Golazo

While we were in France we brought back soccer balls for souvenirs, and additionally, for Tovi, a French jersey, bearing the number 10 on the back. Tovi was born in 2010, which makes the number on the jersey fitting in itself. But to add to the coolness factor, 10 was also the number worn by Zinedine Zidane, the French player who made the infamous headbutt of World Cup 2006, which was, incidentally, the first World Cup I ever followed. I empathised with the Frenchman, after all the Italians that year were insufferable, melodramatic pansies, and Zinedine even made our list of name contenders as we narrowed down our name choices for our firstborn son. But neither the name Zinedine nor a French trophy were meant to be, and here we are 8 years later, directing our disgust this time towards the drama queens of this year and towards the American team for their lack of joy in the game, and their apparent indifference to the national anthem, which every other country sings with passion and gusto. 

The World Cup fever has caught on with the kids. When Dominic wakes up, he pulls on his cleats from his soccer league days (two years ago)- so tight he can't even get his feet in with socks on. He wants to watch the games with facepaint. Noemie screams at the TV, "Nice pass!" What does she know about passing? Even Gigi sticks around, taking advantage of our distraction to grab fruits from the counter behind the couch. We caught her the other day injesting a mango with the peel still on. Danny and I pre-record most games and try to cram them in, on into the wee hours of the morning, while I crochet a rag-rug for the girls' room. Who needs sleep? I love the World Cup and I hate it at the same time.

We closed on our house last week, and my daylight hours, ever since, have been consumed with painting. Painting furniture, painting walls, and thinking about paint... paint methods, paint finishes, paint fumes, brush strokes, color theories. I dream paint. And dust. We decided to replace the floors and the demolition of the old ceramic tile has left a nice layer of powder on the walls of my trachea. Any second not devoted to the new house is spent trying to catch up with the kids' schooling (those two months in DC really put us behind and I can't teach the fall of Rome next year if I don't cover Ancient Rome this year!), while simulatenously writing and printing my materials for next year, pre-reading living history books on St. Francis, Beowulf, viking adventures, enchanted castles, orphaned minstrels, and medieval bone-setters. We ordered our storage a week ago. It's expected to arrive next Tuesday, with tile installation in progress. On today's itinerary... Mowing the lawn, replacing broken socket plates, changing the air filter, coating the girls' dresser with enamel, finishing a wall patch in the master closet, wiping down the ceiling fan blades (amen Michael Lopez?), painting the second half of the Master bedroom (thank you, Tia), replacing lights in the kids bath, a birthday party, a memorial service... And so on. One thing's for sure, when I finally do get to sleep these days, I go down hard!

I see Paris, I see France

I saved my highschool French notes, and years ago stole my dad's French phrase book, in the hope that someday I might make it to France. I even bought a copy of 501 French Verbs so that when the opportunity presented itself, I would be that rare, chic américain, who eats at hole-in-the wall restaurants and orders without reading translations. I'm part French on the inside, you know. But of course, all my foreign language materials were shipped off with our storage last fall because why in the world would I need them before December? But you know what? It's not December; it's June. And I'm still living in my mother's house. (For which I am eternally grateful. But it's my mother's house.)

Now, who was strolling in the sunshine along the Seine today singing Beauty and the Beast songs in skinny jeans and ballet flats? C'était moi. I've visited the Tuilerie Gardens everyday for the last three days and I've not tired of it yet. I've seen the Mona Lisa in person (though I had to dodge some elbows to get up to it and in the end, I much preferred other pieces.) And I prayed in Notre Dame (which is hard to do, the architecture is so distractingly fascinating). Who will not be ordering andouillette sausage again? That would be moi, again. No tripe, merci. I'm still experiencing the aftertaste 17 hours later.

I am in France and I speak just a lick of French. I am trés embarrassed. Not really. I'm in France where most people speak English and I'm too enamoured by my daily view of the Eiffel Tower to waste any thoughts on being unhappy or disappointed in any way. France, France, France. I was held to secrecy until this last day of my trip so I'm indulging in the liberty of saying it now.... FRANCE! 

So what have I been doing here? Eating, walking, journaling, reading St. Augustine's Confessions, breathing.... The air feels so clean here.... when you're not walking behind a smoker anyway. I've been admiring the gumption of men in designer suits and ties zipping through traffic on bicycles, marveling at the chicken-sized pigeons, agonizing over whether my outfit is "French" enough, and doing some more walking. I have blisters on my pinkie toes because wearing flats is much more "French" than hiking boots in this "walking city". The French are classy but I'm not so sure about their logic. 

Clearly, I've left the kiddos behind. I've needed a respite desperately. This was infinitely more than I would have hoped for. Danny says it's an anniversary present. Even though he is working, we've been able to put a lot of hours towards romantic wanderings. This is a big anniversary for us so we've been celebrating all year. In February we bought a video camera (we haven't had one since Noemie was a baby) and this month he's buying me a house. So we're splurging a little. Not really. God has provided all these things out of His riches- we've hardly paid for any of it. It has been the craziest, hardest year of my life but I feel so blessed. 

D.C. part deux

After spending a month in Miami, we're back in D.C. for another round. Up until now, our trips to Danny's training sites have been rather lonesome for our family. We were the only family who drove up for orientation, and the only family present at graduation of his first cycle. But this time around there are a few other wives and kids who have joined their spouses. We've gotten quite close to one family in particular, eating breakfast together everyday and going off on adventures. The mom is tall and graceful and when we're together, I feel that we must look rather like Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger in the movie "Twins." Our kids have fun together (Noemie baked cupcakes with them last Thursday) and I, for one, am happy to have another grown-up to talk to.

