Pinterest and Craftgawker

...are making me into a crazy who woman who thinks her house should be all cute and perfect. So when I see a plain, wooden kleenex cover box that is plain for the sole purpose of being dressed up I, of course, buy it because I figure all the time that I have wasted looking at everyone else's cute DIY should have rubbed off on me. And then I get home. Am for two weeks I am at a loss as to what to DO with this thing. Until I decided to use all of the scrapbooking left overs. And this is what happens...

  Over all I think it is cute, but a little overboard. It is like my ideas merged and vomited all over this box. Any pinterest DYI expert would probably say I need to tone it down. But this isn't Pinterest Runway. This is the Ladegui house in Toulouse. And it is good enough for us!

 Or at least good enough until I decide to give it another go and make something a bit sleeker.

Adoption

    We have two little girls. I think we need a boy. I think we need at least 3 children. Principe isn't so sure. When the temper tantrums hit he looks at me and says, "So, when do you want to have the THIRD one?" I smile and say, "Ready when you are." Which makes him scoff and shake his head. I think he needs a boy as he is always a bit disappointed when the girls don't want to watch soccer or play boy games. He says that he is too scared we will have another girl. Why? Because his pocketbook won't survive! Instead of learning to say no his answer is just to not have more kids! LOL! Like most daddies with daughters he is totally enamored with them and just can't refuse their cute little faces when they say, "please."
  I talk every once and awhile with him about adoption. It is something that I would like to do, always has been, but he isn't sure. One factor is that his parents are not really for it. All the problems that come with having children are multiplied when it is an adoptive kid, they say. I am sure there are problems specific with adopting, but I have a SIL who is adopted, a second cousin and a first cousin and all of them are fine. Lots of us have issues in our lives, adopted or not, I say.
   Principe finally told me once that he would rather give life to someone who wouldn't be on this earth if it weren't for us getting pregnant. I never thought of it that way, but it doesn't change my mind. I am not pressuring him, I am just praying. Praying for that little boy whether he come from my womb or someone else's.
   BUT, I found an adoption webpage today and just couldn't help looking. Oh! So many little guys in need of a home. And so many with special needs. I assume, looking at their profiles, that the mother's probably weren't getting good medical care while pregnant with some of them. And others I think probably the parents are too young or not in a good place to deal with their medical needs. No judgement here. Just love. I wish I could take in a few of them! Some of them remind me of my little nephew who only made it to 3 years old in his life. It would hurt, but I would love to give a child love even if they aren't destined to be here long.
    I can't believe I went on that website. It breaks my heart. I wish I could adopt them. I wish more people were in a place to adopt. I wish, I wish. I need to stop looking at this website. Or....maybe I should just start ending pages to Principe? Or is that manipulation? No wonder he doesn't want another girl! The poor guy would be manipulated into everything!

100 Word Monday:Poetry

ALIVE

 “The time of your life is now.”

 A line I know so well.

Not to die, but to live. This is one goal.

Please stay here, don’t let me fold.

Sometimes I’m living; sometimes I’m against the wall.

I lack will sometimes, but I’m not letting go.

Not to die, but to live.

Leave me, but hold me close.

I know it isn’t right, but it’s hard to live life full.

There you go, you know the round.

The choice: fight on ahead or fall straight down. 

Not to die, but to live; their goal.

Now go, let me go.

I want to be alive, not just to live. 

This is a poem I wrote a loooooooong time ago, but with some recent editing it is perfect for 100 Word Mondays. Okay, okay, it is nine words over. Sorry.

100 Word Monday: Today Firecracker you are....

(nonfiction)

.... so sleepy. I know. You are growing fast and with that comes days, maybe weeks, where you feel so tired and....cranky. Although then there are days that cranky doesn't even begin to cover it. What is the word to express the feeling of "get-me-what-I-want-now-and-get-it-right-without-me -having-to-tell-you-what-I-want-because-I-don't-know-what-I-want-I-just-know-that-I-am-achy-and-tired-and-want-something-NOW!-to-make-it-all-better....?
  Anybody know that word?
Good thing you are still good for cuddles because these last few days have been DOOZIES!
And I promise I will buy you more clothes. And shoes. Yes, you have already told me that they don't fit. You threw a fit because of it. I know. I promise.

