When you don't live in your country...

...you learn to stop being so shy. Sort of.

  I have this small phobia of being in a room full of people I don't know and not having much to talk about. I have never been super good at being in college parties when I didn't know very many people. Or better yet, when those I knew found it more interesting to talk to others. While I am not someone who minds being alone or not talking, there are moment during these occasion that you start to feel, well, odd. You start to fee like everyone is looking at you and wondering why they heck you don't talk. Are you mute? Or are you just not interesting? And then there is the big task of small conversation. Which I am and am not good at...depending on the day.

    Of course, being a mom changes that a bit. Small conversation can easily be directed at the children. And I have learned (slowly) the three things to always start the conversation out with (at least here in Toulouse, this doesn't necessarily apply anywhere.) "When did you get here?" "Where are you from?" "Why/how did you come to move here?"

    The last one usually then directs us to their job or their husband's job and from there we can usually have a pretty decent conversation. Like anywhere, there are people you meet that you hit it off with right away and those that you don't...(and let my point out that I am talking about English or Spanish speaking people here.....you will understand further on...)

    Anyway, I joined this organization that is right across the street from me (yay, living downtown!) that offers free French conversation classes and a group that meets once a month called the Dejeuner Jeunes Femmes (Young Woman's Lunch). The "young" part is basically to keep out the 70 and 80 year olds who go there to quilt and play bridge. It is an organization whose purpose is to bring people together, usually people who recently moved to Toulouse.

    So I show up with my little Firecracker and haltingly introduce myself (this is all French ladies, although some try to use their English with me when they hear my accent! Ouch!) and I thank the Lord above that I have Firecracker. You see, while I was sweating underneath my clothes and probably would have broken out in hives if I wasn't a praying person, I was equipped with my few sentences and was determined to *literally* sweat it out. For two hours. But have you ever been in a place where you ask your first few conversation ice breakers and then you can't find the words or proper grammar to ask what you would like to ask next? You haven't?

   Unless you have recovered from a stroke or lived in a foreign country this has probably never happened to you: you sit, looking with interest at the person who is talking with a smile plastered to your face. It looks like you are following the conversation, but in reality you only get about half of it. And for a split second you congratulate yourself on understanding half, but then realize that was a big mistake because now you missed the question that was just asked. And now it is your turn to answer said question. Thankfully Firecracker makes a small noise across the room and you quickly excuse yourself to be a good mom (even though you know you are not needed).

   Or: you are actually talking quite well with one person, but then the conversation gets harder. You have to now ask about her job, but you don't know the words in English. So you frantically search your mind for a different question when you suddenly realize that you are drawing a blank on French grammar. But you go for it and the puzzled look on the other lady's face tells you that you should have kept your mouth shut as she has NO. IDEA. what you just said. Great.

    Or: you find a group to just listen to. The conversation is interesting about looking for work in Toulouse and you are learning some new grammar. Things are good. When all of a sudden they feel the need to make you join the conversation. "Are you looking for work here?" they ask and you laugh at the absurdity with your French abilities, but your laugh really just makes you look like a spoiled, rich wife who doesn't "need" to work because this was a conversation. You quickly, in broken French, explain that you work in English writing for online magazines and doing translation work, but not in French. Not yet. The tension settles a bit. Whew.

   When you don't live in your own country and you don't know that country's language too well, well, things happen. And you push forward. Because otherwise you would end up a hermit!

 

