Late for the first day of school. . .

The first day of school for us here should have been the 7^th of September.  My girls were pretty excited to go.  I was beyond-pretty-excited-and-bordering-on-ecstatic for them to go.  But apparently, it wasn’t meant to be.  We had flown to downtown San Francisco the week before school started in order to obtain our “long-stay” visas from the French Consulate.  We were operating under the guidance of very expensive consultants, who told us if we showed up for our scheduled consulate appointment on Friday morning, we could catch a flight back to Nice on Sunday morning.  Easy in, easy out. That would only give my kids a day or so to adjust to jetlag, but getting these visas was mandatory, and our paperwork hadn’t been ready any earlier than the end of September, so we decided to take our chances and go even though it was much too close to the beginning of the school year for me not to worry a little.  Yes, we were told all five of us had to go.  And yes, those are two very long flights to get to San Francisco. 

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Lovin' us some American food!



Yes, do not climb on the big noodle, as the sign says

Long story short, the two French men at the French consulate were complete jerks (the only time we have ever been treated rudely by the French was in the U.S.), and they KEPT our passports at the end of our appointment, saying, “Well, we weel mail deez pass-a-ports back to you at your home in Utah.” We explained how that wouldn’t work for us, that we needed them back immediately, and that we had a flight to France to catch in 36 hours. I asked if we could please expedite the process, pay more, whatever it took. He sniffed, looked down his nose at me, and said, “what is zee rush? Did you leave a pot of water boiling on zee stove?” I said simply and with equal disdain back at him, “no, my children start school on Tuesday.” He was not impressed, and said the visas will be issued when they are issued, but that we were obviously not going to make our flight to France on Sunday. Jason didn’t think it would help our cause to tell him we had already been living in France for six weeks under the typical tourist visa guidelines.

So we were stuck in California until we could get our passports back, passports that would have visas glued inside, making it legal for us to live in France, and legal for Jason to work there. As much as I hated the fact that the kids were going to miss the first week of school, and I worried that Jason would get behind in his work, and that we still had some uncertainty about when we could return to France, I just have to say, there are many worse places to be stuck in. As much as I love Utah, California is probably my favorite state in the U.S. overall. Though it has its flaws politically and financially, as a geographic state it has the best of everything—7 national parks, beaches, mountains, lakes, forests, nice weather, awesome cities, and Disneyland. Not that we saw much on this particular trip, what with going back and forth to the consulate and all. But even better than Disneyland was that some of our best friends, Matt and Amy Kartchner, live near Sacramento, and they were nice enough to let us crash with them until we could fly out of San Fran on Friday, September 10.

So, to make the most of it, we hit the Jelly Belly factory.  Then, we tagged along with some friends of the Kartchners to Folsom lake where we jetskiied and hung out by the lake on Saturday. There were no bugs, the water was warm, and it was a fun, gorgeous day.

Jocelyn, Matt Kartchner, Jason, and Sterling Kartchner

Maisy liked the jet skiis better than anyone else

The girls playing in the beach at Folsom Lake

Amy Kartchner and Maisy, who kept wanting to go out on the lake


We attended church where I could understand every word!! We spent Labor Day swimming in Amy’s parent’s pool and having a barbecue.

I got a pedicure. I saw “Eat, Pray, Love,” which I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I kind of liked it (Jason sat this one out to “tend the kids”). Anyone who knows me knows I am a Julia fan, so it didn’t hurt she had the starring role. We rented videos (gotta love Redbox), and I got to do laundry in an American washer and dryer that can clean and dry more than three towels at a time. I forgot how nice and wide Americans build their residential roads, and I easily was able to find any store and anything I needed while the Kartchners worked and went to school and Jason holed up to work as well. Needless to say, I had to buy an extra suitcase to bring back all the things I bought, mostly books in English, lots of church books in French, oh, and TEN boxes of instant oatmeal. (that may sound weird, but I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find any oatmeal of any kind in France.) I took my kids to the park. They played their guts out with the Kartchner boys.