This caca life

When you become a parent your life starts revolving around poop. Caca. Poopoo. Dung. That gross, smelly waste that come from that gross stinky....okay, you get the idea.
  Remember how before you became a parent your life revolved around so many other things? Yeah, those were good times. Not that being a parent isn't a good time. It really is. Watching my two little girls play together, go crazy-zaney after too much sugar, giggle until they have the hiccups, etc. THAT is fun. But it doesn't take away from the center of it all: the caca.
   It start when the child is born. "Has he/she passed their first stool?" Meconium. That nasty, pasty, crude oil type stuff that gets all over them and makes you freak out as a first time parent when it gets into their pinched-off belly button. And from there it never stops...
  "You  CACA! You CACA!"
  "Say "Thank you, Queenie." "Thank caca!"
  "Hmmmmm, caca pasta! hmmmmm! So yummy!"
  "Caca head! Caca head!"
  "Look! Perro caca!"

  I could go on.
 
  All of these outbursts are followed by bellowing laughter. We spend Thursday evening talking over skype with one of the cousins. He and Queenie talk back and forth using caca" every other word. They think it is hilARious.

   Firecracker now takes an interest in all things caca. She likes to pick strange things off the street, show them to me with her head cocked to the side and ask, "This one caca?" She knows what my high-pitched answer is already. She just likes to get me riled up. Errr.

   But today I have a nice caca story for you. A good one. Still smelly, but close to our hearts (Principe's and mine). Ready?

   Queenie went number two on the potty today. She was whining and pouting about it, but NOT kicking and screaming....which is good because the last time she did THAT we had giant smears of brown all over the bathroom.....She called a lot of attention to herself using self pity (at one point I said, "Really? You are crying because you are doing something well and like a big girl? Do you see mommy crying every time I go potty?")
  
   At first she didn't want the praise. At first we were forbidden to talk about it. We were denied hi-fives. And no she didn't want to announce it to her grandparents.

 But then she shyly asked, "Do I get my mochila?"

 When her papa told her he would buy her ANYTHING if she would just go on the potty and no in the diaper she said she wanted Mochila.  It means backpack. She already has one so I am thinking this has something to do with Dora the Explorer. We will find out tomorrow. And we will see if she asks for the diaper tomorrow or goes on the potty. I have a feeling we might need to eventually wean her off of toys for going caca on the potty.....but for now it is worth it!
 

I used to steal

   
Have you ever stolen anything? I have. I used to have an obsession with stealing from those candy bins that used to be in the grocery stores. Remember those? The Brach's candy? The small store in our small town used to have them right next to the cash register. Those candies always caught my eye. My mother would never buy them, she never bought any type of candy, only ice cream. Seriously, not cool, mom! If only you would have indulged me every once and awhile I wouldn't have become a thief! THIEF!
  How old was I? Goodness, about seven. Seven, eight and nine. We didn't go to that grocery store very often as my mother said it was expensive, so it wasn't as though I was doing this every week. But each time that we did go I had to give it a try. My success rate wasn't 100%, but I would say it was a good 85%. At one point I had about 5 or 6 candies in my underwear drawer and worried about what my  mother would ask if she found them. And what would I say? You wonder why I agonized and didn't just eat them? I have no idea. I would even volunteer to put my underwear away. She found them though (seriously, again, why not eat them?) and all I could come up with is a mumbled out sentence of getting them from my cousin. Whether she bought that excuse or not I don't know, but what else was she supposed to think?
     Even without her saying more, I noticed that she started watching me more closely when we went to that grocery store. It was getting harder and harder to quickly pull out a caramel and shove it into my jacket. Or maybe I was more nervous and losing my game. My older brother once caught me with my hands in the bin once and laughingly accused me of stealing. Red as a cherry I denied it, but it was to no avail. Thank goodness he was a tattle-tale, just a teaser. I would have to put up with his teasing for awhile, but I wouldn't have to listen to a lecture from mom!
     Soon after we moved. There were a few more times that I tried to steal, but the stores in town were a lot bigger and there were those mirrors every where! It was too hard. Not to mention my paranoia of getting caught and having to face the manager head on made me woozy. Guess my shyness saved me from juvi. Who'd a thunk it?

Bucket list

10 Things I never want to do:


10. Go back to High School

9. Teach English to adults (that is more, I did and never want to do again....)

8. Scuba dive

7. Have a major surgery.

6. Live in Brazil (that place seems CRAZY!)

5. Stop learning languages.

4. Work as a celebrity's assistant

3. Be President

2. Go camping in the woods

1. Do an autopsy This has been my week's participation in Mama Kat's Writing Workshop!

Us and Them

Stereotypes are funny things. Originally, they come from somewhere, right? At some point in time Idiot A acted like, well, an idiot and Idiot B took it for granted that all people from Idiot A's country all act like that. Or more or less.
   Living abroad I see people live out their stereotypes all the time, and usually it is pretty funny. Take one of the first few times I was watching television here in France I saw a commercial that had me rolling on the floor. It was of a man running through the streets with flowers in his hands to get a taxi. He had to avoid dogs getting in his way and something else ruining his flowers, but he gets into the taxi and the ad for his 96 hour deodorant pops up while the guy says, "Cool ici (pointing to his head), Cool ici (pointing to his arm pits)." OMG! The French really don't take showers! LOL!

