This Provençal Life

Mad cleaning at midnight...

This past weekend was full of events.  First, we, that is Raphael and I and the girls, officially relocated from our bedrooms for what is becoming our annual summer bedroom round robin.  This is the week that the Cordes En Balade begin and we have annual reservations for all five of our bedrooms.  This includes the rooms the girls and Raphael and I have been using since last fall.  For those of you who've been following This Provençal Life since this time last year, you'll know that last summer we spent our nights sleeping in whatever bedroomwas not rented and when they all were rented, in the wine cellar or on a futon couch in Nini's living room.  The girls had a permanent set up with their bunk beds in the corner of Nini's living room nextto the futon.  And Angeline, at under a year, followed us around in the travel bed.  It was unstable for the children, irritating for Niniand a nomadic life for us.  And yes, we've begun it again.  But so far we don't know where the girls will sleep.  They are currently in the states with my parents and despite the fact that they return early next week, we haven't given much thought as to where to put them.

Our plan, well we have two actually, is to move all of us into Raphael's office.  Remember the sweat box in the highest portion of the house?  All five of us!  Our second idea is to buy a double tent and install it permanently for two months on a portion of the Domaine that is shrouded by trees and camp for the summer.  This might not be a bad idea actually.  I'm already reduced to sharing a bathroom with Nini for the next two months.   And while I use her bathroom, I don't install my stuff.  I store my toiletries in a travel bag in the laundry room.  And the girls will love sleeping in a tent every night.  I insist on an air mattress, a fluffy pillow and proper sheets though.   

The guests for our room, bringing the total to five rented bedrooms, that is, all of the bedrooms in the house except Nini's, weren't supposed to arrive until tonight.  Or so we thought.  At 9:30 last night Raphael came rushing into our living room (our bedroom is off of it) where Iwas busy organizing personal papers in order to relocate them to Raph's office today, and announced that they were on their way and would be here in under an hour.  Now, besides the  fact that Angeline (no she wasn't in bed yet but I was working on it) had just emptied a box of Olivia's Polly Pocket toys on the living room floor to join her puzzles, my major concern was our bedroom.  And more precisely, our bathroom.  I had planned the major cleaning project for this morning.  I had already relocated our clothes to the cave next to the laundry room that afternoon and removed all the personal photos and other odds and ends that accumulate in abedroom with three children around.  But the state of the floor was a concern and the bathroom was just scary.  Not only that, after a small water leak a few months ago, a portion of the wall outside of the bathroom had accumulated a nice green coating of mold.  I know, it makes you want to stop by for a visit.  My plan for today was to deal with all of this including a fresh coat of paint on the one wall.  Could we be any more last minute?  It's hard to get motivated to move out of your own bedroom when you don't know what to do with nine months worth of accumulated stuff.  

While Raphael literally threw everything;  toys, my shoes, toiletries, various pieces of junk, into the cave, I frantically scrubbed water stains off the shower walls and hurridly stripped and remade the bed.  Okay, the bathroom took so long that that's all I had time for.  Raphael vacuumed, poorly and missing cobwebs which I removed while he was plying the guests with charm and wine in the caveau.  He even, miraculously, removed the mold from the wall.  The results were...acceptable.  And all this for one night.  Yep, that's all they're here for.  In fact, as I write this I hear them packing their car to head off the their concert and then home.  Oh, now that were out, were staying out for the rest of the summer.  Our room is now back to being the yellow room at the bed and breakfast.  And guess what I'll be doing today?  A second thorough scrubbing of the bathroom and bedroom to reach a level beyond acceptable as well as painting the wall where the mold was. 

Tomorrow I'll tell you about my other even of last weekend. 

And later....

After being summoned by Raphael, we discovered that the guest left their stuff in the rooms.  I decided to clean around the suitcases in preparation for guests tonight and then i got to the room where the only female is staying.  Upon seeing her clothes nicely hanging, I thought, they may be coming back before their concert to rest and take a shower.  So much for the major cleaning.  It'll have to wait until this evening.

