, she's almost always happy... She loves to be taken care of and to have attention showered upon her (she ain't a Leo for nothin'!), and she fixates on this poster that I have hanging on the wall right above her changing table, a print from a museum in Le Havre. Which always brings back memories of my boyfriend's mother...

Emma's also getting stronger and stronger... Aimée pointed out back in late September, when my parents and I stopped by l'OisiveThé for lunch, that Emma was already starting to hold up her head "like a champ" -- and she's been doing it more and more! She's constantly staring around her and is what the French call "très éveillée", aware of so much and crazy curious about everything. Her latest thing is talking to her buddies in her stroller as we take walks around the neighborhood. The other day I bent down to check on her and found her garbling away to Mr. Turtle -- once again, she made me smile like crazy!

I managed to make a return trip back to l'OisiveThé about two weeks ago, when I finally hauled the MacLaren into the city and realized that, in fact, it's not all that hard to carry around -- once Aimée showed me how to REALLY carry it, that is! And here I thought it was going to be such a hassle... But this is one of the main reasons why the Techno XT is so great, and I'm SO grateful to Aimée and Philippa for telling me about it. And here I thought I was going to have to carry the stroller separately while carrying Emma in the Baby Bjorn! Silly me... So thanks to dear Lauren and Aimée's generous help while balancing the business in the teahouse, I was able to get my hair cut in the adorable salon across the street and have a delicious lunch with the gals. It was a wonderful afternoon, and I'm so glad I braved it into the city that day -- especially since Aimée also showed me a new route for my trips back and forth into her neighborhood. So I hope to make it back again sometime soon! Thank you SO much, Aimée!

Oh, and I can't sign off without mentioning Emma's other latest discovery -- the THUMB! Yes, that's right, it's official: Emma B. has discovered the fascination and soothing powers of her thumb... I didn't know how to feel about it at first, as I've heard such horror stories about children sucking their thumbs into early adolescence, but what can you do, really? She seems so calm and happy when she has it in her mouth, and I can't argue with that, especially when she's having a hard time going to sleep... Then again, the funny thing is when she pops it in her mouth when she seems downright bored, or if she feels like she's not getting enough attention -- that's something that worries me a bit! Of course, she's never really cottoned on to the pacifier, which I was initially relieved about, but which is the worse evil? Thumb or pacifier? Therein lies the question... And I know there are two schools of thought, two opposing camps, and I have no idea where my thoughts really fall.

But one thing is for sure, Emma is on her way to becoming an enchanting baby girl! This coming from an entirely biased Mommy, of course...

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.

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!)

Fridge Fun

It's been a strange couple of weeks, and yet at the same time there's not a whole lot to tell. I've just been struggling with lots of fatigue, which I know is fairly normal, and at the same time I'm pretty much hungry all the time -- as a matter of fact, I sometimes surprise myself with the quantity of food I put down my throat on my own! Yesterday I ate a huge amount of pasta with some ground beef I had left to simmer in some tomato sauce with a shallot and some garlic... Along with a salad, half an avocado, and then a bowl of -- yes, that's right! -- Country Crisp chocolate granola cereal... Sheesh! I was a bit embarrassed, but luckily I was home on my own, so no one was there to chide me -- of course now that I've shared my lunch with the Internet, I guess it's no longer a secret!

Last weekend my boyfriend and I were in Le Havre once again, spending time with his father. I actually arrived late Saturday afternoon on the train and only spent that night and Sunday with them. The incredible thing is that I spent most of that whole weekend sleeping. I had a good night's sleep on Friday night, but was exhausted by noon on Saturday, when I found myself at les Halles shopping center with a friend, hoping to find something interesting at the maternity department of H&M. [Of course, I'm not really showing all that much yet, per se, but I can't seem to button up most of my pants, so I figure any day now my whole wardrobe is going to be useless -- hence the need for at least a few essentials. And I definitely don't want to have to spend a lot of money on new clothes for the next 6 months, so I'm hoping to find a few things used, secondhand, or through friends and colleagues. As a matter of fact, an absolutely wonderful colleague of mine has already loaned me an assortment of things that I'm keeping on hand for when the need arises. I would still like to treat myself to maybe a dress or two, and I'm going to need at least two pairs of pants to tide me over, but otherwise I plan on wearing some stretch sweaters and dresses as much as possible.]

