MegaTrip 2010: Part One of Many

We've been everywhere but home for upwards of two weeks, so I'm going to have to back way, way up. I'm also going to blabber on endlessly, but you're used to that part.

Let's rewind to Valentine's Day. February 14, 2010--we're pretty sure Dustin's parents are dead.

Dinner's on the table and Henry's wearing more clothes than usual. They're over an hour late and we've had no word at all about what's going on; I'm biting my nails in the back room muttering to myself about road conditions while Dustin has the repeated urge to call them on their cell phone, then remembers that it's impossible.

They showed up eventually. They'd only gotten lost after all and had been circling the block in confusion for 15 minutes (which is almost inevitable around here.) Toilets first, hugs later. Henry hadn't seen his grandparents in almost 6 months.

Debbie was a big hit with Henry--and by "big hit" I mean he tolerated her...he's got some pretty severe Stranger Danger going on right now. However, he welcomed Don with a howling, screeching, horrible scream. Such a charming child we have.

Despite eventually settling down, here's the level of warmth Henry continued to show towards his grandpa for several days:

He's majorly bummed. Which is funny when you consider that by the end of this trip they were best buds and whenever we got in the car, Henry would peek at Don in the rear view mirror and smile and laugh.

We spent the next day in Bar-le-Duc getting ready for our trip and showing Dustin's parents around our frozen little town. I'm sure it couldn't have been much fun after flying in from Arizona.

Our town was blanketed in snow.

Dustin likes to help people.



The next day we dropped off our library books so that Debbie and Don could see the chateau, and then it was off to Germany!

And now I'm off myself to go get some real work done, so you'll have to stay tuned for the next part. I know it's really exciting so far. Don't forget to breathe.

Overheard @ My Classroom

I have a small class of mainly-immigrant children who are advanced for their age. So it's always surprising to realize that their age is actually 6 or 7 and that it's perfectly normal for them to say crazy things during coloring activities...like the conversation they had this morning:

Boy #1: I'm so handsome. I'll probably get married soon.

Girl #1: Tee hee hee, he said "married!"

Boy #2: You could also get divorced.

Girl #1: Oh yeah! I know about divorce. It's kind of like getting married.

Boy #2: I don't have a mommy.

Boy #1: Yes you do. I've seen your mommy. Your mommy's black.

Boy #2: Cusses in Arabic

Rest of the Class: TEACHER!!! TEACHER!!! HE JUST CUSSED IN ARABIC!


There's not enough of me to solve these problems, but it's fun to watch them interact.

Dry, Boring, Official, Cultural...Observations

Because this post is all of those things.

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this--and maybe I shouldn't, but here goes--my blog counts for homework.

Ohhhh no. Did you all just think I had lots to say? Well never fear, I could (and have) talked endlessly for hours to poor, defenseless victims whose only crime was asking me one question. Seriously, dying of boredom is not a fun way to die.

So, on with the execution. It's been a while since my last post and I suddenly realized, where are all my cultural observations? To be perfectly honest, I never really had much culture shock, but there are two or three things that stand out to me. Lately, most of them center around Catholic culture in this area; by "this area" I mean the boonies.

I'm doing a research paper on the lingering effects of Catholicism in French education; I picked this topic 'cause it's a total softball. Catholic culture in general is quite interesting. In France in particular, it means you get a lot of public shrines decorated to the teeth, so there you go, already the effects are everywhere.

You also get a lot of people who hang around their local church for the sheer cultural history of it all, as opposed to any actual belief system. I felt kind of guilty interloping on their midnight mass when really, I have absolutely no intention of becoming a regular churchgoer. C'est la vie. I'd have to guess that, given the rapid rate at which their parishes are shrinking, they'd welcome any kind of positive attention. Even from touristy gawkers like me.

The clergy task force is drying up. Less and less men are willing to even be Catholic, let alone take the priestly leap into eternal bachelorhood, so with a severe lack of qualified priests, they can't keep regular congregational meetings in every village. Sophie took us out to Commercy for midnight mass, because even though there's a darling Gothic church in every town center, most of them have fallen into disuse. They rotate the midnight mass to a different location every year.