Cheery cherry tomatoes and mini cantelope

Our well has dried up.  Not the well that supplies water to our house.  That well is filled by a Roman source the flows from deep in the ground and that source has never, in Raphael's lifetime, dried up.  This is the well that supplies water to our garden.  Yes, this year we planted a vegetable (and some rather wimpy cantaloupe and a few better looking watermelon) garden.  It's about a third of a football field in size and requires as much work and upkeep as a small child.  And it is Raphael's baby at the moment.  He wakes at 6am or earlier (even on the weekends) to water it and work it.  And he makes plans for its future.  We share it with some friends and so they do half the work but Raphael can never let the farmer in himself rest and so usually joins the friends to 'help'. 

I picked the first of their labors yesterday.  I actually love having a garden and wouldn't mind doing more of the work but it's not near the house and the few times we brought the girls along we ended up with smashed plants and gifts of green tomatoes.  So, I'm the designated babysitter.  Even when we do take the girls, I have to follow them around and find projects to keep them busy and off the plants.  They get to help with the watering.  Armed with their little yellow watering cans they water thenearest plants over and over again.  Until they get bored and begin watering each other.  Angeline doesn't like getting dirty and it's not long before her shoes are caked in mud and she's fussing out in the middle of a row of eggplant for me to come haul her out, rince her off and plop her near the hose to survey the watering can fill up.  We don't, as yet, have a sprinkler system.  Raphael rigged a series of hoses from the well, which is equipped with an electric pump, to the edge of the garden.  The hoses don't reach much beyond the edge so we are required to water each plant with a can.  The entire garden takes and hour and a half to water, and the potatoes, which we have the most of, never need to be watered.

As our well is currently empty, this morning Raphael met our partners at the garden at 6 with a tractor holding a large tub of water for the day's watering.  Although as I write, thunder is circulating outside the window and if we're lucky, this evening will bring a nice downpour to fill the well and Raphael's on the phone with our friends insisting that they shouldn't have gotten up at 6 to water.  He, a peasent farmer, knew it was going to rain. 

But I love eating the results.  Today we had sauteed yellow and green zucchini so tender it melted in the mouth and the cherry tomatoes never even make it out of the garden.  We all snack on them as we go.  There are some pear trees, a plum tree and a wild cherry tree on the field and the girls pick fruit randomly to munch on.  Not to forget the token grape vine of which we'll be kind enough to let our friends reap all the fruit. 

Speaking of heat

I've grown accustomed to sitting around and sweating.  Despite the abnormally cold summers of the past two years, we still manage to have one or two weeks of sweltering heat.  Each time I enter the house, I thank God for these old stone gems that stay cool even after 5 day's of upper 90's temperatures.  Then I proceed up the steps to my living room and with each step I feel the temperature rising and I know why people keep the shutters closed during hot summer days.  According to this family, that's my problem, I want to see day when it's day.  In summer, shutters's are to be closed during the day and opened at night to let in the 'cool' air.  I've not yet been able to adjust.

Our house is built  on a stone slope.  My in-laws portion is on the bottom floor of the lowest part.  The rear is actually partially underground and lined by wine tanks.  Raphael's office is on the level with the attic on the upper most portion of the slope making it the hottest room in the house.  My living room and bedroom are in the middle.   As I type (the computer is in the office), I can feel little beads of sweat pool under my shirt.  Gone are the days of hating to sweat, in the south of France, you adjust your thinking.  Almost no one has air conditioning, not even those one room box air conditioners that popped up all over western PA in the 80's.  In fact, France is the opposite of the states.  In the winter, it is necessary to wear 4 shirts and tights under your pants to keep warm - in the house.  In the northeast US, where everything is carpeted and we're all blessed with central heating, you can walk around barefooted in jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt.  On the contrary, in France in the summer your not cool enough naked in a shuttered room underground.  And in the states in summer, you're still wearing those jeans and long sleeved tee shirt because the air conditioning is so high.