By the time I got on the train at St. Lazare on Saturday, I could hardly stay awake, so I slept for almost the whole two hours. I fell into bed at about 11:00 that night, woke up around 9:30 the next morning, and then slept on and off all afternoon! A serious allergy attack knocked me out and made me feel even more exhausted, so for once my boyfriend actually prepared lunch (a lovely blanquette de veau -- I was impressed!) and I laid around relaxing. My boy was convinced I wouldn't sleep at all on Sunday night after all that snoozing in the afternoon, and even in the car on the way back to Paris, but believe it or not I slept through the night, like a -- baby. That's pretty much my life in a nutshell right now: sleep, eat, start all over again.

This weekend I was determined to get some things done around the apartment, make up for some lost time, especially since I haven't done any decent housecleaning in several -- gasp! -- weeks. Yeah, I know; I'm not very proud of that fact, but when you're away for most of the weekend and working during the week, it's hard to keep up with these things. Unfortunately, yesterday didn't start out so well when I had another ridiculous allergy attack, and I wish I could figure out what sets these things off -- it's got to be either the dust that is inevitable in our hardwood-floored apartment, or the chemicals in some of the cleaning products I use... Either way, apparently I'm super-sensitive to something. It all started as I was wiping up the sink in the kitchen. And it slowed me down for the rest of the day. In the end, I only managed to get one major project done: the deep-down-and-dirty cleaning of the inside of our refrigerator**, something that the pregnancy manuals and the on-line journals all tell you you're supposed to do once a month. Um, yeah. I can see that happening *cough, cough*.

I had just come back from the market, it was around 1:00, and I figured I'd have it done within the half hour... Well, little did I know that the allergy attack was going to cripple me a bit, and that digging everything out of the refrigerator, going through it to get rid of the far-too-ancient stuff, and then scrubbing down the inside of the fridge would take more than a half an hour. But in the end, when I finally finished the task, I couldn't help but feel proud of myself -- the inside of our fridge hasn't looked this spotless in two years!

I don't tend to leave stuff festering in there for ages or anything, but you know how it is: an old bottle of jam here, another half-full bottle of guacamole there -- well, some of that stuff just tends to get overlooked. (And I hate wasting...) Add to that the fact that I kept finding a puddle of water accumulated at the bottom of the refrigerator, under the vegetable bin, over the last few weeks... I would sponge it out and put back the vegetable basket, but then it would start all over again. I couldn't figure out for the life of me what was causing this, or where the water was coming from -- that is, until I saw that the hole in the back of the refrigerator where the water is supposed to drain was full of, er, goo. Can anyone tell me how this sort of thing happens? I'm sure you're probably all thinking I'm a complete slob, but I haven't the slightest idea how or when this gook got in the back of the fridge... I unplugged the draining hole as best I could, so here's hoping that the water puddles won't be back anytime soon.

After the fridge fun, I had my enormous lunch -- and then laid down for a two-hour nap. Talk about veering away from my initial plans for the day...

And this afternoon I haven't gotten a whole heck of a lot more done, aside from a few loads of laundry and some putzing around in the kitchen. I'm now gradually trying to use up everything inside of our freezer so I can attack another long-delayed task ASAP: the defrosting of the freezer and subsequent mopping out of that particular kitchen appliance! I had been planning on making a cream of mushroom soup for a few weeks now, and I finally dragged out the bag of frozen mushrooms that have been waiting to be simmered for soup. I knew that mushrooms tend to "shrink" after cooking, but the 300g I prepared in a pan didn't leave much for a meal, so I only managed to eke out two bowls' worth -- that I proceeded to scarf down with some toasted bread... There goes my plan for this week's worth of meals!

In any case, this is definitely not the most productive time for me, but I guess I'm just going to have to resign myself to the fact that it's only a period and that it shall soon pass... I'm also going to have to learn to be less hard on myself, because I'm so tired of the self-berating and guilt. It's always been much more important to me to spend time with my friends and family than keep the house spotless, so unfortunately I'll probably never live up to my mom's expectations in that department (much less in others -- but that's a story for another time!).

And in the meantime, here's to small victories! Like a nice clean fridge.

** I just have to make a note here of the fact that I received a phone call halfway through my fridge-scrubbing task: Jenn was checking in with me, and we ended up chatting away while I disinfected the refrigerator. She actually laughingly told me I should blog about this thoroughly exciting subject, so I had to share the fact that this particular blog post was brought to you courtesy of the Double Dog Blog Dare! (Ah, and you thought I wouldn't really do it!)

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!