So there are less priests. And the congregational skill sets are dwindling as well. Here's Commercy's ancient beast of an organ, which nobody knew how to play:
And so, as I believe I mentioned previously, they opted for Soulful Passionate Guitar Playing Man. He was a delightful replacement. Even though it usually takes two hands to play a guitar, he somehow managed to combine elements of interpretive dance with his performance. Oh, and at strategic points in the ceremony he sang backup into his microphone...it was a sung mass. On a soulfulness/sheer effort scale of 1-10, Guitar Man just goes way off that scale.

Now on to more serious matters. When they say the Catholic faith has a thing for Mary, you better believe that's the understatement of the century. I lost track of all the Mary shrines. Every nook, crack and cranny had one, which at certain times contained an element of peek-a-boo--this situation where you turn the corner and BOO! There's Mary again. In such a dimly lit, cavernous place, these things just sort of jump out at you.


This last one's got Joseph snuggled up in there too:

Speaking of Mary, I should really start documenting her presence around the village. Bar-le-Duc's main bridge has this fairly awesome Mary shrine built on it. Every couple streets you'll find a similar shrine; each one is the Madonna of something else (Madonna of the Rocks, Madonna of the Poor, etc. etc.)

I forget her official title but I really dig the Madonna statue who, as legend has it, opened her stony mouth in the 1500's to warn the village knights that invaders were coming over the hill behind the castle (which, unfortunately, burned in the Revolution). They say that because of this warning, the knights had just enough time to get their gear on and make a counter-attack; otherwise all would have been lost.

It's a charming story. Still, every time I see her statue and try to picture that little stone mouth talking, it seems to me that such a thing would be unbearably creepy. Especially given what she said. And the fact that her statue was originally part of the castle wall, which I've seen, and which is located in the midst of some intensely eerie dark woods. Gah!

All right, so my enthusiasm for this subject is petering out, but I just wanted to leave you with one last thing:

Yep, that's life-size.

I'll be back next time with some less obvious remarks, but until then, stay safe!

Better Late Than Never

It's Wednesday and la voila. Video of the surprise party Sophie threw for Henry the Saturday after he became a big, grown-up, one-year-old boy. And you know something? Almost the next day he started acting like a big kid who is now entitled to do all kinds of big kid things; among them, feeding himself and deciding what time he goes to bed. How did he know he was one? Who gave the secret away? Whoever you are, thanks for making him grow up too fast. He's a bossy little baby--I mean, uh, big kid--but we love him.

Additionally, thanks to the Claus family for that blueberry-filled cake. They heard about the tradition of letting babies destroy chocolate cake on their first birthday and decided that blueberries might just be even messier...and they were so, so right. Henry highly approved.

Ironic, Especially If We Use Alanis Morissette's Loose Definition

I know it's been a couple weeks since Henry's birthday and I should really upload some kind of visual evidence that I have a son, and that he's one, and that I care like a good mommy. Because D) all of the above.

But here's the thing: right now in my life we have this situation where I'd really like to go use the massage gift card Sophie gave me and release some of that mounting stress-related tension in the left side of my lower back, except ironically enough I don't have time to schedule the appointment.

So, do I have time to upload the video of Henry mashing chocolate mousse into his hair? Not at the moment. Should I really be blogging at all? Probably not. We're leaving in 15 minutes to go play billiards at the Claus house as a matter of routine, when honestly I should be preparing my talk for tomorrow instead. Oh, and my lesson. Oh, and my lessons for school on Monday. And the two-week trip to Italy that we're taking in February.

At this point in time I think I've almost decided to let the kids just color on Monday so that I can do the little things like post about Henry's birthday and get a dang massage. What I guess I mean is that so help me Hippocrates, if that freaking "Henry Had a Birthday Shout Hooray" post isn't magically here by next Wednesday (as I keep fruitlessly hoping)...I guess I'll have to break down and finally write it before my brain stops functioning out of sheer shame.

Happy Saturday!

Hear That? It's The Sound of My Mind Getting Blown

I'm really starting to like my job. Once you get into the swing of things and the students get used to you, everybody tends to get along and have fun. There are days where my life feels like a Disney channel movie or something with the singing children and the happy faces and oh, why not, let's throw in some friendly cartoon birds to erase my chalk board.

I don't know if I mentioned this but at one of my schools I'm now the actual teacher instead of the assistant. That's been really funny because the kids aren't used to having young teachers and they keep trying to treat me like their big sister; they want to crawl all over me and play on my lap instead of do their work.

