Interrupted

There are people who live in the same town all there lives and rarely have to make new friends. Then there are people like us expats who change countries and find ourselves in a bit of a bind: we have no friends.

When we chat about it we like to marvel at how exactly we all came to meet. There is a story behind each and every friendship that I have over here, but all of them come down to this: I heard you speaking American English to your kids.....(or Spanish in the case of a Spanish friend of mine).

Our friendships also usually came about because we had kids around the same age. There is one lady over here who I really like and we would probably become good friends if we ever had the chance. The problem is that her kids are boys and just a tad older which makes it hard to set up play dates (which are just another term for mommy's coffee time over here!) What is a 6 and 8 year old boy going to do in my house filled with princesses? Yeah, not much.

Of course, the majority of the times that I get together with any of my friends it is also towing along our children. Which is great in the sense that you get your children occupied too, but it is bad in the sense that conversation gets interrupted quite often. And many of the strings of conversation never get picked up again. This makes it quite hard to get another layer deeper in the friendship, which is something I realized today.

I may know who has parents that are still married or who has brothers and sister, and maybe even where they went to college or what they studied, but more than anything I know about their present life; the here and now. We talk about what we share in common more than anything: being an expat, having kids, giving birth abroad, etc.

Today, in a quite moment during a play date with a friends of mine she asked me about age difference between my brothers and sister and I. Which led to our relationship with each other. Which led to me explaining some things. And just as I was explaining why my older brother and I have drifted apart due to his hellish last few years (ie. his son dying) we got interrupted.

We tried to pick up the conversation again and were again interrupted.

On the third pick up we got a bit farther but again got interrupted and life went on. Another string started and the lasts conversation was forgotten. Or perhaps we just gave up....

It isn't anyone's fault, it just happens, but it made me think. I have two friends back home that know all of my history as well as my family history I can refer back to something that happened ten years ago and they would know exactly what I was saying. No problem. And I find it fascinating that there are some people in this world in which all there friends are this kind of friend.

Then I have my expat friends who move in and move out and who I end up meeting in a park and cross my fingers that we will get along and when we do we have to get over that hump of knowing enough history about each other to know for sure if we will be friends or not. And when your kids keep interrupting you sometimes it takes a long time to get over that hump and find yourself comfortable with the other person's likes and dislikes, knowing a bit of their family history, knowing a bit about their husband and their children and their life back home, etc.

But then there is nothing lovelier than the day that you realize that you are over that hump and are truely friends who enjoy each other's company, who feel comfortable in each other's home and will continue to get along until the friendship gets interrupted by someone moving. But then, that is life as an expat!

Deja vu

When I was little, (I mean, really little, not referring to last year like my daughter do when they say little. I am referring instead to about 24 years ago....) I had a best friend. We'll call her Lizzy. I am not exactly sure how we met but we did. And as our mothers hit it off together so did we. She was a year older than me (and knew SO MUCH! I was always AMAZED by her) and I seriously idolized her. We did everything together, or as much as we could since we didn't actually live very close by. We couldn't even ride our bikes to a from each other's houses in our little 5000 person town. But still, every time my mother asked me who I wanted to play with I said, "LIZZY!"

Then one day, I think I must have been about 7, my mother told me that Lizzy was moving. And not just moving house, she was moving to MISSOURI. That was like a whole world away! And of course her parents couldn't move her to a place next door to my grandparents as they lived in Kansas City, no! It was a town about an hour away from there!

I cried.

I cried.

And then I cried some more. I could be a pretty dramatic kid if I wanted to be but I don't think my mother was really prepared for my actions. Her reaction was to ignore me.

I dramatically entered my room, searched through my drawers, which wasn't easy as everything was very blurred by my forthcoming tears, until I found what I was looking for: a mother-of-pearl compact that my grandmother had found at an estate sale and had given to me. It was beautiful. I loved it. But I was willing to part with it if it was going to my best friend. After all, it would be the closest thing to taking my heart with her.

My mother found me cleaning it out and asked what I was doing. I am pretty sure her next words were, "Ummm, no."

I thought she was being very selfish, but a small part of me was glad as I didn't really want to part with such a pretty little box that smelled like face powder and made me feel like an actress in the black and white movies whenever I played with it.

Lizzy moved. And she didn't take my compact or a piece of my heart with her. I remember being bored for awhile and missing her terribly. But soon life absorbed my sadness. About a year later I was able to go visit her.

I was shocked by how much she had grown up. And I was shocked to see that she was happy in this new town of hers. What???