Our family of six is staying in a one-bedroom hotel suite. The original plan was to stay in a four-bedroom, two-story house, a vacation rental-by-owner. We paid the deposit and waltzed in the front door with high hopes. But those hopes crashed pretty quickly. For one, the house was a museum of 18th century furnishings, canvas paintings, and porcelain vases. The sofa... Decorative or functional? I never could tell. How was this home advertised as "great for families with young children"? The owner also kept the pantry fully packed. We couldn't put our own food anywhere. Then there was a basement tenant that we weren't told about. The thin hardwood floors amplified every footstep, even more so the thumps of Tovi's running, Dominic's taking the stairs two at a time, the clatter of Giannina trailing a large cheese-grater behind her, Noemie wailing because Giannina found (and ingested) her secret stash of chewing gum. We stayed with Danny at his hotel for the first few days while we unpacked and figured out the car situation, going only to the house in four hour stretches at lunch time. Even so, the owner called to reproof us for the tenant's noise complaint! When Tovi pulled down a bedroom curtain with its wall brackets, that was the last straw. After much deliberation and logistics and repacking, without even having spent a night at the house, we moved into Danny's hotel room. 

As during our previous stay in D.C, Danny goes off to work and I juggle school, social networking, and behavioral management while trying, quite desperately, to look like I'm in control. The weather here is much colder than I have ever experienced, which has led to some fun new experiences, such as watching sparks in the dark when Gigi rolls around in her static-charged fleece pajamas. Shocking, yes. Danny prepared for our arrival by doing some extensive winter-wear shopping, receiving us each with a large shopping bag stuffed with thermal goodies, like gloves, long underwear, and hiking boots. (Wool socks- These might be my favorite. I won't take them off but to bathe and then they go right back on.) On our second day here, it snowed. The kids played in the hotel courtyard for three hours. They crunched footprints in the snow, threw snowballs, mixed it with water, made towers using plastic cups, slid around on the rubber ball-court, caught snowflakes on their tongues, Gigi walked around eating chunks of it... and any other idea that occured to them. The temperature hovered in the 20s today. I was wearing an undershirt, a sweater, an insulated jacket, a windbreaker, a scarf, two pairs of pants, the ubiquitous wool socks... and I was still freezing. The kids don't seem to understand. Noemie insisted on wearing crocs yesterday. Then she cried when her feet were cold and she slipped on ice. There have been too many battles these days. I'd rather leave that one to self-correction. Today she chose her boots.

The highlight so far has been building a snowman. The kids named him Olaf. Danny said he looked like Linus.

We don't know much about what's coming up but we're thankful that we're all in the same place. No matter how hard things get, we'd rather be together than apart. 

A new year, a new post, a new place

We made it to St. Simon's Island. We've spent the past two weeks a little closer to where Danny is working here in Georgia. He can't stay with us during the week, but we've been able to have dinner together more nights than not, and we get to keep him on the weekends. Unfortunately we shared more than just our time with him; we also shared the flu. Yesterday and today in particular, his work was very physically demanding. We called on our friends for prayer and God answered our prayers in a miraculous way! Danny was able to perform his tasks effectively and without injury, feeling a burst of energy for the time he needed it most. (And then he nearly passed out when it was over.) Glory to God! Afterwards, Danny told me that I should be looking out for the opportunity to bless someone similarly and that opportunity presented itself almost immediately, as I found myself connecting with the brother of a friend, someone that Danny had been a camp counselor to years ago, by way of his wife's blog. I hadn't heard from him since he'd gone off to the army, and now I found myself praying, all day, for their newborn son who is waiting for a liver donation. Isn't God amazing?

 We celebrated New Year's Eve with some of Danny's work friends, hanging out, chowing down, and then, at the stroke of midnight, the older kids and I ran out to the shore to see if we could catch the pier fireworks from there. The pier is a little less than two miles from us and we could just see little bits here and there over the real estate that hugs the curving shoreline. What we did get to witness close-up were a few families that would light these lanterns that would float up into the wind, into the black sky. Beautiful!

And of course this whole island is beautiful. This vacation has been a real treat for us. We are staying in a rental that is walking distance from a public beach. It is three stories tall, and you can see a glimpse of the ocean from the top floor. It's a tremendous home for us, quite a luxury. But what has surprised me more than anything is the peacefulness of this place. For one of the few times in my life, I don't hear ANYTHING at night. Not the airplanes flying over our Davie home, not the Turnpike traffic or train rumblings of my parent's home, not the waves from my parent's oceanfront summer home, not the drunken parties of my college neighbors, not the crazy birds of Venezuela, not even the bugs of South Carolina. Nothing. Even the AC is quiet! Silence!

And cold. I know that most of the eastern United States had a cold blast this week but we haven't seen temperatures above 50 but one day so far. On Tuesday the high was 34! I had anticipated a Tallahassee winter, so I'd packed for moderate weather- 2 pants, 2 shorts, 3 short sleeved shirts, 3 long sleeves, and such. Well we haven't used about half our wardrobe- just the "winter half" and most of that all at once! (At least I didn't have to run a mile and a half in it. Danny deserves a vacation as well!) It is supposed to warm up to the 60s this weekend. I'm looking forward to that with much relief.

And last but not least, yay FSU! WOOOOO!