A Year of Promise

After spending Christmas with my boy's family, we had to part ways for the New Year, to my chagrin... It was the second year in a row like this, and I would certainly have preferred for things to be otherwise, but unfortunately my boyfriend's job doesn't allow for him to travel as easily at this time of year, whereas my office literally shuts down over the holidays. So it's the perfect opportunity for me to visit my family in the U.S.

So we spent the end of 2007 and the beginning of 2008 separated by the Atlantic, but at the same time I knew we were together in spirit, especially since he's the first to encourage me to spend as much time as possible with my family. Of course he would have loved to join me as well, but I think that in the end it was probably for the best this time around, as it was a bit of an emotional trip (to say the least!).

It would be an understatement to say that the last two years have brought us a few challenges and painful moments -- after settling into our life together in 2005, with some wonderful weekend trips to Rome and several undiscovered sites in France, 2006 hit us hard when my boyfriend's mother passed away unexpectedly in May of that year. He is still working on recovering from that shock, and I know that only time can help him in healing. Then our apartment was broken into, and we worked on picking up the pieces and remaining optimistic for the future. We were convinced that 2007 would be better, but when he had his heart attack in April, I didn't even know where to begin to look for hope nor how to understand the reasons behind these painful blows. Of course, these past two years have also brought us many wonderful moments, including our unforgettable trip to Spain last March and summer holidays spent in Noirmoutier. Trust me, I'm not complaining -- I know we have been blessed in many ways. But I couldn't help but wonder when the wheel might turn in another direction, or what might be waiting for us around the next corner...

And then came the end of the year, December 2007... And the greatest gift that life could bring us: the promise of the future, in the form of a new life -- a new member of our own little family. I couldn't be happier, and I don't even know how to put into words how significant this is for me, for both us, how much it means to know that we will be sharing so many special moments together in the future. When we knew it was certain, and when the first tests and examinations were behind us, we took a step back and breathed a sigh of both relief and anticipation. Obviously we have some challenges ahead of us, and many unanswered questions regarding where we will eventually settle down for good, but the one certainty is that this new life, this baby growing inside of me, is the greatest possible promise of new beginnings and continued love. That is all I could ever hope for in the New Year. And it feels good.

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 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...

Morning Mayhem

Ahhhhh, what a morning! And I don't mean that in a good way. I'm no longer used to 6:30 wake-up calls, and I am definitely not a morning person... Have I mentioned that before? The fact that I am decidely NOT a morning person? Well, I'm saying it again. Especially after this morning. I know that you can get a heck of a lot done by waking up early, but my body is just not cut out for it. At least not yet... Who knows, maybe one day that might change (of course, I'm not going to hold my breath!) -- or I may be forced to change myself. But in the meantime, I am fighting against it with every bone in my body.

Especially when the wake-up requires a stop at the local medical lab to get some tests done, something which can't be done directly at the doctor's office here in France. I know we have an excellent healthcare system, for the most part anyway, and trust me -- I'm not complaining. I just wish I could get the lab tests done in the same place where I have the doctor's appointment. So it didn't require crawling out of bed at the crack of dawn to have either some needles stuck in me, or other fun forays into the medical domain...

My boyfriend had gotten up yesterday morning to go have some bloodwork done himself, to check up on his cholesterol levels and make sure he was doing okay. It's a necessity after the health scare he had last April, and we have to monitor his heart condition on a regular basis. And I'm constantly feeling guilty about this, because I'm wondering if I'm not cooking the right things, if I'm not taking care of him as well as I should... Of course, I know stress doesn't help things either, and I'm not responsible for everything. I like him to be happy, so I try to treat him from time to time, but then I get the gnawing feeling that I probably shouldn't have made that sweet chocolate mousse on Sunday... Especially if I had known he was going to have tests done on Monday morning!! Even he didn't think about it, didn't make the connection until he got his results on the Internet today... Argh, the triglycerides are not looking good, and I have a feeling the chocolate mousse definitely didn't help.

So off I went this morning, leaving my boyfriend wandering frantically around the apartment, tearing apart every room in search of his car keys, for gosh's sakes, which he could no longer find in order to move his car from one side of the street to the other... We live in one of those neighborhoods where the cars need to be moved midway through the month for one reason or another... I can't remember why this morning, for the life of me, he has to do that. But if he can't find his keys, he can't exactly move his car, now can he? I decided not to harp on the fact that it seems incomprehensible to me that he could lose his own car keys, as I knew this wouldn't help matters much, and I also knew that if I started looking myself I would get as frantic as he already was, and that wasn't going to help either. So off I went to the lab as planned, did what I had to do, stopped by the good boulangerie near the lab, and brought home piping-hot fresh bread for us to share at breakfast. He had calmed down by then, having found his keys in the interim, but still had to go out to move the car.