Overall, it was so much fun that I didn’t want to come back.  But, then I remembered, the girls have school!  We can’t miss another second of that.  So, thankfully we got our visas in time to catch the Friday morning flight we wanted, we made both the not-quite-as-long-but-still-long flights back to Nice, we tried to adjust to the time change though we were all terribly jetlagged, and we got up bright and early Monday morning for school.  We were efficient, had a hot breakfast (of you guessed it, oatmeal), and got in the car to go with plenty of time to make it to Mougins School, a private international British school that is about 5 miles away from our house.  Here are the girls all ready to go:

Then, we hit some MAJOR, unusually-heavy traffic, so it took us an HOUR to get there! We were late by a week and 45 minutes, and it was horribly stressful to me. The twins’ class was out at PE in matching little green T-shirts, so at least we had some time to talk to their two teachers. The class they are in is fairly small, about 20 kids max, and the only other person that speaks English like they do (with an American accent, I mean) is an Italian-American boy from Florida, and then a Canadian girl, who befriended Jocelyn right away. Jeni didn’t seem to care about that because she was just happy to have homework and assignments again (imagine a 6-year-old Hermione with pigtails). The rest of the class is from all over the world: Australia, Japan, Scandinavia, Russia, but most of the kids are from France, about half I would say. They all speak English with a British accent, and they say “lovely” and “brilliant” a lot. The teacher says to me, “You have three daughters? Isn’t that lovely. Just brilliant.” A swimming suit is a “swimming costume,” sneakers are called “trainers,” their principal is called a “headmaster,” but I think I can pick up “British” a lot easier than French.

My twins will have French class 4 times a week, plus science, literacy, math, music, PE (including swimming every Wednesday), and art. Jeni came home saying how much she loved, loved, loved school, and Jocelyn simply said, “I’ll adjust, Mom.” I think she meant because she still feels so tired during the day and can’t sleep at night. She was excited to try school lunch the first day, then very nervous to eat it the second day, even cried about it on the way to school. She kept saying she would rather eat at home and was very frustrated that “they didn’t put on any cheese or gravy on the mashed potatoes.” When she got home today though, she said it was delicious—pasta. Both were in very good spirits and commented on all the fresh fruits they get. I got them all set up with everything they are supposed to have, and now they even have their own little green Mougins School T-shirts for PE.

Maisy is apparently a crack up at school. She told me today the teacher laughed at her. I asked her why and she said, “Cuz I say, ‘stop buggin’ me’ to a little girl who try take my mat for quiet time.” I asked about this little girl, and I told Maisy to just tell the teacher if someone ever tried to take her things. She said back to me, “Mom, I in the car wif you right now. How’m I gonna talk to my teacher?” She really likes it too so far though. She goes from 9-12 every morning, which seems like a lot to me for a 3-year old, but I would really like her to be exposed to French as much as possible.

So, we’re back in France. We are settled and unpacked into our permanent house. We’re in a routine, and I love being in a routine. Jason now has internet 24/7 (though it isn’t wireless yet) and feels his productivity is finally improving. We get our first visitors here in less than two weeks. I have a gym membership. My home goods will finally arrive tomorrow morning since we’ve been living with only what we brought in suitcases since July 13th. Life is good. Now to just find a new bakery (boulangerie) with pain au chocolate…



Parlez-vous franҫais?

No, you don’t speak French? Well, don’t feel bad, because I don’t either. French is an extraordinarily difficult language to learn in my opinion. And it’s even harder to pronounce even sort of correctly. Believe me, I have no delusions of grandeur about the crappy Spanish I speak, but it’s crazy to me how much more comfortable I still feel even with my C+ Spanish compared to my French (which I would currently give myself an F-).


Why the sudden musings about this beautiful and complicated language? Well, because I have spent around 100 hours of dedicated study on French—even finished level 1 (of 5) of the Rosetta Stone—and yet I still couldn’t even ask a simple question like “What time is it?” when I really needed to know the other day (I now know how to ask that question). I also couldn’t tell a French girl the simple phrase, “this table is mine” off the top of my head when she thought I was clearing my trash from the only table left at a restaurant when I was really clearing the previous occupant’s trash in order to sit there myself (I was tongue-tied, but that’s a phrase I had already learned). I have learned to use 40 verbs in the present tense, and have a whole notebook full of vocabulary. However, what I’m trying to say is that even though I have spent a lot of time studying, I still can’t really say jack; I certainly can’t communicate well or carry on a real conversation. Anytime I even try to speak to people, they automatically revert to their halting, heavily accented English just because they can tell how much I am struggling. Or my favorite is when I tell someone in French that I can’t speak French, and they just repeat the same sentence over and over or say it slower, like somehow I am going to magically and suddenly know what the bleep they are saying to me. . .