I no longer like air conditioning, at least not at the temperatures Americans are used to.  Today, for example, wen I walked into the daycare to drop my daughter off, I wanted to stay.  It was pleasantly cool.  I had no need to put on a jacket and yet I felt like I could sit and relax.  I like not being shocked by the heat when I leave an over cool house or building.  I like having open windows and doors in the summer.  And I love the heat and hope, this year, it is here to stay;

Balloon pools and the House

The cicadas are hot.  They've begun the cooling process of flapping their wings that brings the noise that has become synonymous with provence.  I heard the first ones today at lunch.  Apparently the fried salmon was a hit because after a moment there was silence around the table, a rarity with three girls, as everyone dug into their lunch.  But it wasn't quiet, Inoticed the loud scratching sound right outside the open door.  

For about 5 days now we finally have a true summer, the kind of weather the south of France is known for, the kind where you just sit around and sweat and dream of an after lunch siesta (not possible) and a late afternoon dip in a swimming pool.

We spent last weekend squatting in our friends pools.  On Saturday we went south to JC and Lulu's for the afternoon.  JC and Raph have been friends for over 20 years and are like brothers.  We arrive at each others houses and invade with all our children.  So far we've had the upper hand with our 3 to their 2 but their expecting twins this year so they'll soon be ahead by one.  On Saturday, to our surprise, they bought us a copy of their swimming pool.  Truthfully, they insisted, "it's purely for selfish reasons - now we've evened the game" - they'll have just as much reason to invade us as we do them this summer.  They don't even mind the in-laws. 

The swimming pool is one of those plastic blue circular things that balloons open and is sustained by the water.  We haven't yet installedthe sucker despite my constant comments about the heat to Raphael.  We're in debate over where to put it.  Okay, the debate is over.  It's been decided.  After ruling out Nini's courtyard due to the traffic of winery clients and me not wanting to be seen floating like awater buffalo and giving the impression that I'm wearing the pool as my innertube.  Our next choice was over the hill from the House where, a few years back we had a similar version of this pool, until it got blown to bits by the Mistral before we had the time to take it down one September.  It was a beautiful spot.  We could float around in lazy circles watching the trees blow in the breeze.  For me, it was too far away from civilization - a kitchen and bathroom.  Then there was the bug problem, they constantly fell of those lovely trees into the water, and the fact that we had to tramp through and un mowed field to get there.  Raphael had the brilliant idea to put the pool in our courtyard, that is the one currently under stalled construction in front of the HOUSE.  The courtyard is divided into terraces each bordered by a stone wall.  Only one is almost complete - the cement was poured months ago giving it a finished look despite not being tiled yet.  The problem, this terrace is not big enough.  But the center one, currently a mess of broken stone, is.  That is where Raphael wants to install the pool this summer.  He does have one point.  The spot is great for it's lack of wind, trees (and bugs) and is facing directly south so very sunny (this means that I won't be allowed to take the girls there between 11am and 4pm because it's too hot).  I agreed but that means waiting a week to use the pool.  Today the mason was here to finish breaking the stone (the first step).  Tomorrow and over the weekend Raphael will have to clear away all the stone so that Monday the mason can pour the concrete.  It needs three days to dry and then we can raise the pool. 

I'm going to thank JC and Lulu again because not only did they give us a way to cool off and keep the kids busy this summer but also they got me a second almost complete terrace. 

Driving with the mother in law

Our car is down again.  This irritating problem necessitates an even more irritating fact;  as the two winery cars are only meant for two people, I am obligated to rely on Nini for school transportation.  She and Papi have a Rover, for them a deluxe car.  They, in fact, only drive it to church and for nicer outings- doing groceries and taking the garbage to the bin, do not fall into this category.  It's with reluctance that they allow Raphael to drive it from time to time when we need to go somewhere en famille.  But I do not apparently fall into the approved driver category.  How it is that Raphael, and some of you have experienced his driving firsthand- each fear inducing curve after the next, is less dangerous for the car than me, I've yet to comprehend.  So what if I am responsible for most of the exterior bruises on our current lemon.  There's a valid excuse behind each one.  Driving a normal sized car on abnormally small and usually two way roads is one of them. 