While he was gone I tried to put as much of the junk back that he had taken out in his hunt, but still hadn't finished when he walked back in the door -- damn, is he quick! And I'm as slow as a snail... I don't think I was awake yet, that was part of the problem. I got the coffee going, slapped on some makeup so I wouldn't look too dead at the office today, and finally wobbled into the kitchen for breakfast. We were both in crappy moods, and the lost keys hadn't helped. I was of course relieved he had finally found them, but I was pretty sure he would anyway -- and guess where they were?? Ha ha... At the bottom of his tennis bag. I think I could have told him that ahead of time -- I don't know why I didn't think of it... (Jenn, are you reading this? What is it about men again?!?!...)

And of course you would think that getting up so early would allow me to head out of the apartment early to catch the perfect train and get to work well ahead of time, right? Well, you would think wrong... I ran out the door the same time as usual, as I got distracted in the kitchen trying to clean up after our breakfast. Old habits never die... I ran down the street and arrived, out of breath, at the train station, only to see that the train I usually take was going to be five minutes late. Well, perfect, right?! Yeah, I guess, except there was no guarantee that it would get me to work on time...

And, well, I did make it in the end, so that's certainly a relief -- but it's given me a bad taste of things to come... An ominous foreshadowing of events this Thursday in Paris, when a huge grève générale is expected on the whole métro/train/RER/bus system.

Oh, how lucky we are. We knew this was coming, but I have got a baaaaad feeling about it this time around... Anyone remember Fall 1995? Yikes!

A Very French Moment of Inattention

Last night I ended up staying out again after work, sharing a couple margaritas with a new friend in a nifty Mexican bar in the Marais neighborhood, followed by a couple platefuls of nachos and quesadillas. Haven't had food like that in ages! So it was well worth it, albeit completely unexpected. I had already been out the night before, 'til all hours, cavorting with several gal friends at the Burlesque Revue hosted by Gentry Lane, where I also met some other much more well-known Paris bloggers. But my intention after work yesterday was to touch base on some volunteer work I'm going to be doing for a children's book writer and illustrator organization (SCBWI France) in the coming months. I'm trying to tackle some of this work right now, and I'm just a bit nervous about the whole gig, because I don't want to let anyone down and I want to do a good job -- I just hope I'm going to be able to focus and buckle down when the time comes. But this is the kind of organization I've been wanting to get involved with for a while, so it can only be a good thing, right? Right. I just hope I'm not biting off more than I can chew...

Ahem, so the meeting was set up to touch base with a couple other gals involved in the process, and I was just meant to meet them and chat for a bit. But as they were super-busy and up to their gills in work, they didn't have time to talk logistics. So we decided to save that for another time in the near future, and my friend and I headed out to find a nearby bar to unwind after our respective long days at work (her hopping around town on a Velib' from one assignment to another, me chained to my desk...). A drink turned into a couple drinks, like I said above, and then some nibbles, which resulted in a full-fledged meal. So I didn't make it to the métro station 'til after 10:00. Not a problem under any normal circumstances, but I was really starting to feel the fatigue. I took my normal route home, with a correspondance at Charles-de-Gaulle Etoile for the RER train... And found, once again -- for the second time in less than two weeks -- that the interconnexion at Nanterre-Préfecture was down as some construction work is going on at the Nanterre-Université station. Basically this means that I'm in commuter hell, because I have to turn back around on my tracks and trudge on over to the other side of the station, take the train back in the other direction, make my way over to the Gare St. Lazare, and then take an SNCF suburb train home. Which is just fine and dandy -- when I'm not WIPED OUT and READY TO CRAWL INTO BED. I know, I know: after all, I'm the one who chose to go out, so you're not going to feel sorry for me. But this was the last thing I needed...