It's like being a rock star. It's fun to be loved, but it's extremely stressful at times because I literally can't walk through the front courtyard without two kids riding on each leg asking me for candy. Forget about making copies before class starts. Just forget it.

Also, I find them talking about me. The other day I passed a group of five-year-old boys in the hallway and heard them excitedly whisper something about "D'ancelle," which is how they think my name is spelled/pronounced (it's a tough name in any language I guess.) A lot of five-year-olds don't know that you can still hear them if they whisper. I understand completely because I'm the same way.

I decided to stop and say hi. "Bonjour," I called out. The little boys jumped guiltily and turned around. None of them are in my classes, so they don't know a whole lot about me except that I'm way taller than they are. They just sat there looking waaaay up with their mouths open.

"Ca va?" I asked. And then they started talking about me as if I weren't there.

"That's the English teacher," one little boy said, pointing at The Specimen (me.) "She comes from England."

"No, she comes from the other side of the world," another boy corrected. Then they all went "Ooooohhh."

The third little boy perked up as if a lightbulb had just blinked on over his head or something. "She--she speaks English!" he announced brightly.

"English is hard," said another. "Really hard."

"I also speak French," I said in French. I assumed they may have forgotten that I spoke French to them earlier and could understand everything they said.

The minute the words came out of my mouth they all jumped back and stared at me with huge eyes. Then the tiniest little boy of all made a strangling noise and pointed at me, his finger shaking.

"She--she--SHE SPEAKS CHINESE!!!" he squealed. And they all ran off in terror.

I'm still not sure what to think. Maybe this is supposed to show me just how bad my accent is, if I speak French and people think it's Chinese.

Mishmash

This particular series of events defies my best organizational attempts. I'm just going to blurt it out as usual. No finesse.

Saturday night we hopped on a TER train to get to Lionel and Sophie's house, completely unaware that TER models are the oldest on the line. Okay, so lesson learned--because when our train made a brief 30-second stop at our destination without any prior announcement, we quickly discovered that the exit door was BROKEN.

The doors didn't want to open, their tracks seemed rusty. Dustin had to rip it apart with both hands and dive through. Then, to my horror, there wasn't enough time to get myself and the baby off the train before the doors clunked shut again. Dustin ended up clinging to the side of a moving train and had to jump. Talk about an adventure.

There we were, separated. Dustin is starting to learn French, but to leave the poor thing on his own is a bit strong. Everything turned out okay because I regained presence of mind enough to use a cell phone and we met up in Toul, then drove back to the Claus house.

But I was still rattled to say the least, and have wondered many times since then exactly how brain damaged that conductor must be. He broke at least 3 rules I can think of: announce your stop, give a full two minutes to exit (which still isn't much), and check your sides for passengers before you start the train again!!!!!! Well, I guess we're in the boonies. To put it politely.

Thankfully, Sophie and Lionel are stuck here with us or it might be insupportable. We had an awesome time at their house Saturday night, beginning with a huge animated conversation wherein we discovered that Lionel was an army sergeant in Africa, on the Somalian border.

He was sort of like "Oh, silly me, I can't believe I forgot to mention that! Now let me just casually tell you how much I bench press and let's talk about guns." Unreal. He's going to dig around and try to find his slides so that he and Dustin can bliss out even further on the topic.

Lionel is extremely friendly. Once on the subject of motorcycles or bench pressing, he's apt to do crazy things like suddenly shout out "Dustin my boy! You better show up next weekend in your workout clothes cause I'm going to whip you into shape!!!" And oh, by the way, that totally happened. I'm now torn between conflicting anxieties over mud quad riding versus home gym injuries, whichever happens first.

And then, to make my Alice-in-Wonderland experience complete, we ambled upstairs and played billiards.

Yup. English billiards. I had no clue how to play and I now do reasonably well, further proof that some sort of alternate dimension warp must have taken place Saturday night. The very idea of me playing a game that requires hand-eye coordination is definite proof that something ain't normal.

So, it was great. Sophie barricaded the staircase with coffee tables until it looked like the second coming of the French Revolution and Lionel turned on Lady Gaga, of all things, and also what sounded like the French version of Lady Gaga. Henry toddled around with a stuffed animal grinning his head off and stopping frequently to shake his booty like a party girl. And I got balls into pockets. And there is no double entendre there so stop looking for it.

All in all, magical. And that concludes our broadcast day.