This Sunday was Fête des Mères, Mother’s Day. 

But first, let’s do a little weekend housekeeping. The weekend started off on Saturday (I believe weekends starting off on a Saturday is a world wide thing, no?).

Daniel had offered to take Diaz for a few hours so I could have a bit of time to myself. He tries to do this every weekend. We used to have a Family Day too, but… since he works from home, we see each other so much every day, we decided to instead have a non-family day instead. Daniel gets to have one-on-one time with Diaz and I get to have a bit of “free” time (Read: housework.)

That afternoon after an aggressive, physical struggle with the most stubbornest vacuum ever. (We managed to buy a finicky little vacuum that shuts down when it starts to actually vacuum. How very French.)

I walked down to the centre of town to find the last day of the kid’s book fair. In the corner by the water fountain a woman with some beautiful plants and flowers was set up. Our house is lacking greenery and looking like a not so subtle and not so great page out of an Ikea catalogue, so I was happy to pick up some plants to add some personality to the house.

 Oh.. heh..How did that glass of wine get in there? That’s weird. 

Moving along.

The centre of town is dominated by the massive cathedral and Hotel de Ville. This is a very popular place for weddings. As I walked around looking at the kid’s books, three wedding parties walked by. 

The Archbishop’s Palace’s garden is where it seemed all the wedding parties ended up for photos. The wedding party up ahead were loudly clapping, drumming and singing/chanting to the bride and groom. This beggar is a clever fellow and parked himself just along the walkway as all the fancy wedding people tottered along the widely set stone pathway. 

By the time I made my way back home, Daniel and Diaz were too. On the street Diaz and I saw a group of young girls all dressed up and adorned with plastic flowers. Diaz desperately wanted to go after them. We hurried back to the square where these girls were posing for photos.

I have no idea why they were dressed this way, but Diaz was in love. She grabbed my phone and started to take photos. The gorgeous girl in white noticed and stopped for a pose. This moment melted me. I needed another camera to capture Diaz capturing this (not-wedding related) flower girl.

Fast forward to Sunday, Fête des Mères!

Daniel had taken Diaz for a few hours again, and I was at a loss on what to do with another few hours of free time. Sundays in France are when not much but bakeries and restaurants are open. It’s a big market day that runs until lunch time, and the grocery stores are close by then too. By the time I got Diaz and Daniel out the door, and myself too, the market was closing up. I dashed into Les Halles for a brick of cheese and wandered around feeling a bit… well, lonely. As I walked up the under-construction pathway, I noticed my most favourite busker, Accordion Girl.

I dropped some change into her hat and stood on the side to listen for awhile. But she seemed just as lonely as I was feeling, or maybe I was projecting my feelings into her music… yeah, now that I think about it, projecting sounds about right. For all I know she was playing the polka and I was hearing a forlorn croon. 

So I decided to head back to the town square where it seemed everyone was walking towards. Turns out a huge play area was set up for kids of all ages, there was the smells of food wafting from the now book-less tents and some very non-forlorn music was coming from the small stage. 

Here is where I was introduced to the french group, La Mal Coiffée (which translates to The Evil Wearing). These 5 women had my inner lonely girl smiling, clapping and desperate for my family. I sent Daniel a text and he promised to come meet me after Diaz woke from her nap.

Diaz was jumping out of the stroller to get out and play with all the toys and enjoy the music and make some music of her own.

As the afternoon progressed, a few more musicians were playing various styles. African, rap, Arabic, and a drum band (not sure what it’s actually called, where the lead drummer uses a whistle?).

But the best, oh the very very make my day best, was while the drum band were beating and whistling along, these dancers appeared. Oh how I love these dancers.

From what I could tell, this dance was based on wiggling and jiggling your feathers about. And then, a guy in blue feathers would come and wiggle and jiggle his feathers about. Maybe it was a mating dance? Or a welcoming to a new mother, or baby? Or a “My kid pee peed on the potty dance!”? That makes me woop and jiggle and dance about these days. I’ll put on feathers, fishnets and a smile for that.

When we came home, I was surprised by a beautiful bouquet of flowers and an adorable homemade card that I hope to keep forever of Diaz ever lets me have it back. 

And then it was Monday. Fête des Mères hangover. Diaz and I went to the park and after a few running steps, Diaz tripped and kissed the playground ground hard. We sat on a bench in the warm breeze and I watched her lip swell into this:

Ooof. By bedtime, her lip is a little cut up but the size isn’t looking quite so Orange County.

