I was hanging out with my family getting ready to be made honest.
Time flies when you're enjoying it.
Time flies when you're enjoying it.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Sneaky 36 Kilo Dog
I just caught Typhon licking out the rest of the soup from lunch.
Amazing how agile this massive great, size of a cow, dog really is.
The soup was in the pot, on the stove, pushed way back on the burner the furthest from the edge. He manged to lick the damn thing completely clean and not break a thing in the kitchen. Nice to know he at least appreciated my homemade pumpkin soup. (Unlike The Princess and Bubba Love!)
He's ever so quiet when he sneaks around in there. Wondering if he's actually in there on two feet, hence why I can't hear him.
Gonna have to put a bell on this dog. Maybe one like this.
Ahhhhh, this Malamute!!!!
Amazing how agile this massive great, size of a cow, dog really is.
The soup was in the pot, on the stove, pushed way back on the burner the furthest from the edge. He manged to lick the damn thing completely clean and not break a thing in the kitchen. Nice to know he at least appreciated my homemade pumpkin soup. (Unlike The Princess and Bubba Love!)
He's ever so quiet when he sneaks around in there. Wondering if he's actually in there on two feet, hence why I can't hear him.
Gonna have to put a bell on this dog. Maybe one like this.
Ahhhhh, this Malamute!!!!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Good Sign or Bad Omen
It's our wedding anniversary this weekend. Pretty amazing we haven't killed each other or filed for divorce in 6 years!
We've decided to celebrate by leaving our children with friends and then driving as fast and as far away as we can before THE BIG MATCH starts on Saturday night. You remember, England vs France in the Rugby World Cup semi-final, right? We're ever so romantic.
I will admit to being slightly worried about heading into strange French territory when such an event is looming, but as parents of small children, we need to take the chance to run away when and if it ever presents itself. Rugby war or no rugby war.
I made some calls this afternoon to track down a room in a picturesque village even more remote that our own. Hubster had seen a nice hotel online so I called to see if they had availability. Just so happens the hotel in question is closing tomorrow for their "vacances annuelles." They recommended I call the chateau hotel next door.
A very kind voice answered my call there. A kind voice with an accent I recognized. Imagine my joy and happiness when I was then able to ask the man,
"Vous parlez Anglais?"
"You had to ask me in French, didn't you?" he replied...in English.
Yes, it seems I've found us a safe house, or rather a safe chateau, for Saturday night. A chateau with a bar and England rugby fans.
God Save our Gracious Queen!
We've decided to celebrate by leaving our children with friends and then driving as fast and as far away as we can before THE BIG MATCH starts on Saturday night. You remember, England vs France in the Rugby World Cup semi-final, right? We're ever so romantic.
I will admit to being slightly worried about heading into strange French territory when such an event is looming, but as parents of small children, we need to take the chance to run away when and if it ever presents itself. Rugby war or no rugby war.
I made some calls this afternoon to track down a room in a picturesque village even more remote that our own. Hubster had seen a nice hotel online so I called to see if they had availability. Just so happens the hotel in question is closing tomorrow for their "vacances annuelles." They recommended I call the chateau hotel next door.
A very kind voice answered my call there. A kind voice with an accent I recognized. Imagine my joy and happiness when I was then able to ask the man,
"Vous parlez Anglais?"
"You had to ask me in French, didn't you?" he replied...in English.
Yes, it seems I've found us a safe house, or rather a safe chateau, for Saturday night. A chateau with a bar and England rugby fans.
God Save our Gracious Queen!
J'apprends
So after 4.5 years of learning French from the neighbours, the delivery people, the doctor, the check out lady at Atac, the repairmen, the boulanger, and a few cows on occasion, I've started formal classes.
Yes, that's right. I'm back at school.
And my head hurts.
The classes are part of French program for foreign students at the local university. Most of the students are between the ages of 18-22, coming from all over the globe. There are a few Russians, Polish, British and Americans but the overwhelming majority of the students are from China and their level of written French is impressive. It puts me to shame.
I can talk up a storm in French. (As I do in English.) I have no fear of making mistakes or asking for clarification when I'm speaking, but tackling this written aspect of the language has me, in the truest sense of the word, dumbfounded.
I'm taking two classes this semester. One is reading comprehension and the other is grammar. I enjoy the reading comprehension class. I can follow the articles and I can understand the context. But how is it possible that I can read and understand French but yet have absolutely no clue as to the proper grammar for writing this insane, intense, and beautiful language?
I sit in fear in the grammar class that the professor will call on me. In fear that these young students, who think I speak so well, will realize that I have no base of grammar, I have no clue how to form the written French, no clue as to how to spell. That I am almost illiterate. It's soul destroying at 36 to feel so inept.
