Chicken nuggets in Reims

October 1, 2017October 1, 20172 Comments

With little kids in tow, excursions don’t always turn out as you’d imagined.

Last Wednesday I drove the four children to Reims, planning to meet Michael after he’d finished teaching at the university campus in the city.

Reims is famous for its 13^th century cathedral, a Gothic masterpiece. For 600 years it was the site of France’s coronations, with the French kings being anointed with oil from a “Holy Ampoule” which stories told had been delivered by a white dove at the baptism of the first King of the Franks, Clovis I, by Saint Remi in 496AD.

The city is also at the heart of France’s Champagne region, home to the tasting rooms of many of the world’s most prestigious champagne houses: Taittinger, Veuve Clicquot, Pommery.

I pictured us strolling down a beautiful street together, perhaps enjoying a coffee and some French pastries while the children smiled and laughed melodiously, and then going together to see the spectacular Reims cathedral.

Instead, we had chicken nuggets at McDonalds.

Cold, leftover chicken nugget, recovered later that evening from backpack after water bottle had leaked.

This is how it happened…

I’d fed the children sandwiches before we left home, but they weren’t hungry at that precise moment. Two fell asleep during the one-hour car ride, which for some reason meant they had to cry for much of the twenty-minute march from the parking space to the cathedral area.

“I can’t wait to see Reims cathedral!” I declared enthusiastically over the sobbing. “This is one of the most famous, amazing cathedrals in France!”

“In the world, actually,” Michael added helpfully.

The kids were less impressed. Two were still crying, and the other two were whining that their feet hurt. (My feet were also sore, since I’d foolishly worn my stylish boots instead of running shoes – because this was a really special day when I was going to Reims cathedral with my darling husband…)

Well, I was pretty sure that they were hungry, (plus three needed a bathroom), so when we saw the golden arches and they shouted “MCDONALDS!”, it seemed like a sensible option. (Little French cafes with ‘prix fixe” menus are great, until you multiply it by six, and throw in two fussy eaters and everyone in a rush. We only had a couple of hours in Reims, because Conrad had soccer/football practice at 5pm).

It took a while to order because this McDonalds forced you to enter your own order via a touchscreen kiosk. I couldn’t find the bulk size chicken nuggets, and then I accidentally cancelled the whole order.

“I’ll get them started,” Michael offered. “You run over and look at the cathedral.”

At first I protested, because I really did want to see Reims cathedral with the whole family. Seeing how little time was left, I ran the few minutes down the street.

The cathedral façade was magnificent: an enormous rose window, framed by two towers more than 250 feet high. Inside the cathedral, I stood and stared, awestruck. The scale was astonishing: the roof of the central nave soared 125 feet high, supported on massive stone pillars topped with carved leaves. The stained glass windows were a rich, intricate mass of color. Hundreds of beautiful statues decorated the walls.

It felt like a place designed to inspire awe and wonder, to urge reflection on life’s greatest questions: humanity, the divine, the soul. I could have sat there serenely for a long time, while the light filtered through the colored glass. Instead I had about three minutes, so I walked quickly to the end of the 500 foot nave, glanced at the Impressionist windows, and rushed back outside.

Reims Cathedral (photo with thanks to Wikipedia…I didn’t even manage to open my camera case)

Back at McDonalds, the kids were really happy. “MUM!” they shouted (because why speak at normal volume?). “THE BARBEQUE SAUCE IS ALMOST EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE ONE BACK HOME!!!”

With that, we went back to the car. I was a little incredulous. It must have been one of the lamest tourist visits to Reims ever undertaken.

This isn’t really a complaint. We’re spending three months in a beautiful French village. We can go back to Reims soon – hopefully with more time, and maybe some peanut butter & jam sandwiches. Technically, I did get to see Reims cathedral! (And, the local supermarket does sell champagne).

It’s simply a fact that doing anything at all with kids in tow is a bit of a circus. No matter where you are, much of every day is taken up with getting them dressed, making food, cleaning up after the food is eaten (or not eaten), washing kids, washing kids’ clothes… It’s busy, messy and definitely less romantic.

All the same, I’m betting now that if we come back to Reims Cathedral in the future when the children are grown up, just the two of us, it’ll be that day at McDonalds that we remember with full hearts.

So, what happened when we put our non-French speaking kids in the local school?