I had a sad realization on this apres Fête des Mères: we are down to the last drop of real Canadian maple syrup that my stepbrother Leif and his girlfriend Elvina had sent along with my parents.

In less than 6 weeks, we polished off 1L of the glorious dark sticky sweet syrup. Now it’s back to roughing it with the water liquid they call Maple syrup for our pancakes, whipped fromage, yogurt, french toast and anything else we can smear it on.

While the French might not have an upper hand on maple syrup, they definitely know how to celebrate. The fêtes here are festive, fun and often! I love that so much went into Mother’s day; I think myself and many many other women here felt appreciated, acknowledged and most of all celebrated.

~K~

The days where I could dress Diaz up in super cute outfits are over. The Little Miss has her own idea of what she wants to wear and what is “super cute” and “adorable”.  

She does to clothes what I do to music: she will wear a certain pair of pants, a dress or a top until she is tired of it and won’t want to wear it ever again. I’ve taken to sneaking clothes out of her dresser and hiding them away so they don’t waste away in the bottom of her drawer before she’s had a chance to outgrow them.

Here is a look at a few gems:

^ At least I could see her no matter where in town we were. In fact, I think space picked up a signal from her lemon-yellow beach cover-up ensemble.

^ Oh how our girl loves my sun hat and heeled shoes. Our neighbours below us have been very very kind at not mentioning the noise of Diaz clomping around the apartment in my shoes. I have done my best at returning their kindness by keeping my shoes tucked away until I am certain the neighbours have gone to open up their chocolate shop. (Wise to keep in the chocolatiers good books, I figure.)

^ Diaz and I spent a very windy afternoon in the seaside village of Gruissan a couple of weeks ago. We found this dress in a gift shop for only 5 euro! I was so pleased with my find, I think it rubbed off on Diaz. She insisted on wearing it, and has done her very best to wear nothing else since. I have decided to hide it for a while to get a break. 

^ Gypsy girl. In Gruissan, I bought a head scarf for myself. I haven’t had a chance to wear it once. It gets taken right off my head, and Diaz looks very earnestly at me while saying, “No, Mama. Diaz wear it.”

^ I haven’t had any success in teaching Diaz what a pair of tights are meant for. She insists that they are pants. I can’t help but giggle as she walks around town and plays at the park in her little leggings and top. I love that she loves to wear them exactly like this. 

~K~

As fast as they arrived my parents were back on the train. The TGV shot off out of the station extra fast it seemed… and I felt like I was left, Diaz in my arms and a lump of lead in my chest. I wanted to say hang on, we want some more time with The Grandparents, that we weren’t ready, we were just getting started!

Diaz and I sat down on a bench and watched the trains come and go for a half an hour until I realized I was confusing Diaz: that we weren’t sitting waiting for Grandma and Grandpa to get off another train, or that Marco was on his way. But that I just needed to have a sit, and let some tears roll down my cheeks; I needed the idea of it just being us again to sink in, as that very idea seemed to be lodged in my throat.

~K~

Marco

After The Grandparents came back from their few day jaunt around the Languedoc region, we were happy to have them back home again. The next morning they had a friend come from Switzerland to stay with us for a couple of nights. We had met Marco in the summer when we stayed with The Grandparents for a couple of weeks before our flight left for France. 

Diaz was adamant that she remembered Marco from that time, so she wanted to get dressed up for his arrival. This is what she chose:

A cloth diaper, two pairs of panties, a fleece vest and a toque…… I have no words….

Whether Diaz really recalls Marco from a year ago or not, she took to him like they are the best of pals (I had convinced her a dress might be a better option to greet her new BFF). She had Marco feeding, entertaining and colouring with her within the first half hour of his arrival. Marco, being the kind soul that he is, happily joined in on all of these two-year old activities with ease.

What Diaz didn’t mention to Marco, was that she is quite capable of feeding herself. To be honest, even if she did, I don’t think it would have changed much. They seemed to both be happy connecting over a plate of yogurt; so who am I to ruin it for them?

Exactly.

A cute surprise: I found a half dozen or so self shots of the two of them on my phone. 

And we took a few self shots ourselves from the couch/bed where The Grandparents slept. The couch was like the centre of the Universe during the time of their visit. It was a family place during the day, a sick bed, a movie theatre, a reading space, and a bed.

And once little Miss was asleep, it was time for the adults to catch up. When I was putting Diaz down that night, she told me I needed to be more quiet when I was singing her songs because Marco was sleeping.

Little did she know, 

Marco was certainly not asleep. 