Okay to be scared

Why do we as a society teach our kids that it is "okay to be scared"? As a someone who spent her entire childhood and adolescence in constant fear it really bothers me when I hear one of the cartoon characters of any show teach my girls that it is okay to be scared. Even into being a young adult I was scared of so many things and believe me, it was not okay. When I got home late I used to run to unlock the building door and then run up the stairs to my apartment with my heart beating at 190 rpm from fear of someone grabbing me and all the gory stuff that could happen from that. I used to be afraid of the dark, of silence, of strange noises, of shadows, of being alone, of meeting new people, of being in a strange place, of having to order my own food, of people thinking I didn't know what I was doing, of dying in some strange way, of being rejected, of being made fun of, of people realizing I didn't have a clue, of people walking behind me, of the woods, of sharks, of looking underwater (even through the television), etc. I was afraid of LOTS of stuff.
  One thing that helps me not be afraid so much is limiting my consumption of television and all the fear that it brings in our lives. Whether from the police shows, the zombie shows, the horror movies, etc, I no longer watch them. I used to really love watching CSI for the science behind the show, but when I started being afraid that someone was going to climb up our building to the second floor and somehow enter our apartment, I decided it was time to stop.
   I don't think it is okay for our kids to be scared and I am putting my foot down on banning cartoons that say otherwise. The other night, after placing Firecracker in bed, I came back to my room where Queenie was and found her in a ball on top of my pillows. She had her hands at her mouth and she was staring straight at my window.
     "Mommy, look, it is like a face."
    I have to say that my heart skipped a beat until I realized that she was talking about the lace-like decoration above the window outside. Granted, with just a small amount of imagination, there is a part that looks like mask. I laughed, but she told me it was scary. I walked over, opened the window and said, "Look, it is the part of the window that makes it look pretty on the outside. There is nothing to be afraid about because wooden decorations are not scary, okay?"
    Queenie giggled and nodded her head. I have done this a few more times, each time she tries to tell me that some inanimate object is scary. I try to pick it up, touch it, do whatever is necessary to show her it is not okay to waste energy of being scared of that object. Because it just isn't okay. The energy wasted, the almost heart attacks, the blood draining from your entire body over a cat getting caught in your fallen WEEZER poster, it just isn't worth it. It just isn't okay.

Ten things I miss about living alone

10. Watching the news instead of Dora the Explorer

9. Not having to vacuum every day.

 8. Sleeping all. through. the. night.

 7. Not having to make two meals; one kid approved and the other for me.

 6. I can make my own mess and everything will stay where I placed it.

 5. No one walking in on me while in the bathroom or shower.

 4. Not having to worry about what time I need to get home while having a glass of wine with my girls.

 3. Listening to the music I want to listen to and not being told to "stop singing, mommy!"

 2. Not stepping on blocks or chips while walking through the house.

 1. Not having to clean up poop from the bathroom floor that Firecracker dropped from her panties and then stepped in.

Of course if I never stopped living alone I would have missed this:

This post was prompted from Mama Kat's pretty much World-Famous writing workshop.

Destiny

Lately I have become obsessed with the idea of my destiny. At age thirty, across the sea from where I grew up, with two kids in tow and a curly-headed husband I am thinking every day about what I should do with my future. What does my future have in store for me? And I ask this selfishly because I am really only thinking about me and my career. Thinking about the family and such isn't in here. Taking a moment for myself, people.
      A lot of influence for these thoughts is coming from Terri Savelle Foy, who is a great inspirational speaker who travels all over the world speaking to women. Her main topic is self-worth and focusing on the future. So, obviously this is going to start spinning circle through my head!
    I know that my destiny today holds cleaning two poopy butts, making dinner, bathing two girls, possibly ironing, maybe getting a few more chores done and then trying to find time to sit down and write. Getting out the to park may go up on the lit too if the wind dies down. But what I really want to be able to do is to sit down and write. I would love to have an entire day dedicated to that. 8 hours straight. No worrying about a nutritious meal to make for little tummies, no being called to wipe a butt, no making sure my girls' eyes are spinning from watching too much television. Just eight hours to get something. hammered. out.
     My dream has always been to be a writer both of novels and of articles. I am so many thoughts going through my head at any given time during the day along with stories weaving their own way through my brain. And yet, sometimes, lately, I feel like I have nothing at all in my head. No thoughts worth getting out on paper at all. becoming a mother makes you focus on one thing, or at least has made me focus on one thing: mothering. All other thoughts besides the broken record that spins the Caillou theme song fly out the window the very moment they come in. It's like there isn't anything in my brain to hold on to them. Night used to be the greatest moment of my day when my brain would work on overtime in the imagination department. I dreamed up stories or articles, responses to teachers and parents and anyone else, possibly society in general. I came up with poems and prose. Sometimes the thoughts were so heavy that I would get out of bed again, turn on the light and writer everything I could down. Now my head hits the pillow and my body sinks heavily into my mattress and within seconds I am asleep. Gone is my insomnia. Thank hubby who makes me feel safe enough to sleep. You took away my imagination moment. Thanks children who make me so tired I sometimes don't even have enough thoughts left to pray before drifting off to sleep.
     The other night I was browsing my favorite forum, reading a post about working moms vs. SAHMs. It is interesting that many working moms seem to think that staying at home is a choice. While at this moment we are super blessed to not be strapped for cash, this was not always the case. The very idea of dressing for something other than the grocery store, the park and back home sounds thrilling. Going to a place where they pay you to check off this project, this project and this project all the while taking a lunch or coffee break with other adults sounds validating. Not to say that it isn't hard to be a working mom, but being a mom in general is hard, so putting the hardship aside, there are days that all I think about is getting back to work. Except that I don't know what work I would be getting back to. The secretarial job, the translating job or the writing novels job? Or will I be able one day to go out and launch a magazine for myself (digital, of course!).
   The future. It is an exciting word and yet also daunting because I still don't know my destiny. 2012 is supposed to be an amazing year. It will be an amazing year, I just wish I knew what was going to be so amazing about it! Although, it is quite amazing that I have actually almost finished editing my first book again. That in itself is amazing as I was interrupted about 50 times just trying to write this post!