September 27, 2017September 27, 20171 Comment

In our small village square just before nine a.m. on weekday mornings there’s a rattling, rumbling noise: the sound of dozens of children’s wheelie backpacks rolling over paving stones. For almost two weeks now, Conrad has been there with the rest of the children, pulling his own, already much-loved ninja-themed cartable on his way to the Ecole Elementaire.

Conrad at the Ecole Elementaire

In fact, three of our children are now off to school each morning. France has state-funded pre-schools, and both Roman (just turned 5) and Victoria (3) are enrolled in the Ecole Maternelle.

Roman and Victoria at Ecole Maternelle

It was surprisingly straightforward to get them all registered. I had to fill out forms at the village Mairie, provide a letter from our landlady confirming that we’re staying in the village, and make copies of the children’s passports and birth certificates.

(Normally instead of birth certificates we’d have provided the French livret de famille. It’s a small booklet that French couples are given when they get married, or at the birth of a first child if they’re unmarried, and which serves as a register for future births, separation or death. Interestingly, the books were introduced in 1877 shortly after the socialist anarchists of the Paris Commune burned down public buildings in Paris, destroying the civil registers).

The Mairie sent on the documents to the schools the same morning, and everyone was ready to go!

All three children have done an amazing job of adjusting to school – especially bearing in mind that they understand barely a word that’s spoken in the classrooms.

That first morning we still had no car here, and just as I’d loaded everyone into the double stroller to walk the ten minutes to school the skies opened. Even before we’d crossed the courtyard, the two seated children were soaked down to their underwear and the two others were very, very wet. We quickly changed all their clothes, and our kind landlady drove us to the town square. By then we were so late that I took the younger children to the nursery school, and our landlady walked Conrad to his school gate. Yep, on Conrad’s first day at a French school I handed him over to a near-stranger and rushed off in the other direction.

Pre-school/ Nursery school

Victoria is in the morning-only petits/moyens class of 27 children. They all take slippers to wear in school, and they change their shoes by the coat-hooks and stash them in little bags printed with their name and photograph.

Shoe bag….

…and Victoria’s unicorn slippers!

It’s similar to our early preschool in the USA, with some exposure to the alphabet as well as colors, shapes, art, learning songs, and so on. The pre-school has a little garden at the back, where the children grow vegetables in the spring. At the end of Victoria’s first day I asked what they’d done. They’d painted owls, and one of the little boys hadn’t wanted to share the toy farm animals. (Based on my past experience of trying to find out what has happened at preschool, this was quite a detailed response!)

Since then Victoria has made a friend in class. “They play together, and I see them talking”, her teacher told me yesterday. “Different languages, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem!”

Roman is in the grandes class of 29 children. Back when we were filling out forms at the Mairie Roman really, really wanted to know the French words for “Will you be my friend?” He asked the same question outside school on his first day. Sweet Roman.

Roman’s teacher is a little formidable: when one of the boys was crying at drop-off, she pointed a stern finger and said “we do NOT cry in this class”. The boy abruptly stopped. At first, Roman wasn’t sure that he likes his teacher, but now he says he does like her a bit. (Apparently she has been helping him with his coat zip).

IMG_2617 (1) His class is practicing printing letters, but interestingly the children are also exposed to cursive styles of letters right from the start. Not only that, but it’s the very flowery French-style cursive.

They’re also working on simple math, lots of art, stories and songs. For him it’s a full day of preschool (on the same schedule as Conrad’s school): 9am-12pm, home for lunch, and the afternoon from 2-4/4.30pm (there’s a slightly later finish time for two days of the week – I have no idea why). Wednesday is a half day for everyone. In the past there was no school on Wednesdays in France, and here this only changed recently.

Elementary School

Conrad’s school is next to the village church. He’s in a class with 28 other children, all five and six years old.

There are three children with special learning needs in his class, and a couple of the other parents have since told me that there was some reticence about adding a non-French speaking child to the mix. Of course, they hadn’t met super-diligent student Conrad! (He is often ‘spirited’ at home, but it’s a different story at school).

Conrad’s biggest frustration on the first day was that two of his classmates didn’t understand the rules of soccer, and that the playground goal wasn’t properly marked.

He’s been learning a few new French words every day. Within a week he’d switched to writing numbers in the French style: “1” more like a “7”, and a curly “9”.