We were sad to see Marco go, but so happy and grateful he made the 10+ hour train ride down from Switzerland for a visit. We are lucky to have made a friend of Marco through our parents. He is a welcome addition to our family, and we look forward to more visits with him.

Scroll down if you’d like to read the previous weeks’ posts.

~K~

Week 2; Part 2

I’ve had a tricky time catching up since a little computer whizz with bouncy blond ringlets managed to turn my keypad from letters to numbers. Trying to google “how to switch keypad from numbers to letters” when it looks like, “h9w t9 sw7tch 5ey9ad fr93 163bers t9 6etters” wasn’t getting me to a solution as soon as I would have liked. 

Out of frustration, I held down the function key and banged down on every key until the problem was fixed. Really, I should have just asked Diaz to have a look at it.

Anyways, back to my parent’s vacation. Where was I.

Everyone was feeling better; the weather was still chilly; and we were all antsy to get out and explore. So, Grandparents, Diaz and I walked the short distance to the train station. When we arrived there, we had - at first - a 15 minute wait for the train. Then 20 minutes. Then another 30, oops, nope, back to 20. 

We all watched the announcement board, staring it down, daring the delay time to change, willing the train to arrive. Trains were coming and going and Diaz would determine whether or not we should board based on the train’s size. “Too big” she would say, scrunching up her nose and giving her head a shake. Or, she would pinch her fingers together and hold them up to her face, her eyes squinting, “No, too little. Teeny tiny train.” 

A good hour later, our train arrived and we were off on a train just the right size. We clickety clacked up the country side. From Narbonne to Carcassonne, not including train delays, the trip was about 30 minutes.

^ Walking through Carcassonne to the Cite (which you can see the peaks of the castle in the background).

The Cite de Carcassonne is a spectacular site and a very short walk from the train station in Carcassonne. The first time I was introduced to this medieval city was back when we were living in Crescent Valley (Canada). Daniel had bought a board game, called Carcassonne. To be really truly honest, I thought it was a made up city. We didn’t learn much about French history in school, and if we did… well, there was a chance I missed that class.

While Daniel and I played the game, he told me what he knew about the city. It all sounded quite boring to me at the time. I felt like he was droning on to throw me off my game.

My mom and stepdad on the other hand, adore history. Mom couldn’t wait to literally get her hands on the Cite walls. While we walked around, she rest her hand on the massive stones and just stay there, looking up into the sunlight. 

Being there in person, I found the Cite to be fascinating. Inside the massive walls, are narrow streets dotted with tiny shops and tourists like ourselves. 

^ Diaz had a great time pulling us around from place to place. She and Grandma managed to find a wine cave rather quickly.

^ Impossible to escape the Languedoc wind.

^ And of course, what would be a trip to a French village without a few creative characters about? It was at about this moment the photo was taken when the man shooting whatever type of video of this woman in leggings, heels and a pvc cube asked us to move out of the shot.

We were heading out of the Cite and came across these fellows:

^ A couple of very talented buskers outside the Cite walls. 

^ Just past the buskers is a very large, very well looked after graveyard. I’m really not into graveyards. I think it’s bad juju or something. Walking through a place that is filled with the ashes or whatnots of deceased people is peculiar to me. Diaz, not knowing the difference saw it as a place to run like we were in a playground… which felt even worse, disrepectful. After a brief tour, I had to go. Like a big grand metaphysical shove out the graveyard’s gates. 

A couple of days later, my parents rented a car to go have a mini tour with just the two of them. Diaz had come down with a cold and was up most of the night from being so stuffy. I was tired and grumpy, Diaz was a snot factory and Daniel was having to deal with us two and work.  The timing to go for a few days drive into the French countryside couldn’t have been better for our guests. 

~K~

Week 2; part 1

After my parents got over the jet lag and appeared to be more settled in, both Diaz and my stepdad got sick. Lanny was coming down with a chest cold and seemed to be feeling off overall. 

Diaz woke up in the middle of the night and came into our room saying, “Ooops. Ooops.” She was pointing to her bedroom and pulling her pajama top away from her belly. She didn’t know what to say when I asked her what was “Ooops.” I soon found out when I scooped her up and felt the warm sticky Ooops on her hands and pajamas and now my pajamas.

She had her first throw up (no, I didn’t save any for the baby book). Since she hasn’t been sick like this before, she didn’t know what to say but Ooops and show me everywhere she saw or felt sticky. She would point and say, “Ooops, here. Here. Here, Mama, here.” Which sounds more like, Heewr.