A voice of her own

Queenie's real name is easily shortened. In fact, the shortened version is the French equivalent to her true name. I use her shortened name quite often, especially when I am in a hurry. And I am in a hurry quite often. I am trying to learn to slow down a bit, but in the meantime Queenie has taken to telling me that her name is not **, but ****. She places quite the emphasis to the accent and won't allow me to continue talking until I say her name correctly.
  I have to say, although I am usually annoyed at being interrupted, I am happy that my shy little girl is finding her voice to let her preferences be known. It is good to feel comfortable enough to tell me and others that she prefers her real name. I see this as a stepping stone for her having the courage to voice her future thoughts and preference as well, those "important" and those "less so".
  So, now it is at the top of my list to call her by her real name. It takes practice to change a habit, so I still get correctly at least once a day, but then, I could just start calling her by her blog name "Queenie"......But I bet my princess-obsessed little girl would want to then legally change her name.....

I never thought

Today over at Mama Kat's (Pretty Much World-Famous) Writing Workshop she had the prompt to finish this sentence, "I thought my child was going to _______, but instead he/she ________"

Here's my take on it.

When I knew that Principe was the one for me and started on my adventure of convincing him to buy me a ring I KNEW that my children were going to be bi-lingual. The plan was to move to Spain for crying out loud. The next step in the plan was to allow me to stay home, so some sort of English they would learn. Hmmmm, A type of English where that last sentence is okay....but you know, ENGLISH. So there was Spanish and English.  But I had NO IDEA that instead they would be tri-lingual with English (of course it is first!), Spanish and French. Take a look:

Two year check-up

Doc: "How are things going? How is little Firecracker."
Me: "Good. Things are going well. No, honey, you can't have that right now. Shhh, we are talking to the doctor and then we will get our toys out."
Firecracker: "I want. I WANT!"
Doc: "Now, Firecracker. You need to be quiet. We are going to see how well you are doing."
Firecracker: "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Now, us two adults talk over the screaming.

"Does she do this often?"

"WHHAAAAAAAA!"

"Everyday. Usually three, four times a day. Mostly when it is time to get dressed and cartoon time is over. I think I possibly allow her to watch too much t.v., but seriously, sometimes I just need her to be absorbed in something else. Is five hours of television too much?"

"And what do you do when she is like this?"

"Put her in the corner. Then I go to my own corner and cry because by that time I have probably been listening to screaming for too long. Either that or my own child has tried to scratch my eyes out with her bare hands. I go to my own corner to collect myself. I try to stay calm but the other day I yelled at her for peeing on the floor. I know, bad mom, but she was throwing food on the ground, so I put her in the corner, then she peed in the corner and ERRRRRR, I was nice again once I retold myself that it certainly isn't worth getting mad about."

"How much milk does she drink. You know she shouldn't drink too much."

"How much milk? Well, we go through about a liter and a half a day. Maybe more. And I don't drink milk. Principe rarely does. Queenie does drink one cup a day, maybe a little more. So, to answer your question, according to French standards, she officially drinks too much milk a day. But, it is the only way I can get her to sit in a stroller ever and it is how I keep hunger tantrums at bay when picking her up from daycare or picking her sister up or going to the store or coming home from the park, etc."

"Are you going to stop crying, Firecracker? How doe she eat?"