I’ve only been here a month though, and it was six months before I started to feel o.k. speaking Spanish and that was trying to speak it all day every day.

Though I respect and admire French, I really, really love Spanish and feel somewhat indebted to it. No language is easy to master, and Spanish is no exception (I still haven’t even come close). However, I originally thought my limited knowledge of Spanish was hurting rather than helping me to learn French, especially when it comes to pronunciation. But now I know for a fact, it has helped immensely in the study of French. I am so grateful to have some Spanish-language background, so I didn’t have to start learning how a foreign language works from scratch. Spanish taught me what a reflexive verb is, about masculine and feminine nouns and how to make adjectives agree with the nouns they describe in both gender and number. Spanish taught me to rearrange my noun and verb when asking a question and how to structure a command. All super helpful with the French language.

So, though I feel really frustrated a lot, and stupid even more, at least I hope to learn quickly. I’m not going to give up, and it’s just gonna take a lot more time. I feel sorry for people who have to learn English. Talk about a difficult language. And, hey, at least I can say “Où sont les toilettes?” Sometimes, with three small girls, that’s the only thing I really need to know.

Slippery Little Suckers

Yesterday (Saturday, August 14th) was the first day the weather has been “bad” since we have been in France. It rained all day, and most of the time, it rained hard, of the cat and dog variety. My girls were so disappointed since all week we had promised them a day at the beach, but without checking the forecast first. All three girls in their swimming suits looking desolately out the window at the downpour reminded me of The Cat in the Hat. We still managed to have a little fun outside though when we noticed there were snails all over the place. The only snail my kids have ever seen is Gary from Spongebob, so to see this many was certainly novel. The girls were both fascinated and disgusted by them at first, but it soon became a game of who could spot a snail, or two. In fact, often there were two stuck together. Jenica and Jocelyn kept asking us why they were stuck together, and Jason finally answered, “Um, well. . .these snails are kissing.” That seemed to satisfy Jenica, but Jocelyn, ever aware of people and their feelings, insisted that the snails be given their privacy. She didn’t want us to pick up or disturb any of the “kissing” snails. Very polite of her, I thought.

Here are pictures of our “snail parade.” Some of the snails wouldn’t cooperate and stay in formation, and we certainly didn’t include any “kissing snails” in our line up, but overall it turned out pretty nicely. The least they could have done is throw us some candy or something. . .

At the Supermarché

The grocery store, or supermarché, is such an experience here. I have blogged already about needing a Euro just to be able to get a grocery cart, and how I keep forgetting my shopping bags, so I have to keep buying new ones (it’s STILL not a habit, and I haven’t remembered to get mine out of the car yet). Even flimsy grocery bags (think Walmart) are not complimentary here, and the cheapest ones they have are .10€ each. The largest grocery store here is called “Carrefour” (pronounced “car-4”) in Antibes, and it’s awesome. I really love it. I can find almost anything there. Anyone who comes to visit us here has to go there with me just for the experience. There are two huge aisles of just yogurt, and another two of cheese and butter. They have so many kinds of butter too! The bakery is to die for, and everyone, and I mean everyone, looks so stereotypical when they leave the store with baguettes sticking up out of their bags. (There is nothing better than a fresh French baguette. They are NOT good even a day old.)

Anyway, while at a smaller Carrefour here in Mandelieu, I saw this sign in French that just made me laugh out loud. I can’t possibly be the only American to find it funny, and it’s not just because my French is so poor. I already knew that “votre” means “your” and “ici” means “here.” The rest I had to look up in my dictionary. I’ll spare you the suspense. Here’s a picture of the sign:

So sadly, no, it doesn’t really mean “Demand your tampon here.” I think it just means “Ask for your stamp here.” Still. . .kinda funny.