My shock subsided as we ran around and talked, catching up as much as 8 year olds could. We made Everything cookies, which are cookie that you put anything you can find in the pantry into them. And the marshmellows that we put in them stuck to the pan. We panicked slightly when we realized that the goo didn't come off too easily. I shrugged and said to get the pan hot again and we could scrape it off hot. Lizzy, being a year older, knew of something called a metal mesh scrubber. In the end the stuff came off.

I never saw Lizzy after that visit. I don't even remember eating the cookies.

Now, flash forward to another country and it is happening all over again. When I first came here I had no friends. In fact it took me until exactly two years to really find friends. Those friends that you meet up with often, that you wouldn't mind spending time with everyday and who (thankfully) have kids the same age as yours.

But being expats the chances of finding friends here that are here to stay is pretty low. Most of us are here temporarily. Not to say we won't be here for a long time, but chances are we might move sooner rather than later. Principe and I almost moved, but we didn't.

Not so for my girlfriend C. She is moving. And not even anywhere near my inlaws so I can visit. It is like Lizzy all over again! NO! She is moving to Bordeaux which is a city we have already visited and while we liked it there is no real reason to keep going back. That is, of course, until now, as she is reason enough to go visit!

But that isn't even the worst part! Her sister had to go and get engaged and had the gall to date her wedding for this summer! So C is leaving in less than two weeks to go home and visit her family and such and help with the wedding! Geez!

I tried to bride her with Everything Cookies, but she said that wouldn't cover the cost of her already-bought plane tickets. Then she offered to put me and my three girls up for the summer at her parents home, but Principe didn't really go for that.

What a bummer.

I still have friends here. And good ones. Ones that I am super thankful for having. But it is such a bummer to lose C. I know that life will bump forward and that time will be filled with my growing children and possibly new friends, but it would be nice to have that all happen with her along side me. After all, she would meet me for coffee in the pouring Toulouse rain if I asked her! I know because she has done it!

All the things I haven't done

It is 10pm again. Again. Another day gone. Two kids in bed finally snoozing away. One awake baby trying not to be convinced to go to sleep. Principe gone again tonight. Work in Madrid was calling.

It is again 10pm on another day and as I rocked the baby to sleep all I could think about was what I didn't do today.

I didn't work. Two months have gone by without me even touching my book. Two months. Yes, I have had a baby during that time, but having a baby and two other kids doesn't keep me from feeling like my book is slipping through my fingers. You can say that I will have time later all you want, but really, it doesn't make me feel any better. It really doesn't.

Today I did get a cake made with Firecracker. We made it purple. What I didn't get done was getting through the entire process without pulling my hair out. While I didn't really yell I did have to retell her not to put a spoon into the mixer while it was moving several times. And then there was the moment in which she almost dumped the flour mixture on the floor.....but I stayed rather cool. At least cooler than I have been lately....

I didn't get the laundry folded.

I didn't get the house picked up. And believe me, this house is a mess. There are just so many little things around the house. Errg!

I also didn't get the dinner made that I wanted to make. Instead it was fish nuggets and noodle soup. An odd combination, I know. But it was what I could do while holding an infant.

I also didn't get any milk today because I totally forgot while I was out and I avoid going out with all of my children whenever possible so I didn't go out again. Remember that I walk almost a mile to the store and back with a double stroller and whatever I buy hanging off of said stroller. It really isn't that easy to go with three children.

And baby is crying again. Stupid June laryngitis. I thought winter was over.

I did get a glass of wine. And I did finally sit down. But now I am getting back up again.

Wake up call

A little tiny nose snorting through it's thick snot woke me up this morning. Along with the smacking of tiny lips and the movement that only come from a hungry baby right before they decide to start crying, wondering why mama is taking so long to bring that milk to their tummies.

The smell of a recently washed baby head hit my nostrils around the same time as the smell of the old milk that had soaked through my t-shirt that night do to a badly placed breast pad. Both smells melted my heart.

I opened to my eyes to see big blue eyes looking at me with her arms waving wildly, waiting for me to put her to my breast so she could eat. She doesn't smile yet. In fact her first real smile was later today and of course didn't have a camera on hand but I am pretty sure she will be greeting me with a smile soon.

I cuddled her up next to me as I breathed in the smells and closed my tired eyes. I listened to her suckling and snorting through her plugged up nose, reminding myself to suck out her snot as soon as she was done eating.

And then another noise started to whirl about me.

That of crying. But a cry that I am hardy sympathetic to in the morning. This was a cry for attention. Coming from Queenie. And I had an inkling about what it was.

As she stopped crying long enough to dramatically cough, then started the water works again I realized that I was, once again, right. When am I not?