"When she isn't "dropping" her food on the floor or telling me, "This I NO LIKE IT!" she eats pretty well. Of course, if her sister decides not to eat then Firecracker doesn't eat. She eats ice cream really well. And chocolate. Easter Monday she ate about 20 chocolate eggs so that's something, right?"

"And she eats everything?"

"Mostly. Except for fruit. Won't touch the stuff. I have to hide it in the gallons of milk she drinks a day. The other day I gave her strawberries but she dropped them one by one on the floor before I saw and could stop her."

"Okay, come her Firecracker. Can you build a block tower for me? And knock it down. That one you are good at. Very good. And she can get up on things and get down?"

"The other day I found her standing on the coffee table. She got down just fine when she saw me coming. I have also intercepted her from climbing onto the piano. Apparently the bench is not good enough and the other day I saw her contemplate the fireplace mantel from atop the couch. So, yes, she can climb."

"What about sleeping?"

"Thank goodness that is finally under control. Have I told you that every time she wakes up at night I cave in and give her a bottle? I'm just too sleepy. I know it is against your way of doing things, but she learned to sleep through the night by herself just fine. She is now in a big girl bed and loves it. Thinks she is big now."

"And potty training? Is she interested?"

"Interested in wearing panties, yes. Interested in not peeing in them? Not so much. She sometimes refuses to sit on the potty only to pee on the floor a second later and then gets mad at me for showering the stinky pee off her legs. Sometimes I can bribe her with chocolate or candy though."

"But you limit sugar intake, right? She doesn't eat a lot of candy or cake?"

"Um, she DEMANDS candy and chocolate on a regular basis and I don't know you if you remember he volume of voice she has (as you heard just a few minutes ago) but that just needs to be avoided sometimes. Her father can never say no and sometimes I just need her to walk faster or pick up her toys or pee on the freakin' pot, ya know?"

......oh, if only we told the truth to our doctors......what they would think of us......!

COME OUT SUN!

It's been raining too long in this town. One of the problems of having my awesome apartment in the center of town is not having a yard. Not having a yard means that on they all claim it will rain all. day. long. and while it does rain on and off and on and off, it isn't really all day long for a toddler. All day would be fine, but when a toddler looks outside and longs to have the freedom to run and jump and play it is hard to explain the situation. Twice in the last few days we have quickly put on our jackets and shoes only to be greeted with cold rain a few minutes after getting outdoors. And then there is just saying no as the gray clouds roll in only to find that is doesn't rain for the next four hours. Thank goodness for a very long hallway where they can run and kick the ball and ride on their scooters.

   But today was kind of a bummer of a day. We did get stickers and they did get to run to the dollar store (okay, 2 Euro store. Everything in France is more expensive...!) But I woke up with swollen glands and the rain came and went and came again and everything about it was just blah. I guess it doesn't help that everyone is on antihistamine making us all tired and wanting to watch tv. Also, the fact that my mouse randomly places the cursor where ever it is every two seconds is making me want to through this whole computer out the window. Two paragraphs and ten minutes later...if there are strange spellings in here, sorry. We need a new computer....

    And I need it to stop raining. I need sunshine. I need the girls to run. I need to feel energy soaking through our skin. I need the sunshine. Plus, I put all my winter stuff away when it was 70 degrees out ten days ago and now we are back to 50 degrees. What is that about? I don't have clothes out for that kind of change. Errr. And spending the day in sweats only adds to the lazy, sleepy attitude. 

   COME OUT SUN!

Bummer start to the weekend

Did you know that Toulouse has a serious problem with bike theft? No, we didn't really either until today when we decided to take our bikes out. We take our bikes out almost every single weekend and sometimes during the week. Several times we have told each other that the bikes were "our best purchase ever." The girls love riding on them and we love the idea of  seeing the city and getting a bit of exercise.
  The bikes are perfect for a day like today when we had a few small errands to run that happened to be far from each other. It isn't worth getting into the car for them but could also take way too long if we did them walking. Bikes:the perfect solution.
  Our last errand before the park was the market. We got down from the bikes, put them together and chained them to the bike stand. Off we went to buy veggies as quickly as possible. We couldn't have been in the market for more than 25 minutes when we decided we were done. As we walked back to the bikes I noticed something was wrong right away. The gray bike was on the floor. The helmets were on the floor. And the white bike WAS NOT THERE.
    The chain was cut clean through.
    Seriously, the first thought I had as I looked on in disbelief was: why did they steal our bike with a baby seat and not that one right there?
   How selfish can one get?
   The stress of the whole thing caused a bit of a tiff between Principe and I. I went walking home mad with my tail between my legs while he took the bike to fill out a police report. Things are fine and calm now, but we are still without a bike. But we have a plan. One told to us by the Marie of Toulouse (town hall). You won't believe their advice. Ready?
     ....Go to the market tomorrow at Saint Sernin and see if you can find someone SELLING your STOLEN bike there. You can usually BUY your bike back for 20-30Euro. Or, if you have a way to prove that it is your STOLEN bike, many times they will hand it over without problems.
     I'm like ...WHAAAAAA? My mouth is still hanging open. But guess where we are going tomorrow morning?