Then there is Raphael, who I have seen drive the roads of the Ardèche canyons talking on his cell phone, periodically taking a note with the other hand, shift gears and point out a landmark or gorgeous view (none of which I have ever seen since someone has to watch the road and scream in order to notify him that we're way too close the the precipitous canyon wall) all at once.  How does he steer you might ask?  With his knees of course.  I, on the other hand, despite the fact that walls, curbs and other cars appear, from time to time, further away than they actually are, am a cautious driver.  Okay, so there was the incident when we first met.  But I'm not sure Nini and Papi are aware of that.

Being American, I never learned how to drive a stick shift.  Being French, Raphael thought it necessary that I learn since his jeep, and every other vehicle in Europe is a stick.  It was our first away weekend.  We had known each other about 6 weeks this mid June afternoon.  It was my first long stretch of days off from my airline and I was headed back to France to spend more than one jet lagged night with Raphael.  He had taken the train to Paris and was doing a wine tasting in the St. Cloud that day but he had rented a car, an Alfa romeo, for our weekend in Beaujolais.  He picked me up at the airport and I first experienced Raphael's driving as he weaved, passed and played tag with the semi's on the highway and then the motorbikes on the roads of Paris.  At the wine store in St. Cloud, he double parked to unload the wine from the trunk then squeezed the car into an impossibly tight parking spot.  After the tasting we took to the auto-route headed south to Beaujolais.  About an hour outside of Paris he pulled off at a rest stop and decided it was time I started learning to drive a standard shift.  Raphael is a very good teacher and eventually I was able to go from first to third in the empty parking lot without stalling.  Why that was a good indicator I was ready for highway driving neither one of us will ever know.  Made stupid by new love maybe.  So I get us onto the highway and up to fifth gear.  We're cruising along and I'm pleased until we come to a hill.  We begin to slow down slightly and soon we're being passed in the slow lane by a semi truck.  "Down shift," Raphael patiently says as I grip the gear with white knuckles.  So I press in the clutch and shift.  The engine makes an odd crunching sound followed by various fearful sounds and stops responding to the gas pedal.  Thankfully there were no cars left behind us by this point when Raphael grabed the wheel and glided us to the side.  On the verge of tears, terrified Raphael wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore, I risked a sideways glance at him.  He burst out laughing and grabed my face for a kiss.  A few hours later, after a ride in our broken rental car which had been loaded onto the back of a French tow truck and during which we kissed behind an absurde red cutout heart that had been part of the store's decor, we were told what happened.   The garagist invited us to his personal bar for a drink to give us the news. (Yes in France you can find bars and wine cellars in various businesses;  but you have to be special to be invited into them.  A good friend of Raph's  and a  popular optician in town has a tasting cave in the basement of his store.)  Apparently, shifting from fifth gear right on down to reverse, which the garagist and Raphael insisted was impossible, is special enough to be invited for a drink in the private bar of the garage.  Over wine, they both agreed that this was to be expected with an Italien car.

Back to the present I'm reduced to bein chquffered by my mother in law daily.  Each morning I round up Nini along with the girls to debark for school and daycare.  She refuses to take the girls herself and, much like the key situation, I've almost never been offered the use of the car.  So, I ride along in the passenger seat trying to keep the girls from putting their dirty shoes on the back of the front seats, warning them no to touch the windows, ash trays, or overhead light.  The most fun is trying to determine what Nini's daily complaint is going to be.  There are the standards; why the car isn't fixed yet, there's never anyplace to park at the school (then again at the daycare).   Monday was fun, we forgot to put gas in the car after using it this weekend and that tirade lasted the whole way in and back, she almost forgot to complain about the girls not having proper outer wear.  Another popular cause for complaint is when an elderly person wants to use the crosswalk just as she approaches.  "Bien sur, this vieux pépé has to cross now." 