So after taking the alternate route back through the train system, as I finally approached St. Lazare on foot from nearby métro Havre-Caumartin, I found myself half-asleep and somewhat distracted by the bright street lamps. My attention was momentarily diverted by the Printemps department store windows, and as I swung my head to the right in that split second, I made the huge mistake of not watching where I was going -- I became a walking hypocrite! Because, in fact, this is a crime that I have found Parisians guilty of on more than one occasion, and it drives me off my rocker... And there I was, becoming the perfect example of what I can't stand. That's right: in that split second, I rammed into a poor unsuspecting woman walking in the opposite direction. Now, I say "poor, unsuspecting" because I feel for her -- I honestly felt bad for my moment of distraction! I felt terrible... But her response shocked me even more: before I could even mumble out an apology or an explanation, she had screeched "Il faut regarder où vous allez... ou changer de lunettes !!!" And when I say screeched, I seriously mean she put a lot of volume into those two lines. I was flummoxed, and it all happened so fast, I didn't even get a chance to respond. Now, again, I know I was in the wrong -- I was perfectly ready to recognize it -- but I honestly thought that this was just a wee bit uncalled-for... Over-react much?! I didn't even get a good look at the lady, but let's just say that she walked so quickly out of my line of vision that I can only assume she was about three feet tall...

When commuting, I go out of my way to follow Paris protocol: I step off the trains to allow other passengers to get off, even when it's not yet my stop, and I do my best to be respectful of others' space. I walk quickly, but I don't push (this is particularly grating, when people shove up behind you to get off at a station). I stand when the trains are crowded, allowing the strapontins to flip back up and free up some more space. But of course I'm not perfect, and every once in a while I find myself guilty of a commuting transgression. But this was totally unlike me -- and again, it was probably a result of my long day.

In any case, in that moment I realized how much I'm becoming more and more "French". Yes, my friends, say what you will, the French are well-known for walking quickly in one direction and looking in another at the same time. I've observed this phenomenon in more than one train station over the years, as well as on the streets, so the fact that I committed this cardinal sin makes me feel even worse. I've also been complaining more and more, a sign of the one of the French culture's favorite pastimes: râler.

But oh well, you never know what the end of an evening will bring you... It didn't tarnish my soirée, not entirely, but I was too tired at that point to dwell on it. I honestly believe that fatigue played a role in my distraction as well, so I'm trying not to feel too bad about it. After all, I'm sure that that particular dame didn't even give the incident a second thought...

Weekend Windup... And A Lemon Baking Frenzy

Our toaster had been on the fritz most of this past week, only producing burnt baguette slices or never even spitting out the bread and subsequently sending smoke swirling all around the apartment... (and as a result I don't know if I'll ever be able to get rid of that smoky smell -- even after airing out the rooms all day on Saturday!) So after doing my regular shopping at the market on Saturday afternoon (trying really, for once, to restrict myself to the things on my list, and perhaps a few extra pieces of fruit, because I had let far too much go to waste last weekend, or things had gone bad far too quickly -- and I really need to stick to a budget!) and picking up some necessities at the grocery store, I also broke down and got a new, but inexpensive, toaster as well.

Now, I know I probably should have tried to get a secondhand one or found out if someone I knew had an extra one on hand, but I will admit here, sheepishly, that I'm an extremely impatient person (have I mentioned that before?!), and I just didn't know if I could hold out for even a few days without my morning toast... So I studied the various boxes on the shelves and figured I didn't need any fancy extras, like plastic prongs to grab the toast -- "a guarantee against ever burning your fingers!" according to the packaging -- or a supposed shelf on top of the toaster for reheating croissants and other pastries... I just needed your basic toaster, albeit with fairly wide slots for baguette-style bread. I managed to find one that wasn't too pricey, but even as I brought it home I felt guilty about the extra expense. I keep thinking of Riana and her Slow Year and how I had hoped to join in as well (ah, good intentions...), and yet I'm struggling with my own nature, fighting with myself and trying to be more economical, knowing that one of these days my spending in the moment is going to catch up with me... I agree that since my move to France I've gradually acquired better eating habits, and I've realized that in fact I need less and less, and I'm trying to cut out extra unnecessary spending. Seeing gals like her accomplish so much and feeling so fulfilled as a result, being happy with what she has and how she can make better use of everything, is a real inspiration to me.

But again, I do tend to use a toaster pretty much every day, so this was how I justified the purchase to myself. I still haven't taken it out of the box, though, because I just want to be absolutely sure I didn't get it on a whim...