    Now, I know that most French people DO in fact take showers. All of our friend smell clean are way more hip in their fashion than us, but it still makes for a great story! Four days, no showers and only one application of deodorant! How innovative!
    Of course that just gives right into the whole French Shower stereotype, the French are so dirty, etc. I wonder sometimes if the French know that we American's have this view of them? Apparently the British have their own stereotype: the French are jealous. The Spaniards think that too as all the French sports channels ever do is try to accuse Spanish players of doping when it has already been proved that they aren't doping.....
    But it isn't just the French who have some stereotypes. One of my favorite experiences with the American stereotype was just lat summer. I walked into a small shop to look at some pottery. It was an eclectic sort with clothes, pottery, wooden statues, etc. There was one worker and three other people in the store. My ears perked up when I heard American accents. There was a girl around 20 years old and two younger boys I took to be her brothers. She was trying on a dress that was made for a little girl, but as she was tiny she thought she could fit into it. The store worker had no problem giving it to her and was speaking a little bit of English to them as needed while the girl asked her brothers for their opinion. At first I, as a people watcher, was more interested in the way the siblings interacted as it seemed obvious to me that they don't normally spend much time together, but that the older sister was really trying to make sure they had a good time laughing and joking. She was making fun of herself and teasing her brothers until she proclaimed that she really needed to use the bathroom. I was about to step in when I heard her say, "Tiene un baño? Baño? Um, bathroom?"
    Remember people, I live in FRANCE. NOT Spain. And although they are neighbors they speak as much Spanish as we Americans in Wisconsin do.
    The worker looked at her, trying to control her facial muscles and only understood the girl when she squatted a bit and said "toilet". I was laughing almost out loud in the corner. Hilarious! I am sure the store worker went home thinking Americans are so ignorant that we speak Spanish while in France but I had to give her coodos as she was at least trying to speak something other than English and then had no problem continuing to try and get her message across. Maybe the worker thought it was rude, but as a linguist I thought it was great and wish more people would at least TRY to speak in something other than English in foreign countries and not get embarrassed when they aren't understood at first.
    Of course it is always wise to brush up on the language spoken in the country that you are visiting.....
    But this whole thought process started two days ago at the gate of Jardin des Plantes.

     It snowed 10 (TEN!) days ago and instead of clearing the paths in the park they CLOSED it! Being a Wisconsin girl this made me laugh! Gee, can't get your lazy butts out there to shovel, huh government workers? Wink. But as an adult I know that for the two times a year that it snows in Toulouse, it certainly isn't worth spending money on snow clearing equipment, but that won't top me from declaring another stereotype: The French in Toulouse don't know how to shovel!
   By the way, I may have been laughing and Queenie might have been having fun taking pictures, but Firecracker was NOT amused:

A PinIt type Valentine´s Day

I have to admit that I get on Craftgawker a lot more than on Pinterest, but no matter who is to blame more I am most certainly being influenced. Take Valentine's Day for instance. Check out my handy work:

Yep, I made that. Not that it took a lot of effort as I bought those heart premade and just had to glitter them up!

As Queenie doesn't have school this week or next I am trying to find things to fill in the time. Like baking together. WE made cupcakes. I frosted them while she was taking a nap, otherwise there wouldn't have been much frosting left!

Oh, yeah! This picture does these little heart way more justice than a frontal shot. I got the idea from Craftgawker. 

Opps. Fail. I totally meant to get these heart wreaths decorated. I really, really meant to. Maybe if I spent more time on Pinterest and Craftgawker I would have had more inspiration. Oh, well.

100 Word Mondays

Colors of Papa

Fiction

    The little girl looked outside. People walked about in that color she could never pronounce well. Rs were hard. Rs with a B were impossible. Red, yellow, blue and green jumped out from her paper. She smiled. Today the squares were perfect. Everyone was represented. Yellow: mama, blue: her, red: sister and green: grandpa. Papa was missing, but she didn't have his color. Just then He walked in. 

    "Look!"

    "Wow!"

     His grin broadened at picture, the color of coins glowing even more. 

    She picked up black reluctantly. One day she will have a crayon that sparkled like her Papa did. 