Marinas, Miles, and Metrics

I have found the perfect place to go running in the morning. The Port Cannes Marina is just .25 miles from our house, and there are thousands of boats parked there. It has a great paved trail wide enough to drive on all the way around it, and I can run 2 miles or 10 miles around the marina (the most I have done to date is 3.75 mi). In just 3 weeks when we move, I will have to find somewhere new.

The only bad thing is the stagnant harbor smell sometimes—you know the salty, fishy seawater smell—but it only bothers me once in a while. These pictures are some of the views I have on my run. The population density of this area in Mandelieu must be high, because there are apartment buildings everywhere. Everyone wants to live close to the beach I guess. I don’t blame them.

 

Warning: the following paragraph is a little nerdy:

Just an aside about what I posted about the mileage I am logging while running: did you notice I reported my distances in miles and not kilometers? I bet none of you even gave it a second thought, right? I’ll admit that I am still way more comfortable with the American system of measurement, flawed as it may be. Thanks to my science background, I have some knowledge of the metric system, but it’s just not the same when you don’t use it regularly in the U.S. When the thermometer in our house read 28⁰C, I knew it felt uncomfortably hot, but until I did the conversion to 82⁰F, I didn’t realize quite how hot it really was. A kit for enchiladas I bought called for 500 grams of “poulet” (chicken) and 150 grams of “fromage” (cheese). I had no idea how much that was. Other package directions I was reading called for 200 milliliters of “lait” (milk). I have measured that amount a million times while teaching, but in my French kitchen here, I don’t have a beaker or a graduated cylinder. Needless to say, I overestimated the amount and ruined that dish. Don’t tell my students! A pizza we bought the other night on the street was advertised as 26 cm. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough for all five of us; we bought two; that was too much. It just goes on and on. It will take a while to get really comfortable with using the metric system exclusively, and I have studied it and even taught it for years. The average American would be so confused and annoyed. You’ll know I’ve really integrated into the culture here if I ever report my jogging distances in kilometers!

Jason wants me to add one more thing to this post. He went running on the same trail around the marina and found one of the nicer boats with a name on it he thinks is hilarious. He even made me and the kids take a walk to it yesterday just so we could take some pictures. So silly. His final words, “Tiff, you are not allowed to make friends with any rich, French boat owners.”

There must be more than this provincial life. . .

Yep, that’s my laundry hanging out on the line. Honestly, I feel like I’m taking a step back in time every single time I do my laundry here! It’s not too bad for the big stuff, but every little pair of my girls’ socks and undies gets to be a little bit time consuming. I also don’t mind line drying for things that are supposed to be a little crisp, like sheets, for example. But I miss how soft my shirts used to feel, how lint-free my towels used to be, and how quickly I could do a large load of laundry start to finish back home.

Some people have asked to see a few pictures of this house before we move, since none of you will ever visit while we live in Mandelieu. It’s really cute, but small, and every house around here is gated and fenced. The French seem to demand privacy whenever possible. I hear my next door neighbors on each side every day, and I know they have kids, but I have never seen them. I don’t know how missionaries could ever tract here—they couldn’t access anyone’s front door. Helps with solicitors at least.

This is our front gate. It says "Villa Modesty" if you can't read it.

Once you go inside the gate, there's a long driveway of white gravel to the garage. This photo is the view of the back of the gate while I'm standing in front of our garage. 

 Here's the front view of our house and pool.

Here is our gigantic garage--our car barely fits in it.

 Here's where we have dinner outside most nights:

And here's our quite expansive back "yard:"

















Here's the only inside shot I included of the kitchen:













See, now it's like you've all visited me already and you know exactly where I live!  I'll keep telling myself that as I keep missing everyone. . .

Jocelyn, the Collector

This post is mostly for my Mom to see Jocelyn's latest feather collection in France.  She and my Mom are both collectors at heart, and they both love feathers.  Jocelyn asks to go for a walk every day so she can find feathers for her collection and also to find feathers for Grandma's collection back home.  Though I know my Mom won't want any of these old mostly pidgeon feathers, it's cute of Jocelyn to want to share with her.  We collected these 46 feathers in just two outings.  There are birds here everywhere.