In the meantime, I spent the rest of the day baking, and it hit me while I was in the kitchen, totally out of the blue, that I really do prefer baking to cooking on the whole. I've enjoyed getting into cooking over the last two years, after letting someone else do the hard work for so long, but I think that it's baking that really does it for me. And I guess it has something to do with the calming effect kneading dough has on me, actually getting the consistency and the texture just right, feeling it between my fingers and knowing I've done this myself. I know a lot of food bloggers have written beautiful things about this concept, but I think it doesn't really sink in until you've experienced it yourself and sensed the full effect of baking -- that is, if you're anything like me! I know we all have different impressions about these sorts of things, but maybe deep down inside of me I've inherited this quirk from my mother as well. For years I denied the fact that I could even cook or bake, and convinced myself that it simply wasn't in my genes. But that probably had a lot to do with my lack of self-confidence and my simmering self-doubt. It may be the precision of the process (I am a perfectionist, after all), the measuring of the ingredients and getting the balance of ingredients just right that does it for me; or perhaps it's just that first taste, when the cookies or cake have come out of the oven and I realize that something magical has taken place...

And I've got a thing about lemon; who knows why?! I've baked a basic lemon pound cake (or more accurately a quatre-quarts au citron, as I'm following a French recipe and using a kitchen balance) at least a dozen times in the last year, varying it only slightly, adding poppy seeds from time to time or a dash more fresh lemon juice) but it was the discovery of lemon butter cookies that really got me -- the flakiness of the butter, the zing of those grated lemon zests, and the perfect punch of that fleur de sel. The day I started grating lemons for my recipes was like a huge revelation for me -- you mean you actually put the lemon's skin in there?! And how satisfying is it to grate away at the lemon zest? Seriously, what an eye-opener, I kid you not... [and although you may be laughing at me right now, chuckling over there in front of your computer screens, I was reassured to know that I was not alone in this department when I ran into a gal last night who asked me if I had actually used "fresh lemons" in the cake I had baked!]

After baking my lemon cake once again yesterday afternoon and pulling it out of the oven, I couldn't resist diving into Clotilde's lemon butter cookie recipe from her book; I've been wanting to bake these little beauties for months now, but I was always either lacking the motivation or the time. The recipe is a variation of the lemon butter cookie recipe on the Chocolate and Zucchini blog, and I got such a kick out of getting the ball of cookie dough just right between my fingers, kneading it and figuring out whether to add in a dash of cold water or a touch of flour. And when you actually taste the cookies?! Seriously, the perfect balance of chewiness, flakiness and crispiness (is that a word?) all rolled into one! The lemon, butter and salt just sing together. Plus, they're bite-size, so you don't feel as guilty when you eat several at a time. While I was on vacation in Noirmoutier I was seeking out the perfect sablé in the local shops but never came across just the right one. I knew I would be bringing back some fleur de sel, and if there's one thing I firmly believe should be in every kitchen, it's these crystal flakes (they're wonderful with chocolate as well). As a matter of fact, the next time I go home to the States, I've got to bring some home to my mother. I'll make a mental note of that...

Now, my cookies didn't end up looking nearly as perfect as the gorgeous photos of Clotilde's sablés in the book (mine were a bit oddly misshapen!), but what's great about these kinds of pastries is just how appealing the cookies are in their imperfect shape -- there's something rustic and unique about them that emphasizes their homemade, hand-baked simplicity.

And if there's one thing I can say for sure, it's that I will be enjoying Clotilde's book for months, if not years, to come... It took me some time to actually get around to using some of the recipes, but now that I've started, I think I'm going to have a hard time stopping any time soon! So far I've only tried out a few, but I can attest to the fact that her crumble aux courgettes, figues et mozzarella is perfectly marvelous, a taste combination that I never could have imagined on my own but that makes your tastebuds sing. And I'll be testing our her baked ratatouille recipe later on this week. Tonight it's her fail-proof poulet de Muriel, another weekend regular.

My baking saved me from myself this weekend; otherwise, I probably would have gotten caught up in my permanent state of introspection and reflection. I can only hope that the baking, as well as other interests and occupations, will continue to fulfill me and take my mind off heavier concerns in the months ahead.

Life on Pause

Le Moulin à Barbâtre, à la nuit tombante

I apologize once again for my unexplained absence, but this time around, I do have a good excuse: I was on vacation, and I simply didn't manage to squeeze in a moment to explain that directly here on my blog before departing. Although I figured the message was pretty clear with my previous "Vacation Reading" post... (Read between the lines?)