Apple hates me and wants me to always look like I have two small children

I have a bone to pick with Apple about them hating me so much. I am serious. They hate me. I try to take pictures of myself with my kids and because I am narcissistic like that, but I always look terrible! I look at myself in the mirror, then I look back at the picture and it is like looking at two women! One in the prime of her young 30 years and the other a sleep-deprived, wrinkly mother of two small children.

Here I am all dolled up for a wedding, but you wouldn't know it. Of course my weird eye scrunching doesn't help....

Uh, hello! Where did those smile wrinkles come from? I don't have those  unless I am on the iPhone.

This, of many that I have deleted before I decided to post this, is the only one I semi-like and it is all thanks to Instagram. 

Now, about my new idea for all those techies out there. How about a new app that makes me look like a model? Can't be too hard right? it just needs to instantly photoshop out wrinkle, eye bags and skin spots. Oh, and how about adding some boobs, too?

Ten years ago I....

   Ten years ago I was in Northern Ireland studying abroad. We were in the second semester, as one usually is in February and I was having a hard time finding my place again. Half of the friends I made during the first semester did not come back, which I found hard to deal with. The guys that I was sort of dating didn't come back and I spent January finding out just how many other girls he had been with (we were a secret and I suddenly knew why....). The good thing going was that I still had my German friends. For some reason their Germans second semester starts later so they were all enjoying some vacation time in Ireland. No studies, just partying. One day I decided to take seriously one of my friends offer of hanging out with him. I was desperate for some human interaction.
    When I got to his house I found out that his offer was a "general" offer. While I had taken seriously coming ON Saturday afternoon, he just meant ...whenever. Apparently. Either that or he thought surfing in the freezing Irish waters was more appealing than keeping a "date" with me. Luckily for my already shattered confidence I found one person home: Principe.
    At my university in Coleraine, Northern Ireland I was known as the girl with the blue hair (even though I later dyed it to black and then several other colors, I came into Ireland with blue hair and the label stuck). Principe was known as the Spanish Party Boy. We had had little personal interaction other than one night when he and another Spaniard drunkenly pursued me for a kiss. They had never kissed anyone with a tongue ring. Principe somehow caught me by surprise and gave me a nasty, Guinness tasting kiss. And then there was one party were I secretly made fun of him for being so drunk he didn't notice his fly was down. I'm not giving a very good impression of him...it isn't that I had a bad impression of him back then as mot of us spent more time partying than doing anything else. Besides, in January he found me alone in the university and offered to eat lunch with me out of the blue. He was a nice guy, but I had no interest in him at all.
   That is until one day I found him instead of my German friend. We ended up spending the entire afternoon talking. And then we made plans to hang out again. Neither one of us intended to fall in love. The whole thing was all so innocent at first.
     It was ten years ago this month that we slowly found ourselves not being able to have enough of each other.

Homeschooling for two weeks?

        In France, I am sure I have complained about this before, the kids get two weeks off of school for every 6-7 weeks of school. Last year I at first looked forward to having Queenie at home for two weeks. Firecracker was still a baby and we had some great fun making videos, showing Firecracker how to do new things, doing puzzles while Firecracker was in the same room as she couldn't get to us or our puzzle pieces and we could even color with Firecracker in the same room without worrying about her coloring on the wall. (This weekend, as Queenie doesn't seem to understand the concept of PUTTING MARKERS UP, I cleaned marker off of a new dress, the couch, the walls, the table and the wood floors. Each time Firecracker went to the corner without much remorse. But that is for another post. Titled: What am I supposed to do with this painting CHILD?)
    Next week I will drop Firecracker off at preschool for some hours of playing with kid her own age. And instead of working on my books or query letters, I will have to entertain my child. There is a part of me that says, "Why the heck do I need to ENTERTAIN her, why can't she entertain herself?" Well, sure, she can for a little while, but it isn't like I can take her to the coffee shop and have her color for three hours while I work. Can I? Hmmm. I am still considering it. Maybe. I just feel like I probably won't get much done. The other problem is that right now it is COLD outside. Frio. Froid. Freezing. Going to the park? We did that yesterday, but the wind was so high that it burned our cheeks. Remember, we have to walk to the park and walk home. I don't have a car. We also walk the kilometer to Firecracker's school and any other errands are done on foot. Which isn't a big deal. I like it. But these few weeks in February when the wind chill is so low, I don't like taking the girls out too much.
    So, now I am thinking about setting up homeschool for two weeks. Or a form of it. I am a bit scared of homeschool as I don't have much confidence that I could do a good job, but two weeks wouldn't be so bad, right? Especially because it doesn't count towards anything other than her growing brain. How badly can I screw it up? If I see myself screwing it up that badly I can jut go back to painting. (Why do I keep typing 'baby' when I want to type 'badly'? Is that a sign of how good or bad a job I can do with this?)
    My next few days will be spent looking for material to keep the attention of a four year old without driving her mother crazy. In the States I would still have her at home 24 hours a day, but here I am spoiled and have time to myself and the moment I have a few day without that time I complain! Geez.