Practicing circles

I’ve enjoyed seeing how his class practices penmanship with cut-out copies of famous artwork. He’s been learning about syllables, and they’re working on phonics. It’s been a little confusing explaining that “ch” is pronounced “sh” for French words, or that the French “i” is more typically an “ee” sound, but he seems perfectly able to grasp that the rules are slightly different.

The class has memorized a French poem, which is more challenging! But we’ve tried with the first lines anyway. (Plus I like the fact that the subject is about using your ‘quiet voice’ so as not to disturb other people).

Dino-Rewards!

Every child starts the week with ten “points” on bits of paper, which they keep inside their desk in one of the circular, wooden Camembert cheese boxes. They can lose or win points based on behavior, and if they have ten at the end of the week they can choose a reward card. Now Conrad has two dinosaur cards, which are much treasured. (Apparently, naughty children also have to sit with their hands on their heads).

In the playground Conrad plays tag/”it” and soccer with the other kids. For a while he couldn’t understand why two of the girls kept following him around repeatedly saying “hi”, but we figured out that they’d been asked by the teacher to take care of him. Now all the kids like to come and say “hello” to practice their English. He’s made a friend called ‘Thibault’. One girl still likes to follow Conrad and try to tickle him.

Afternoon school pick-up..

… jokes can transcend language!

One funny moment at the end of Conrad’s first day… We’d stayed behind for a few minutes to look around his classroom and get the list of school supplies, and at the gate his teacher presented her cheek for a kiss. Conrad looked totally shocked. I had to explain that the French often use kisses in greeting.

All in all, it’s going really well. I’m optimistic that the children will learn some helpful academics. For sure, they’ll end up being aware that there are many other people in the world who speak different languages and have different traditions, and that you can still make a connection even if you can’t understand each other’s words.

Ode to French Bread (…yes, an entirely frivolous post..)

September 20, 2017September 20, 2017Leave a comment

On our first morning here in France, I set off for the village boulangerie/patisserie to buy pain au chocolat.

Our local bakery is a small, plain shop, but it smells amazing. There are baguettes, boules, loaves of heartier ‘country’ bread, and at one side a display case with half a dozen different types of treats: plain croissants, almond croissants, sugary Viennoises, folded apple pastries, pepitos filled with both chocolate chips and a sort of custard cream. Twice a week they make their own pizza. Plus, alongside the street-facing window they keep large jars of bonbons for children. It’s open seven days a week. All this, for a village of 1,500 people.

That first morning, I bought my pain au chocolat and a baguette, and walked the ten minutes back home. It was delicious. The taste was more buttery than the versions I’ve bought most recently in the USA. But I can’t say it was exquisite. It seemed a little dry. Perhaps a “real” pain au chocolat has more emphasis on the croissant-like base than the chocolate. Or maybe it’s not the local specialty. (I plan to try a few more in Paris to find out).

However….the baguette was excellent. It’s white bread, with perfect texture and an amazing taste. The ingredients are simple: flour, yeast, water, salt. The French just get it right. Plus one baguette costs 0.9Euros, just over $1.

Gaston helping with the morning bread run

(I should explain that I really like good bread. For years, I spent the occasional idle moment pondering an imaginary dilemma of having to give up either potatoes – yes, crispy roast potatoes, those malt vinegar-soaked English chips/fries, the lot – or bread. I couldn’t decide. Fairly recently, bread won out. A weighty question, I know…)

I had a conversation about French bread with our landlady (a fantastic mother-of-two who has combined hands-on wheat-farming with renovating the lower buildings surrounding the 700-year-old tower, alongside her husband…surely the ultimate DIY project). She was visibly shocked that someone would charge $6/7 for a loaf of bread (yes, that’s what bread with simple ingredients costs in Spokane).

I wondered aloud why French bread is so good. “Once when I was in England I tried to make my usual crepes,” she told me. “They were completely different. I think the flour is not the same.” So, perhaps that’s what makes the difference.

In any case, we’re now buying fresh baguettes every day. Two baguettes, most days. (Often the children and I eat almost a whole one during the walk home – at least, once we’re clear of the village center. So far, I have not seen the French villagers eating or drinking at all in the street. Interesting cultural difference… Munching on chunks of bread would definitely feel indecorous.)

Even one day later, the bread has gone a little stale. One morning I gave our kids a French-style children’s breakfast: a bowl of hot chocolate into which you can dip your slices of leftover baguette. Roman loved it, Victoria was quietly enthusiastic, Conrad said it was “too chocolately” (weird, since he’s definitely my son…), and Gaston mysteriously poured the entire bowl of hot chocolate over the table. Not ideal before school. (Note: more news on French school soon!)