Bye , bye apèro for one

About a month ago, we joined Nini and Papi along with raphael's agent and his wife for an impromptu lunch.  On the menu were two different potato dishes, scalloped potatoes prepared by me and a pomme de terre Ardechoise prepared by Nini along with lamb chops.  Most of us know the generalities of how scalloped potatoes are prepared.  The Ardechoise potato dish is basically potatoes fried in lard with a fewherbs.  Some how the dinner conversation turns to weight.  It as probably the agent who brought the subject up jokingly as he took a helping of each dish.  He's just like that.  Nini then commented that she could eat anything she wants without gaining a pound which is disgustingly true.  She turned to the agent's wife, who is about the same size for agreement.  The wife, who is very shy, indicated that no, she needs to watch her weight.  So then Nini turned to me and said, "That's true for you as well rachel."  Now a year ago, Nini, in front of some friends of the family, commented that she thought I needed to lose some weight and she was considering buying me some of those special shoes that help you "walk off the weight."   Hmm, I thought to myself during the meal with the agent, yesterday I weighed myself and discovered that i gained 4 kilos ( we're talking around 10 pounds here) this winter.  Funny how last summer in front of her gossipy friends, I needed to lose weight and one winter and 10 pounds later, I had no problem eating what I want without gaining an ounce.

Personally, this 10 pounds had been an issue for me.  Five of these 10 made their way to my butt in one month, an unheard of thing except during a pregnancy.  I was worried.  A home pregnancy test ruled that out right away.  So what else could it be.  I Googled rapid weight gain in women and read through the list;  I was not in early menopause, edema, something called Cushing syndrome, antidepressants.  I stopped taking the Prozac.  As I read the list of symptoms for each of the possible causes, I realized I didn't have any of them so what could it be. I hadn't changed any of my eating habits;  I've always eaten too many cookies and nibbled between meals.  I turned 34 in March and yes, the metabolism begins to slow especially after three kids, but really, I turned a year older and the next day it stops?  Doubtful. Then raphael pointed out that maybe it's not what I'm eating but what i'm drinking.  "Do you know how many calories alcohol con taine?"  I'd rather not.  Apparently my method of endurance was making me fat.  So bye, bye apèro for one.  Hello bubbly water.  I have to say, since my cut back I've lost 3 kilos.  Of course, I threaten to move back to the states at least once a week. 

I'm back

According to some of my regular visitors, who just happen to be good friends, I'm missed.  I have to admit, I wasn't sure if I'd get back to blogging or not.  A year ago, I loved it.  I began this blog as a way to humorously chronicle life with my in law's.  I am beginning to think I should have gone anonymous,then I could have aired all the dirty little secrets and the "issues" in this family.  As it is, Nini recently asked me if I had mentioned her in my article about truffles that I did for Trazzler.  No, I said, but then she doesn't know about the blog. 

Now we're over a year into this "adventure" and it's starting to take it's toll on me personally.  As we moved into the second summer in this house, I suddenly had an overwhelming depression that made it impossible for me to motivate myself to do much more than what was expected of me by the other members of this family;  take care of my kids, obviously, clean bedrooms and do laundry when necessary, pour wine when necessary (and not just for myself).  It's the lack of an end date that's the problem behind my mood.  It's one thing to endure a temporary, uncomfortable, living situation for a specified time period.  But when year one is up, work on the house has been stalled, and year two looks like it's going to run into year three (and quite honestly, we have no idea how many years this may last) it starts to weigh on you.  It hit me after my last visit to the states.  I didn't want to come back.  It didn't help that the trip over was a nightmare.  On the day I was supposed to leave, I told Raphael I wasn't coming back unless he came to get me.  He did, of course. 