Lately she cries about everything. EVERYTHING. For example, she will come sniffling into our room at 7am crying about needing to go to the bathroom, which is about ten feet in the opposite direction of our room. When we tell her to go she does. Crying all the way until she does her business and then the tears stop.

Not a fun way to wake up. In fact, her attention grabbing crying is one way that just about ruins my morning.

But my new goal is to not let it bother me. Like water off a duck's back.

So I tell her she is fine, that her cough isn't that bad. I give her a kiss and tell her to join Firecracker and her father in my bed. Then I grab my little snorter and set out to find the baby mouchoir (snot sucker-outer) all the while thinking about the big mug of coffee I wish was already made.

And that was the start to my morning. What was yours like?

Purple Salad

I never give recipes here on Toulouse Confessions even though I love to cook and experiment all the time. I don't mostly because there are so many cooking blogs out there that are awesome so I feel intimidated by my lack of professionalism. But I just have to share this:

I call it Purple Salad because it is so purple! I made a blueberry dressing in honor of spring and couldn't believe how yummy it was! It was my first try at making up a salad dressing.

 It came out so well that I decided to share it with you! Bon Appetit!

Salad Dressing:

1/4 cup Olive Oil
1/4 cup Walnut Oil
2-3 TBSP Walnut Vinegar
1/4 cup Blueberries
1 TSP Honey (I actually hate honey. HATE IT! But a dressing needs something like mustard or honey to paste the oil and vinegar together. You can add more honey if you like it. I only add the bare minimum!)

Blend all ingredients together with a hand blender.

For the salad I ripped up dark greens, added whole walnuts, beets and a bit of crumbled blue cheese. Add a drizzle of dressing and VOILA! you have a purple salad!

WARNING: Do not eat this while holding a new born. It is very hard to get the dribbled stains out!

Beating a dead horse

You gotta know when to stop. To give up. To leave well enough alone. Sometimes you can figure this out yourself. Other times someone has to tell you.

And even if it is your five year old saying it, sometimes you need to listen.

I am looking at myself in the mirror when I say this because it has come to my attention that I don't really know how to leave things be. I don't know when it is time to stop talking. But I was told by Queenie the other day that this is the day to stop.

You see, she has a cavity. And it has started to hurt.

That is a bad sign.

We have taken her to the dentist FOUR times. And each time she clamps up, cries, shuts her mouth and refuses to allow the dentist to do anything.

Before we go in she says she is going to be good. She says she is going to let the dentist fix it. We talk till we are blue in the face about what the dentist is going to do so there are no surprises. But nothing helps. It is almost like she has no possession over her body once she sees the dental chair.

And after a traumatic visit we all go home upset.

And eventually she cries and complains about her tooth. And I get mad, but I try to be calm and tell her that it is going to hurt until she can be a big girl and get it fixed. That she should have let the dentist work. That there is no reason to cry. That we are there with her. That is needs to be fixed, fixed, FIXED!

And through her sniffles this last time she stomped her foot and said, "MOM! Can you just stop TALKING please?"

It wasn't really a request, but an order

I shut my mouth. And I realized that I was not helping, rather I was beating a dead horse. She knows. It has all been said before. Now it is time to let it go. To be quiet. And let her decide.

I think my five year old just made me grow up a little.

One big step.

Principe got a new job.

He is so excited about it because it is pretty close to his DREAM JOB (imagine lots of salivating and excited jitters as though he were a five year old boy going to his first Real Madrid soccer game). I am super happy for his as well. It is not only a step up and his DREAM JOB it also means a bit of a salary increase and the fact that we will be staying put for at least another three years.

Staying put another three years brings into focus a few things. Like: going back to French class, the girls continuing at the same school with their same friends, us getting to stay amongst our friends and eat cheese and drink wine....

It also means we have to move.

Yep. Move.

Our expat package is done soon and when it is we will be expected to pay all of our own rent. And quite frankly we don't want to pay the amount we will have to for this place. Not that we don't like our apartment it is just that we could get a mortgage and pay LESS than the rent amount. No kidding.

So within a few seconds we have decided to buy our own place. We are totally ignorant when it comes to buying a house or apartment or anything bigger than a toaster, really. Ok, we did buy our own car....

So for the next few months you will be learning along side me what it is like to buy property in France. Because every country is different remember. And France is not like the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun". We called two realtors already and got no call back. Then there are the rumors of the 10% realtor fee ad the 7% government tax and the fact that the kitchens are not installed and you start to add it all up......and......WOW! That is a lot of money.

Good thing it grows on trees here. Or should I say grape vineyards?