A story: in 100 words

         The Accident  

         A battle ensued over a doll. High-pitched, little girl screams echoed from the room. Erica’s exhaustion rose. She entered the room to find two year-old Megan pull her sister’s hair. More screams. Erica growled, frustration now replacing exhaustion. She grabbed Megan’s hand, perhaps too hard. As she twirled around she forgot about the pushchair in the way. Her arms flung forward tossing Megan with them. Erica watched her daughter fall first knees, then hands, then face. Megan screamed in fright. Erica gasped. It was an accident, but not to Megan. In despair, Erica fell first knees, then tears, then soul. 

I wrote this story to enter in a contest before I realized that it was only open to UK residents. So now it is for your enjoyment. But it has led me to think: Mondays here at Toulouse Confessions will now feature 100 Word Mondays. Yea!

In high school...

One of Mama Kat's prompts this week is to tell what we were like in high school. I have been thinking about this all day long, because the first draft post I had going on in my head was only about one side of me. When I started thinking about some other things that I did while in high school, the two columns seemed to contradict themselves. And all of a sudden I felt like somehow I was thinking about two different people. Who knew I was so complicated? I say was because NOW I am not complicated at all. But that is for another post.

           Who was I in high school? Who was I from the outside in or the inside out? I find it hard to explain myself because the way that I remember me, the way that I saw myself then from the inside out completely contradicts some of the things that I did. First instance, I was shy. Very shy. And very self-conscious. I knew I was pretty on most days but I wanted to be HOT, like my best friend. I wanted to be FIERY, like my best friend. I wanted to be the person that everyone wants to have come to your party, like my best friend. But I knew I couldn't be that person, so I opted for being the emo/retro girl. I wore dresses made in the forties one day and then men's pants the next. It didn't help that all my money I earned went into dance team classes. I finally started learning to dance when I was 16 years old. Which is an odd thing for a shy person to do. But it was my desire to dance and it was a small studio. I felt safe there. And I had a blast! It became my haven 5 days a week. But it didn't help my wardrobe along. In fact that whole ballerina thing started seeping into my day wear. Shopping with my bestie helped get me some individual pieces that were nice, but I was never able to put them together like she was. I both loved and hated her borrowing my things. I loved seeing how she would wear it and I hated that she looked so much better in it.
            I had so very little confidence in myself that I broke up with my first boyfriend without really wanting to. I did it because I was so unsure of what to do in a relationship, even though I LOVED spending time with him and it felt wonderful to be with him, I was also so nervous about the idea that the very first time he confronted me on not saying hi to him after spring break (which is true. I sort of greeted all of my friends and breezily said hello to him. The school had a strict "no touching between male and female" policy so I was at a loss as to what to say to him. I figured we would say it to each other that afternoon, but he was offended by my coldness) I just got all flustered and told him it was over. SO BAD WITH CONFRONTATION. that was me. Is me. I immediately regretted it but was again too shy to admit that. He froze me out for over a year while still being in the same circle of friends. It was awkward.
             But I was too proud to admit that it had any effect on me at all. I was shy, but super proud. I hated confrontation but when the church affiliate cancelled prom a girl and I took up the task to do it ourselves. When we were hauled into the principle's office with false accusations from the youth pastor (whose job it was to plan prom but had dropped the ball) the other girl back down but I stood up in the face of the principle and told him to PROVE IT. Told him I was going to do it anyway and asked him just what he could do to stop it. I laid out all the plans, that were done in such a way that the Christian school would never be able to say that things weren't correct. We had parent chaperoning for crying out loud! He agreed with me. And I carried on without the other girl. But I wish I had done more. I wish I had stormed the church and told the youth pastor to prove his false accusations about my character. Instead I stopped going and went to another church.
               I had the balls to switch to a public school in senior year out of CHOICE. But I didn't have the ball to stay during lunch. I was so afraid of lunch time and sitting alone or maybe people pointing at my man pants that I started school at 7am, did five hours and then did a work-study program where I separated pig and cow DNA for the company that cloned the first cow. It was cool and it kept me from having to eat at school all alone. Just the thought give me the shivers.
            Geez, I am one contradicting girl. Was. Again, was. I am simple now. I think.