She was ill a handful of times throughout the night. At about 3am, she and Daniel had a mock Ooopsy-in-the-sauce pot lesson. I needed her to be comfortable with me sticking the sauce pot that she usually sees me cook pasta in under her little face when she was about to be sick. At this point, we were out of clean, dry bedding, and we were both on our last pair of Oops-free pajamas. 

Diaz particularly enjoyed the sound effects that was going into this little late night teaching session of sauce pot-target practice. I was surprised her spirits were so good for someone who wasn’t able to keep much down and hadn’t slept much either. 

As I lay beside her while she slept, I got to thinking she may never want any of my pasta dishes from here on in, but she hasn’t mentioned anything thus far. 

^ The sickies in quarantine watching Disney films. Diaz recovered much quicker because she has super-toddler super powers. She was back running off her feet the next day, although she was asking for more movies non-stop afterwards and still is.

^ Grandpa’s recovery, however, took a touch longer. So, we nestled him in with the butterflies, because butterflies make everything better, and the next few days was spent with lots of girly time.

We went to the salon for Grandma to get a new haircut. Mom was exhausted, but made it through a relaxing head massage that made me drool just watching it, and a fresh new haircut. What a trooper.

^ Somehow Diaz knew exactly what to do while we waited for Grandma’s turn.

^ And the after! Refreshed and ready to head out into France. 

And we shopped…

^ For shoes…

^ And handbags…

^ And at the market.

While we were back at home, Diaz kept Grandma busy colouring

and of course, baking…

And Diaz and Grandma plotted out a trip to Carcassonne…

The girly time is some of the best times, but I was feeling bad for Lanny. It’s no fun being sick and on vacation. But he was on the mend after a few days and ready to get out and do some exploring.

Week 2; part 2 coming up!

~K~

Everything looks beautiful.

And because some buildings deserve a post all for themselves. 

This set of apartments here in Narbonne looks like it’s a prop with 2x4s holding it up on the backside. I took this photo on one of my last strolls with my mom and Diaz around town. We had three weeks of cool overcast days, and naturally on their last day here, the weather was gorgeous. The sun lights the town up and puts these old buildings on display.

~K~

Week 1

My mom and stepdad are back home in Canada again, hopefully getting some proper rest without the multiple night wakings of a toddler. Life is seeming quieter, even a bit duller now that they are gone.

We had a great visit that went by all to fast. I feel like they had just arrived before we were sending them off on the TGV for their long journey home. 

There is no lack of photos with all the combined cameras. So now, let’s start from the beginning:

We remember the few days of jet lag when arriving to France all too well, so the first week they were here, we took things slow and stayed close to home.

Around town:

At the markets:

Narbonne has a very small organic market on Saturdays at Place du Forum. Going there is worth the trip just to pick up fresh organic cheese and saucisson. 

A trip to Narbonne isn’t a proper trip without stopping in at the indoor food market, Les Halles. I know I’ve mentioned Les Halles a few times here before; I am just that in love with the food here.

On Sunday morning, we all woke up early. I was excited to take us out on this very windy day since it was market day. However, outside our window was the biggest flea market I have ever seen. Half of this side of the city on both sides of the street was overflowing with all sorts of goodies. We spent hours, most of the day, picking through. Regretfully, I did not buy a single thing, but I’ve heard we might have this kind of excitement again coming up this weekend. I’m just sorry my  parents won’t be here to seek out gems with us.

Diaz found a little car that she absolutely adores. Enough so to take a nap with it tucked up by her face. This was the start of a “little car” obsession that might just be the theme of the next Three Weeks In Photos posts.

~K~

Oh holy doodle this is exciting! I wouldn’t share this story and project if I didn’t feel my soul move or my heart tremble when I watched this video.

When I first played the video, a very fitting-for-the-mood train went by clickety clack clickety clack a few blocks away. I think I found my soundtrack album for life in France so far. Awna’s music tweaks my inner grassroots, barefoot sundress girl with whom I lose touch with all too often. And it makes me long for a road trip with my best friends.

I met Awna another life time ago when we were teenagers swilling back coffee at the local cafe in my home town, Penticton. Since then, I’ve watched her play live with Po’ Girl; I’ve over played her Cd’s until they skip; and kept up with Po’ Girl’s next moves on Facebook. I’ve admired Awna’s musical talent with a touch of envy and a boatload of affection. I am over the top excited about this new album and Awna’s new venture. 

She is raising money to record and release her debut solo album, “Where the Darkness Goes”. Tippity tap here if you want to read more, watch the video, and make a pledge.

~K~