Schizophrenic neighbor

#3 prompt from Mama Kat's Losin It: Neighbors

   After living in San Blas, Madrid, Spain for about two years one evening we met a neighbor from upstairs whom we had never seen before. It was a bit late for American standards, about 8pm, but not for Spanish. As the doorbell rang we assumed it was our immediately-to-the-left neighbor who was a nice grandmother type to us who sometimes brought us goodies such as croquetas. It wasn't her.
    Instead it was a rather tall, large man in his skivvies (boxer, thank goodness) who asked us to kindly stop making so much racket. Principe and I looked at each other in disbelief. What racket? Queenie was already in bed and we were watching tv. We apologized but said he must have the wrong house. He raised his voice saying that he knew we were moving furniture around, that he worked the night shift and needed to sleep and couldn't because we were being too loud. We again denied it. He yelled at us and left, stomping up the stairs.
   Hmmmmm. A few weeks later we found out he is clinically schizophrenic. The neighbor who shared a floor with him and happened to also be married to the crazy man's cousin, told us so. He also told us to be prepared for more visits.
    Sure enough.
    We were finishing up dinner with Principe's parents when the doorbell rang multiple times. This time Principe didn't apologize for anything and his father got involved, too. The crazy man yelled he would call the police. Principe said not to worry, that he already was. The police came, spoke to both parties, but said there was nothing they could really do.
     A few weeks later the doorbell rang at 3 am. The man started yelling for us to STOP MOVING FURNITURE AROUND ALL NIGHT LONG! I CAN HEAR YOU! I HAVE BEEN HEARING YOU FOR FOUR HOURS NOW! before we could get to the door. We shouldn't have opened it, but we knew he would keep ringing the bell. Principe was livid. The man was, again, in his skivvies and yelling with crazy eyes. I had to hold Principe back as I was pretty sure he was going to throw the first punch. Thankfully crazy man left. I think Principe actually scared him a bit.
   We moved one month later.
    Thank goodness.
   Our neighbor now is our babysitter. Sweet, sweet change.

Labyrinth of Merville

       They said there were 50,000 eggs hidden throughout the maze. We thought it would be a good idea to do with the little girls. So we went. And looked for eggs. At the door they asked each person to only take 12 eggs. We thought that wasn't very much, but agreed to the terms. After an hour had passed we wondered if we were going to get to 12 per child. Another hour later we broke for lunch and each girl had three. Hmmm. As our friend said, "This might be the most amazing maze ever but I wouldn't know it because I have become obsessed with finding B more eggs."

    Us adults literally started walking with our heads down. I held tightly to my camera but forgot to take pictures until I saw these faces: 

Firecracker is literally saying, "Where da eggs? No more eggs?"

Resting. Or trying to poop. Never know with a toddler...

Finally, a shot of the maze. This is after lunch when the sun was finally out!

After we found some more eggs we took a few hours to enjoy the scenery. It really is cool. The maze is huge and the whole garden allows your imagination to wander back to the times of princesses and duke, being able to see how one lived. It certainly is worth going back. Even if you do only get 12 eggs!

Today you turn two

Dear Firecracker,

  Today you are two. You woke up this morning at 6:30am, something you haven’t done in weeks. Usually a bottle of milk can get you back to sleep quickly, but there was no such luck today. Queenie woke up at 6:45 and while you stayed in bed with Papa, once you figured out the television was on, there was no getting you to stay still.