Miss Tennessee 1975 told me yesterday, "It's when you get into the classes that you realize just how much you don't know."
Wiser words have never been spoken.
It's going to be a hard semester for me. I might actually have to work and learn. I might actually have to do my homework. Something I managed to escape from all the other times I was at school.
Merde.
Yes, that's right. I'm back at school.
And my head hurts.
The classes are part of French program for foreign students at the local university. Most of the students are between the ages of 18-22, coming from all over the globe. There are a few Russians, Polish, British and Americans but the overwhelming majority of the students are from China and their level of written French is impressive. It puts me to shame.
I can talk up a storm in French. (As I do in English.) I have no fear of making mistakes or asking for clarification when I'm speaking, but tackling this written aspect of the language has me, in the truest sense of the word, dumbfounded.
I'm taking two classes this semester. One is reading comprehension and the other is grammar. I enjoy the reading comprehension class. I can follow the articles and I can understand the context. But how is it possible that I can read and understand French but yet have absolutely no clue as to the proper grammar for writing this insane, intense, and beautiful language?
I sit in fear in the grammar class that the professor will call on me. In fear that these young students, who think I speak so well, will realize that I have no base of grammar, I have no clue how to form the written French, no clue as to how to spell. That I am almost illiterate. It's soul destroying at 36 to feel so inept.
Miss Tennessee 1975 told me yesterday, "It's when you get into the classes that you realize just how much you don't know."
Wiser words have never been spoken.
It's going to be a hard semester for me. I might actually have to work and learn. I might actually have to do my homework. Something I managed to escape from all the other times I was at school.
Merde.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Rugby Hangover
I'm sleepy still. Stayed up too late watching the end of the second big match of the Rugby World Cup last night.
The first match, England vs Australia, had been incredible during the afternoon. England, and the beautiful Jonny Wilkinson, pulled off a stunning upset that caused Hubster and I to dance around the lounge and Typhon to start singing without his usual church bell accompaniment.
The second match between France and New Zealand was more than I ever imagined. New Zealand was the tournament favourite and the attitude here was that France just needed to play a good game. Winning it would be another thing.
Well, they did.
(And the strangest thing is, they seemed to have my friend as their head coach. Funny that, I never knew Paul could speak French! I think he did play rugby at one point in his life, but that was more for the free beer than the glory of victory...)
So this now means that the battle lines will be drawn once again. It's England vs France in the semi-final next weekend. Hubster vs the Village. " Le Roast Beef" vs "The Frogs."
I'm going to have to practice God Save the Queen with the kids this week.
And I have a sneaking suspicion that Typhon isn't just howling with the bells. He's actually singing La Marseillaise. Might have to hide the dog during the match next weekend.
This could get ugly.
The first match, England vs Australia, had been incredible during the afternoon. England, and the beautiful Jonny Wilkinson, pulled off a stunning upset that caused Hubster and I to dance around the lounge and Typhon to start singing without his usual church bell accompaniment.
The second match between France and New Zealand was more than I ever imagined. New Zealand was the tournament favourite and the attitude here was that France just needed to play a good game. Winning it would be another thing.
Well, they did.
(And the strangest thing is, they seemed to have my friend as their head coach. Funny that, I never knew Paul could speak French! I think he did play rugby at one point in his life, but that was more for the free beer than the glory of victory...)
So this now means that the battle lines will be drawn once again. It's England vs France in the semi-final next weekend. Hubster vs the Village. " Le Roast Beef" vs "The Frogs."
I'm going to have to practice God Save the Queen with the kids this week.
And I have a sneaking suspicion that Typhon isn't just howling with the bells. He's actually singing La Marseillaise. Might have to hide the dog during the match next weekend.
This could get ugly.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
The Princess Speaks
Yesterday, while the kids were having dinner, we started discussing things they'd like for Christmas. Mini-Husband said that he would like to go see the Eiffel Tower. The Princess said she'd like to go see the magic place where Mini-Husband got to go when she was still in my tummy. (That would be Walt Disney World)
I said, "Hey, you know what? There's a Disney World near Paris. What we could do is maybe ask Daddy to take us there at Christmas and at the same time go see the Eiffel Tower."
The Princess was beyond excited. Beaming all over her face, she replies, "Yes! Yes! I'll ask for that for Christmas. I'll ask to go to the Magic Place, Mini-Husband can ask to go to the Eiffel Tower, and Bubba-Love can ask for ca-ca smeertz!"
Ca-ca smeertz?
"Ok, sweetie, why is Bubba Love asking for ca-ca smeertz?"