Roman, family chocoholic

Last weekend I went to buy our baguettes in the late morning, and the lady serving me in the bakery shook her head. “They are finished now,” she told me. “Perhaps the half baguette?”

Well, we’d have managed, but at that moment her colleague emerged from the back room with her arms full of fresh baguettes. “Ah!” the shop assistant exclaimed. “More are just ready!” It was like a bread-lover’s French boulangerie fantasy come true. The bread was straight from the oven, almost too hot to hold. Crunchy on the outside, near-steaming on the inside.

The baguettes were still warm when I got back to the house, and I took my bread and butter (and coffee) upstairs to the master bedroom to enjoy the best view in the house. Bon appetit!

Master bedroom window with a view

Planes, trains and toddlers

September 12, 20177 Comments

Owls must live in the woods behind our French gite, since they hoot softly through the night, from the early darkness when the 700-year-old tower outside the bedroom window is dramatically lit by flood-lights, until shortly before dawn when the pigeons begin cooing.

At almost exactly 5am the first train arrives at the little station across the road, collecting commuters for their 50 minute journey to work in Paris.

I’m already very familiar with these sounds of the night at our new gite, because for the first three nights, our four children took turns staying awake from midnight right through until six o’clock in the morning. I’ve actually decided that managing jet lag with young children is worse than taking them on a long haul flight. They’ve all been waking up at different times, and just as I fall sleep, another one pops up and wants a ‘midnight snack’ and playtime.

Last night they all slept properly for the first time (well, they all woke up once, but at least they went straight back to sleep). So, predictably, I ended up awake until dawn. Hopefully tonight we’ll all crack it.

So, how was the journey? Overall, it was better than I’d expected. Here’s the run-down:

1 – Drive from eastern WA to Seattle (6 hours) A challenging start when 3-year-old Victoria heartily threw up all her breakfast over herself and her seat. In retrospect, it would have been better not to combine Grandma’s pancake breakfast with both a water-painting kit and a short-cut on winding lanes. Luckily we had two changes of clothes.

Ready for Seatac security, with five items of hand luggage and a bag of food

Victoria and ‘Popcorn’ Unicorn, chosen as a special toy for the trip

2 – Seattle airport (3 hours): Airport playground! Everyone was thrilled. I even got a coffee. On the way to the gate I discovered that small children aren’t very good at carrying their own hand luggage, so I ended up with five bags to get onto the plane. Still, they weren’t very heavy.

3 – Flight from Seattle to London (9 hours): In-seat entertainment system was a huge hit. The three older kids chose their own movies and games (they even helped each other with the touch-screens!) Meanwhile Gaston and I watched the same two Paw Patrol cartoons without headphones for four hours.

The cabin crew members were all charming, even when Conrad summoned the stewardess by calling out “Hey! Woman!” Kids were delighted to be served apple juice and to be given tiny overnight kits with mini-toothpastes and socks. They were more skeptical about the sundried tomatoes in the mac and cheese (who would do that?), but they filled up on bananas and the after-dinner hot chocolate.

After the meal I took Gaston down the plane to see the moon through the window by the restrooms, and he told half a dozen people on the way: “We’re going to see the MOON!”

With a little over four hours left, I told the children to go to sleep. And…they all went to sleep! Well, Gaston did wake up after two hours and screamed hysterically for about half an hour, but I told him a very, very slow and soft story about a boy named Gaston who was friends with all the Paw Patrol puppies, and he crashed out again.

4 – London Heathrow (3 hours): Our connection started off well, with great excitement about the moving walkways. (Not to mention the terminal transfer bus! Expressing great excitement over each step of a long trip is a pretty effective tactic). Terminal 5 had another airport playground, a sort of two-storey jungle gym with tunnels and slides. Awesome!

5 – Flight from London to Paris (1 hour): The challenge of only four hours sleep began to hit home. Everything started going downhill. By the end of the flight, the two older boys were semi-scuffling in their seats and the younger kids, now abruptly awakened from a deep pit of sleep, both began sobbing hysterically. I half-dragged them both off the plane by the hand (plus the five pieces of hand luggage…actually we forgot one bag, but the other passengers figured out that the Disney Princess bag must belong to us). Disappointingly, Paris CDG does not bring strollers to the gate, so I continued to drag them down a ramp and all the way into the passport hall. There was one border officer processing EU entrants, and absolutely none working on all other passports. The two youngest children laid on the floor, Victoria screaming piercingly and Gaston howling. Even my ‘last resort’ box of “Mike and Ike” candy didn’t really help. After about fifteen minutes a second officer turned up, and we were mysteriously moved to the front of the line. A blessing for everyone. It was lucky that I had a six year old who could push a stroller holding two younger siblings out of the terminal, because I couldn’t have managed the luggage cart at the same time.