  After cartoons your first order of the day was to refuse to get dressed. And you certainly weren’t going to go pee-pees on the potty. Not until Papa read you five or ten books. Then you were okay with potty time, but it took another ten minutes to get you dressed in your fairy outfit. While you liked your pretty “dress” the wings were not allowed to be placed on. Your eyes looked to the very corners of their sockets at those yellow wings for a second while your right hand reached across your chest, grabbed hold and yanked hard. It took a few circles around yourself, but those crazy wings finally came off. And the screaming stopped. Goodness you like to scream about everything.

   Pancakes for breakfast. It went over rather well, although you didn’t quite finish and insisted on watching Caillou through the whole things. Which is something your father and I really must stop giving in to. But it was your birthday, after all.

    Next we watered the plants. You danced around with the empty watering pot and were generally cute for a good half an hour. You an Queenie allowed me to take photos, you danced with Papa and ran through the dining room curtain about twenty times before Papa and I decided to tackle teeth brushing. There was just one problem: a terrible smell was coming from your diaper. The moment you realized that we realized this you ran away. When Papa caught you, you screamed. And kept screaming. And kept fighting. And cried for me, but even though I sat next to you, you still screamed and wiggled and squirmed. So, off to the corner you went. In your two year old anger you hit Papa in the face hard and receive and quick smack on the butt as punishment. The crying could be heard four blocks down but you didn’t get much sympathy from anyone but your sister. Soon after you politely allowed Papa to clean your poo smeared butt without any more incidences.

  And off we went on the bikes.

  At the park you were good, although you showed your “boy” side and played with everything dirty. The best thing was that your stomach decided it had a little more caca to get out and while you didn’t scream about getting changed this time you did pee on yourself like a newborn when it’s who-ha gets a breeze of fresh air. Needless to say, your Papa and I were quite disgusted at the state of our daughter, but couldn’t help laughing our own little butts off.

   Cake and presents came after naps. This year the theme was Dora and Botas, your favorite cartoon at the moment besides Caillou. You wore a Dora and Botas shirt, had a Dora and Botas Happy Birthday Garland hung at the fireplace and on your rainbow cake covered in white icing lay a large paper Dora and Botas with small medallions of each character stuck in the sides of the six-story square cake. Your sister sang the Happy Birthday song in all three languages with Yayo Angel and Abuela Teresa watching through Skype. The first present was a baby doll carrying basinet with a packet of two bottles. Right away Queenie went to get the babies and the two of you got carried about with carrying for them. To the point that you didn’t even notice the cake. Good thing I was in the kitchen rapidly trying to get the pizza in the oven and had no intention of serving your cake until after dinner was eaten. But when Queenie was heard to say, “No, I’ll show you, like this Firecracker” as she showed you how to run your fingers across the cake side and suck the sugary goodness from said fingers we decided it was time for cake. A video and three songs later in English, Spanish and French we each had a piece of “lots of colors cake like a rainbow” as your sister christened it. You ate the frosting. And threw a fit when I cut your cake into chunks. I had to give you mine to keep the peace.

  Then pizza. Then a visit with Binka through skype and another present. This time scooter. Your eyes lit up as you screamed, “Look, Binka! Look! A tooter”. While Papa put it together you decided to directly disobey my prompting to go potty and peed on the floor. So you took a shower and as usual you threw a temper tantrum upon getting out that took a few minutes to get you out of. Meanwhile your sister was using your scooter.

   When it was your turn for the scooter you liked it, but wanted to be pushed. When you scootered towards Monkey, picked him and your baba up, then hopped back on and waited to be pushed I guessed you were just about worn out by all the excitement. So the scooter was put aside for tomorrow and you spent the last hour of your day watching Little Einstein. Not because I wanted to allow you to, but because when you gave such a stink about it being turned off after half an hour Papa caved and let you watch more. In fact it was probably more like an hour and a half all together, but who’s counting? Tomorrow it is back to being an everyday kid, although it is Easter so we might have to deal with sugar high screams. And fights over who gets the new scooter as your sister has declared her old one “caca”.

  Should be fun. Just another day in our house. That is why I am going to bed at 9:30. I want to make sure I have enough energy to get through it.

 Happy Birthday, girly! I love you so much!

Hello, my name is Queenie and I am addicted to Instagram

As a spin on Mama Kat's World famous Writing Workshop prompt number 4 for Instagram Fun, I decided to hand my phone over to Queenie.