It's not just me, or us who is struggling.  It seems that almost every close friend of ours is going through q difficult time.  Whether it be about children;  unable to conceive, conceiving too many at once (surprise twins), difficult adolescence.  Marital problems or not being able to find "the one" which becomes more of an issue in the 30's.  Alcohol and drug dependency, financial or career problems, which is currently the issue for many people all over the world.  My father once commented that his 30's were the best years of his life (Now that he's in his 50's, maybe Ishould ask again.)  This isn't surprising.  I was born when my parents were both 23 and my brother (a girl then a boy) came three years later.  By the time my parents were my age, we were both in school full time, in activities sponsored by the school (no need to cart us form place to place as is the case in France where the after school activities are not sponsored by the schools.)  and independent.  Their money problems, career issues and housing situations were relegated to the 20's.    Of course, all those other problems can come at any time.

When I was in the states last February, I decided drastic measures were necessary to survive another year with Nini ( and just to et the motivation to return to France).  I saw a doctor friend of my mom's who supplied me with a prescription for prozac (she's a psych nurse).  i mentioned this to a good friend of mine who is fully aware of my living situation.  Her response, "Oh, I tried it and found it didn't work.  Besides (she know's me well) Rachel," (her voice drops to a whisper that suggests I should really consider my options before she speaks the next words) you can't drink with it."  Oh, I'm silent on the phone.  This is a problem.  What to do? 

So I'm pulled up at the drive in window of my neighborhood supermarket pharmacy waiting with my three cranky jet lagged kids in the backseat of grandmas oldsmobile contemplating my options.  Should I ask the pharmacist about this no drinking business?  I can just hear myself;  Okay, so it says no alcohol but let's clarity please.  I understand the obvious, no bing drinking which is not a problem these days.  But are we talking no drinking to the point of a buzz?  Because you see, there's American drinking and then there's French drinking.  Americans like to have a good time with beer and cocktails accompanied by snacks and pizza.  The French have the apéro.  The apèro consists of a selection of, well, apèro wine (think like rosé or white), pastis, or before dinner drinks.  The apéro is usually followed by a long dinner with a selection of wine coordinated to accompany perfectly each course.  Both the American party and the French dinner equal the same amount of alchole but there is likely a difference of time in which the alcohol is consumed and the amount of food consumed with it.  Do you see my point?  I think to say to the pharmacist.  Then there's the other times.  Does this mean, I want to ask, that my pre dinner and dinner preparation drink is off limits now?  What about a lass of wine (or two) with a standard size meal?  Really, we're not talking absolutely NO alcohol, here, are we?  Lay it out for me.  (Just a heads up, the problems with alcohol I mentioned above are, ironically, not about me.  Just a reminder:  You do remember the blog post about Nini's comment on my weight right?)  So as I accept the white paper bag containing my little brown bottle, I weigh my options.  Which, I wonder, is a better survival aid to my current situation, Prozac or alcohol? 

I returned to France and took, maybe, three pills and decided the apèro was much better.  Which brings me to tomorrow's post...

Olivia's cake

Olivia made her first cake today.  She mixed together all the ingredients without asking anyone's advice and then she asked Nini to bake it.  I knew something had been 'created' when I discovered the flour dusted counter top, the bowl with some kind of egg mixture and the used whisk.  At dinner time I discovered the garlic press in the sink. 

"Olivia," I questioned, "What did you use this for?"

"The eggs," Raphael said.

"Papaaaa," Olivia giggled.  "I used it for the chunks."

Yes, the cake was dotted with chunks of various ingredients.  Obviously Olivia didn't get them all with the press.  We each took a tiny piece of Olivia's cake.  It wasn't half bad, fluffy like the French pastry a Chou - eggy like a flan but with bits of egg shells included. 

"So Olivia, what did you put in the cake?"

"Well, four spoons of flour, two eggs, sugar, vanilla, levure..."  She pauses a moment to think.

"What are the black specks?"