I left for Noirmoutier, an island off the Atlantic Coast of France, in the Vendée region, three weeks ago today. I actually returned to the office on Monday, but I've been digging my way through personal and professional e-mails, as well as countless blog postings on my Bloglines account -- I sincerely doubt I will ever catch up with all of those! -- since fumbling into the office a bit dazed and still stuck in my vacation haze. Blogging friends, please forgive my dilatory attitude... Three weeks away will certainly transform your approach to things, make it all seem less important, less urgent and perhaps near-unnecessary. My brother even sent me a few reproachful messages, wondering when I was ever going to return to my regular ol' daily existence and resume the grind that we are all used to plugging through year-round. (He lives in America, after all, and isn't used to any extended absences from the office -- I honestly don't know what I would do without these breaks from time to time at this point in my life.) I had told him about my blog months ago, though, and strangely enough he hadn't popped in to visit for a while, so he could hardly scold me!

I plan on resuming my "regular" blogging habits from here on out, although you could hardly call me the most consistent blogger -- I'm well aware of that. But I've made progress from time to time; it just has yet to become consistent progress.

All that time away, of course, was calming and relaxing -- I can't remember the last time I turned off my "thought process", my anxiety-ridden brain, for such an extended period -- and I obviously didn't have access to a computer or to an Internet connection. At first I wondered if this would bother me, but then I realized that I had always survived just fine without it before, and that in fact before the early 21st century, I was far from a fan of anything computer-related. It took me at least a few years to get the knack of things and to even acquire any fair interest in the virtual world. There are still a lot of things out there that baffle me, and how I wish I could improve my own graphic skills so I could jazz up this here blog of mine, but that will simply have to wait until the moment propice.

But there is definitely something to be said for escapism, running off to a fairly secluded place and spending an extended amount of time in completely different surroundings. Even though the weather was not all that great for, um, I would have to say about 13 of my 18 days away, I was still able to immerse myself in a whole new life and pretend like my life back "home" didn't exist -- put it all in parentheses, if you will. I did read quite a bit, but not nearly as much as I had hoped, and I have to admit that I was more than ambitious in my hope to complete seven entire novels while away. Of course, I guess I didn't take into account the fact that there would be three small boys running around me for a good part of my vacation, and also that we would be spending many meals with extended family members... Which I thoroughly enjoyed, because for the most part I love all of my boy's family. (Um, was that a contradiction of sorts? Let's just say I'm being politically correct here...) But family meals always lead to family memories and family quibbles -- and you get where I'm going with this, so I think I'll stop right there.

My choices of reading in the end were a bit arbitrary and depended on my mood, which should come as no surprise, but I did at least require myself to alternate between French and English. I can highly recommend Muriel Barbery's L'élégance du hérisson, of course, although I had a hard time getting into the first 10 pages or so (a bit heavy and dense from the get-go, but then it settles into a certain sublime style, and it's irresistible). Once you're into it, though, you're in it for good. It's a beauty, and I believe it's a novel that will stay with me for some time. I stretched out the last 20 pages or so because I didn't want it to end...

I'm actually working on Sarah Waters right now, but again, I haven't quite gotten into the story yet. Granted, I've hardly finished the first chapter, so I know I may need to be a bit patient. But I won't neglect my reading list, trust me: it will just take me a bit longer than expected to make it through the pile...

In the meantime, I leave you with some of my images of Noirmoutier, personal shots that are the furthest thing from touristic -- because in fact I didn't end up doing very much tourism. We stayed close to the "vacation" home and only ventured out to the beach when the weather was fine, which wasn't all that often. I was fascinated with the moulin, as you can see in the number of photos where the windmill stands as the sole subject, as well as the lavender branches near the house. It was all very sauvage and rustique, and I loved every minute of it.

P.S. You'll note the distinct absence of any photos of myself -- that's what happens, I guess, when you keep the camera under wraps and only whip it out when inspiration strikes. There were times when I realized, when it was clearly too late, that "Wow, maybe I should have taken a photo of that?!" (And in any case, anything else I left at arm's length was grabbed by 3-year-old hands and abused, so I believe I may have for once used good judgment with regard to burying my personal effects...)

My Vacation Reading

As I settled into a sofa in our office lounge to read for a bit during my lunch break one day last week, a colleague asked me if I was attacking my "summer reading" book... I laughed and said, "Well, one of my summer reading books, but I've got a long list -- you ain't seen nothing yet!"