6 – Taxi to the Gite (50 minutes): Everyone was more content, and there was a lively discussion amongst the children about whether unicorns, fairies and dragons actually exist, inspired by Popcorn the Unicorn. Victoria started crying again when Conrad said that they did not. Meanwhile we were driving past industrial areas near the airport, and a landscape of flat fields, and then into country villages of stone-built houses and old churches.

It would have been hard to miss our arrival at the gite: in front of us was a massive, superb square tower more than 100 feet high, connected to a round turret and the end wall of the original chateau built in 1311. The gite is set in the back corner of a large courtyard surrounded by more stone buildings, some of which appear to have been originally attached to the tower.

Michael emerged, and the children set off running towards him over the cobbles. Gaston promptly tripped and lay there sobbing, but the journey was over.

I have plenty more to write about this lovely village and its surroundings, the pain au chocolat of course, our progress with registering the children for the local schools and Michael’s first university lectures. So far, it has all been fantastic. For now, I plan to catch up on sleep!

Paris is always a good idea! (even with kids?)

September 5, 2017November 4, 201710 Comments

So, the day has come! Our family is about to leave the USA to spend autumn in France.

We’re staying in a small village in Champagne country, east of Paris. There weren’t many choices for furnished houses with three bedrooms in the area. Fortunately, we found a pretty house at the base of a dramatic stone 14^th century tower, the “donjon”. Of course, all smart people choose places to stay based on proximity to centuries-old, ruined castles.

Michael will be teaching two courses at a French university (a politically focused university, distinguished as President Macron’s alma mater), on the Paris and Reims campuses . The rest of the time, we’ll all be broadening our horizons, practicing our French, and learning about a different culture. Or more likely, we’ll be struggling with the same utter chaos and frustration of raising young, willful children, in a much smaller house with less family support and fewer distractions (but with wayyyyy better bread).

Yes, I’ll be taking these four on a long haul flight, on my own…

In any case, adventure awaits! Many questions about the trip remain unanswered. Here are perhaps my top four:

1. How we’ll cope with downsizing our home by three quarters: We’re used to a 4,000sq ft house. This house is 1,000 sq ft. It will be a lot cozier. On top of that, we’ll have epically fewer toys. Will it be a nightmare of antsy, trapped kids? Or will it somehow be better? After all, simplifying your life is all the fashion these days…
2. How the kids will manage at a French school (no, they do not speak French..) Perhaps it’ll be misery all around and I’ll end up home-schooling them (preferably not – probably not my strong point). Or they’ll muddle through, learn some French and have an awesome time playing football at recess/breaktime. Hopefully…
3. How we’ll survive Sunday mass in a French village church: We truly do our best, but we’ve long accepted that one of our family’s roles in the church community is making other parents feel good about their children’s behavior during mass. Some highlights from back at home:
  - The “three child sandwich”, performed on Christmas Eve in the front pew;
  - Gaston (aged one, last year) getting his head between the side chapel railings before communion. He was crouched there hollering, and for some reason I couldn’t get his head out. It took me a few moments to figure out that the railings were tapered, and I had to slide him back upwards to extract him;
  - Gaston (yes, again) starting mass by repeatedly shouting “DOUGHNUTS! I WANT DOUGHNUTS!” Doughnuts are often served after mass. Gaston disagreed with the order of proceedings.
I imagine French children being both gentle and obedient. We will see…

4. Last but not least, what happens if you eat pain au chocolat every day for three months? Do you end up a little sick, more “curvy”, or simply very contented? I would not want to presuppose the answer. I’ll let you know. I do really like pain au chocolat.

One point on which I’m certain: my solo flight to Paris (via London) with four children (6,4,3,2 years) is going to be torturous. (Mike left a couple of days ago). Two children cannot fit on one lap. They’ll get increasingly tired. But once we’re in the air they can’t throw us off the plane, so I guess we’ll get there in the end!

A bientôt, la France!