"Well...I put some pepper."

Raphael studied his piece for a moment.  "Not all of this is pepper.  Did you wash your hands before you made this?"

"Yes.  Well, I made some of it outside and some of it inside," she admitted.  "I don't know how the sand got in."

We really did try to hide ourlaughing.  Angeline took one look at it and pushed it away, "No, pas."  Auriane loved it, ate Angeline's discarded piece and asked for another. 

"Why don't we take it in for Nini to try since she helped you make it," Raphael winked at me.  "Pay back,"  He whispered.

She enjoyed a nice sized piece and admitted it wasn't bad.  ThenI informed her of the supplemental ingredients.

Later that evening, Raphael discovered the butter.  All the paper was still folded neatly around the block except on one side, where three distinct finger lines were dug into the length of the butter

I was tagged by fellow blogger Cid, of Blog Like No One Is Readingfor Around the World in 80 Clicks.  I've done this type of thing on Facebook, and in email's and I think in Jr High.  The idea is to write at least 5 things I love about being a mother.  As we are currently on day 13 of their Easter vacation (with 4 more to go and rain on the way) this may not be the best moment to come up with these five things.  And yet, I found it the perfect moment to ponder my girls in their finer, joy giving, happiness bringing, heartwarming moments.

Olivia is my high energy, full of life (and most complicated) first born;  known to hang upside down from tree branches while wearing princess costume.  She's the loner of the three.  She's an artist and wow's everyone with her drawings (or maybe we're just biased.)  She spends hours setting up households for her Polly Pockets never forgetting the perfume bottles on the tables and a closet just for the shoes. 

Auriane is my little imp.  Full of love and cuddles, she wins everyone over with those dimples.  There is nothing she loves more than 'helping' someone with their work while talking nonstop.   She is the daddy's girl of the family.  At three, her favorite thing to do is irritate Olivia.

Angeline is the mommy's girl.  At almost two, she's getting to be a handful and has mastered the word no and the act of throwing anything within reach (usually her pacie) as far as she can (including herself).  Her favorite past time is eating.

1.  I love it when, on those rare moments, Auriane will lay her head on Olivia's lap while they're watching TV.  Usually they're fighting over couch space.

2.  I love it when Auriane says "Je weely t'aime toi, Maman."  I really love you Mommy.

3.  I love when Angeline, after I've been gone for a few hours or moments, comes running up to me and wraps her little arms around my legs.

4.  I love when all three girls climb in bed with us on a weekend morning and we're all jumbled together, legs intertwined, heads on belly's and shoulders, and yes, even elbows in belly's like a litter of kittens in a basket.

5.  I love when Auriane and Olivia look out for Angeline, helping her to do things (many of which I'd rather she not do yet like stand on the swing set seats) 

6.  I love when we're saying grace before dinner and Angeline, fed up waiting for her sisters to sit, stop fidgeting, stop talking etc, suddenly says a bunch of Angeline baby talk and then Amem and starts eating.

7.  I love when Angeline goes around the room giving every one a wet kiss.

8.  I love when the four of us sing badly together in the car.  Right now it's the theme track to Mama Mia.

So now I have to tag other blogger mother's who I admire.  Which makes me a bit uncomfortable because most of them probably don't even know who I am and that I read their blog but here goes.

Cid at Blog Like No One Is Reading

Doc at 10, rue de la Charme

Kristin at French Word-A-Day

Michelle at Scribbit

Helena at Helena Frith Powell

I had to add this one which I just discovered and enjoy

http://www.chezspeedies.blogspot.com/

Congratulations Amanda and Bchara

I wanted to send out a heartfelt congratulations to my friends Amanda and Bchara who were married on Saturday and are currently lounging in the sun of Punta Cana.  Just wanted you both to know that you were in our thoughts Saturday.  Oh, and you said I could publish the pic so in lieu of a wedding picture....

It's just too bad Bchara's not in the picture.  I never thought I'd see you holding a chicken.