In fact, I will probably never make it through the whole list, but there are so many books I want to read right now, I can't help but bring along more on vacation than I will certainly end up finishing... I can just see myself choosing to leave ONE behind and deciding once I arrive that it's precisely that one that I want to read. Granted, this pile is a bit ambitious, to say the least. I'm still wondering how I'm going to fit these all in my suitcase -- after all, I was hoping to travel light, especially since I'm going to be in a beach setting and really don't need to bring all that much with me anyway. I may have to narrow this down... I want to be able to choose between a good selection of books in both English and French, depending on my mood, and I've been putting together these titles for a while now, for various reasons. I like to have a nice balance of light, fluffy reading along with heavier, meatier stuff for when I feel like I can settle in and spend a good three or four hours reading non-stop. Which is obvious from the photo above, as I've managed to combine both Nick Hornby and Murakami in the same mix... Suspense and romance are also both good to have on hand en vacances, at least if you ask me!

(And I'm actually still in the middle of Katherine Pancol's Les Yeux jaunes des crocodiles, which is quite good -- I hope to finish this by Friday, two days into my vacation...)

Thanks to Lauren for loaning me Sarah Waters' The Night Watch, as well as inspiring me to continue reading Nancy Huston. And thanks also to Meredith for the inspiration to write this post! She shared her summer reading selection with us months ago...

Most of the English titles in the photo above I managed to either buy used or to borrow, whereas I'm embarrassed to say that I bought all the French books. And some of these have been sitting on my shelves, patiently waiting to be read, for months, namely Duong Thu Huong's Myosotis.

Which will I read first? That's a good question... Again, it all depends on how the mood hits me. But I have a feeling it will be something lighter, so A Long Way Down may make its way back up to the top of the pile... Then again, it's not the book I've been the most impatient to read, so it may very well have to wait. Decisions, decisions...

********

I've been reading more and more for pleasure in recent years, probably as my own ideal form of escapism, and I can't seem to get enough these days. In a sense, I almost miss reading for my studies, having to analyze a text and discuss it in a classroom setting. This experience often brought out so much more for me, in spite of the stress I might have experienced in writing my own essays and analyses. I vividly remember studying Kate Chopin's The Awakening in a sociology class my senior year of college and wanting to discuss its themes for hours on end, feeling like I could peel away the layers of its depth and never reach the bottom of its literary potential.

My mind has opened up to more and more types of literature over the years, out of pure curiosity or perhaps even a subconscious yearning to broaden myself, my mind and my interests. Before moving to France, I used to read countless books about French culture and novels set in France or French-speaking countries, so when I picked up a book in a shop and it spoke to me somehow in this vein, I would more than likely bring it home with me, as was the case with Claire Messud's The Last Life. More recently, I've become fascinated with Japanese culture, and modern Japanese authors, most especially Haruki Murakami and Yoko Ogawa.

Interestingly enough, though, I've always remained faithful to my love of novels rather than essays or non-fiction. Perhaps it's just this constant need for escapism that resurfaces at every turn, or a recognition of myself or some of my own neuroses and quirks in the characters. I imagine this is a universal trait, that we all yearn for this somehow, and we all look for ourselves in one form or another in our reading.

But the funny thing is that certain stages of my life took me away from the pleasures of plunging into a good book, and I've only found my way back again in the last four years or so. And what a rediscovery! In that absence, I didn't realize all the wonder and stimulation I was missing.

Even today I surprise myself with my constantly evolving passion for reading -- obviously I'm not alone, but it's as if I can't read fast enough some days, trying to soak up so much in such a short time. Then again, I often like to sit back and take my time, savor the pages, like I so often did with Milan Kundera. As I dig my way through one novel, I'm already thinking about what I will read next, anticipating the exhilaration of discovering new characters and new worlds. (Perhaps my boyfriend has solved this dilemma by reading several books at the same time, even in different languages, each one peeking out of a jacket pocket, but I can't seem to do this -- to split my attention that way -- as it distracts me from the story at hand. I need to focus on one imaginary world at a time.)

I do feel quite strongly that the appeal of certain books, or certain kinds of books, is very singular and unique, and that one's interests in books is very subjective. A book that a mass of people might enjoy sometimes just doesn't do anything for me, and I can't necessarly get into it or grasp why it is so popular. Whereas some other subjects or styles pull me in every time, but may not appeal to others at all. And that's okay! I've made peace with this fact, knowing it's all a part of who I am, and my own search for identity.

But like so many others, I'm sometimes overwhelmed by all the wonderful books there are to be read, and I know my thirst will continue unquenched for years to come. I just hope I'll never lose this passion for the written word, because it's one of the things that keeps me going from one day to the next.