Okay, I didn't really decide, she asked for it.

Okay, okay, she grabs it from me on a daily basis because she likes to change the colors on the pictures that she takes.

And, yes, I end up asking PLEASE CAN I HAVE MY PHONE BACK? I do say please. Otherwise she reminds I will get in trouble. But that is for another post.

Here you go, Instagram Fun a la Queenie.

to helmet or not to helmet

Bikes are a big part of the French culture. Think Tour de France and such. People ride bikes all the time here. I heard once that bikes were used a lot during WWII as gasoline was scarce and few had cars. People started riding their bikes everywhere. I don't know if that is really when it all started or not, but it makes for a good story.
    Bikes are so popular that Toulouse has public bikes that can be rented by the half hour. An example of these bikes is above. There are stations set up all around the center and a bit outside of it where you can pick up and drop off your bike. It works really well unless you have a little one to bike around with you. They have some nifty things for little ones besides just the old bike seat, but I didn't manage to get a shot of those..
  Anyway, my point is the topic of helmets. No one wears a helmet here! We do as I am totally against putting yourself in stupid,preventable situations such as becoming a vegetable because you didn't wear your bike helmet. Granted Principe fights me on this as helmets aren't really worn in Spain either, but it seems idiotic to me to make the girls wear helmets and then not wear ones ourselves. So we are okay with becoming vegetables as long as our kids don't? Almost every kid I see on a bike (either sitting or actually riding) wears a helmet, but in all my time of living here I have seen less than 5 adults with a helmet on.

Sometimes, when I am riding through town and people look at me funny I feel a bit childish for wearing it. Sometimes when we get to our destination and my hair is matted and sweaty (humidity people!) I feel foolish for wearing it (and for having actually done my hair that day....), but I hold fast to my helmet views and won't waver. I no longer feel dressed on a bike without it. Thanks to my mom's horror stories of her patients. But I want to be an example to my kids. And I also want to be around to see them grow up. And let me tell you, even with all the bikes around here there are still crazy drivers who just "don't see you."

So tell me, Do you wear a helmet? Do your kids? Am I the only one with a mother for a nurse who had horror stories of patients being hit by cars that instilled in them a desire to have her brain all in one piece while still enjoying a bike ride?

Big Girl Bed

    There is no longer a crib in use in this house. It hasn't been taken apart, except for the move here to Toulouse, since Queenie was born. When we moved Queenie to her big girl bed we made up the crib in different sheets than she used and prepared her for "the baby" to sleep there. When I looked at Queenie for the first time in her big girl bed I had a rather large belly and anticipated the crib being in use just two months later. Now it lies in pieces in the hallway.
   I stood in the dark room last night, watching both of my big girls sleep in their new beds and while I felt proud of them I felt.....a bit torn. I have written about my desire to have one more child and Principe's desire to not ever have more. Nothing has changed. He really thinks that we are fine at two.  I can't really explain why it is so important to me, but I want at least three. Our situation is different from many in that we have to travel quite far and pay a pretty penny to visit family, so having two would make sense economically, but who wants to decide how many kids to have based on economics. I could move things around in the house and save more money. I know I could. Right now I don't because I no longer feel the pinch that I felt in Madrid, but I could go back to that. And I am looking for work again and am sure THE BLESSING will help me find my way there. Firecracker is starting  preschool in the fall which will leave me free every single morning until 11:45. And....yet...even with the temptation to have my life "freed up" I am desiring to have that one more little one running through the house, grabbing on to what is hers/his and adding his/her voice to the chaos. I am also praying that if my husband allows me to have one that this one will be a non-colicky, sleep-through-the-night baby!
   Enough of that.
    Firecracker turns two on Saturday and looks like a giant in her big girl bed! How do they grow up so fast? It is so much fun to watch, but seriously, I think Father Time turns the notch up when your own children are born. Crazy. My little black-haired newborn with a scrunchy smile is now a curly-headed blondie with legs strong enough to climb up anything and a voice that only has one volume (LOUD). Well, she has pretty much always only had one volume, but I swear she gets cuter and cuter every day. Of course the throwing of food is not cute.....
   Just so that you think I am ignoring Queenie, I still think she is cute. In fact she is hilarious now as she talks more and more each week. We are just now getting to hear her life wisdom and it is so much fun!