"I don't know," she bubbles, arms gesturing from her little shoulders and pointing to the little guy. "He can't talk!"
I said, "Hey, you know what? There's a Disney World near Paris. What we could do is maybe ask Daddy to take us there at Christmas and at the same time go see the Eiffel Tower."
The Princess was beyond excited. Beaming all over her face, she replies, "Yes! Yes! I'll ask for that for Christmas. I'll ask to go to the Magic Place, Mini-Husband can ask to go to the Eiffel Tower, and Bubba-Love can ask for ca-ca smeertz!"
Ca-ca smeertz?
"Ok, sweetie, why is Bubba Love asking for ca-ca smeertz?"
"I don't know," she bubbles, arms gesturing from her little shoulders and pointing to the little guy. "He can't talk!"
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
I think I'm the New Britney
Sing it with me, "Opps, I did it again..."
Yes, that's right. I'm 36 years old and I still fall off my bike on a regular basis.
Here I was, Sunday afternoon, all ready to head out with the dogs for a little jaunt. I figured I needed to get over my cow poop incident and take the bull by the horns, or rather in this case, the dogs by the harnesses.
I hooked up my very excited "team" and off we went. We made it up the little street towards the centre of the village, made the right hand corner towards the boulangerie, and then I saw the cat.
Now, I know how my dogs feel about cat. Cat on stick, cat sushi roll, cat burger, cat sauteed with onions, cat soup, even cat just with ketchup is good for them. So, I being the nice animal lover that I am, figured now would be a good time to hit the brakes and make sure none of those aforementioned items appeared on the dogs' menu for Sunday dinner.
Hit the brakes I did. Hard. And only the front one. That's right. The brake that me, the lefty, squeezed within an inch of it's life.
Imagine if you will, an ever so adorable woman of 36 years, going full force, head first, in a tremendous display of acrobatics and tumbling, over the front handlebars and onto the road. Smack in front of the boulangerie. Good thing it's closed on Sunday afternoons. Bad thing, the boulanger's daughter was hanging out her window. Talk about embarrassed.
The bleeding mess formerly known as Dig did continue her little adventure with her two dogs that day. No further incidents were reported though there is blood all over the handles. That, thank GOD, is the only damage sustained by my bike.
So here we are 3 days later and my knee is healing nicely even though the palms of my hands still look a little bit like cat burger.
I made a point of getting back out on the bike today with the Musher Lady who lives near by. She's got two Sibs who needed a little trail adventure. So Anouk and I took them on an awesome ride. I couldn't face the possibility of sustaining even more injuries today with this already weakened body, so Typhon was asked to guard the couch. Bless him.
So here we go again. Doing it dog by dog. Fall by fall. Bike repair by bike repair. Off to find the antiseptic cream. Think that lampshade Typhon wore could fit me too?
Yes, that's right. I'm 36 years old and I still fall off my bike on a regular basis.
Here I was, Sunday afternoon, all ready to head out with the dogs for a little jaunt. I figured I needed to get over my cow poop incident and take the bull by the horns, or rather in this case, the dogs by the harnesses.
I hooked up my very excited "team" and off we went. We made it up the little street towards the centre of the village, made the right hand corner towards the boulangerie, and then I saw the cat.
Now, I know how my dogs feel about cat. Cat on stick, cat sushi roll, cat burger, cat sauteed with onions, cat soup, even cat just with ketchup is good for them. So, I being the nice animal lover that I am, figured now would be a good time to hit the brakes and make sure none of those aforementioned items appeared on the dogs' menu for Sunday dinner.
Hit the brakes I did. Hard. And only the front one. That's right. The brake that me, the lefty, squeezed within an inch of it's life.
Imagine if you will, an ever so adorable woman of 36 years, going full force, head first, in a tremendous display of acrobatics and tumbling, over the front handlebars and onto the road. Smack in front of the boulangerie. Good thing it's closed on Sunday afternoons. Bad thing, the boulanger's daughter was hanging out her window. Talk about embarrassed.
The bleeding mess formerly known as Dig did continue her little adventure with her two dogs that day. No further incidents were reported though there is blood all over the handles. That, thank GOD, is the only damage sustained by my bike.
So here we are 3 days later and my knee is healing nicely even though the palms of my hands still look a little bit like cat burger.
I made a point of getting back out on the bike today with the Musher Lady who lives near by. She's got two Sibs who needed a little trail adventure. So Anouk and I took them on an awesome ride. I couldn't face the possibility of sustaining even more injuries today with this already weakened body, so Typhon was asked to guard the couch. Bless him.
So here we go again. Doing it dog by dog. Fall by fall. Bike repair by bike repair. Off to find the antiseptic cream. Think that lampshade Typhon wore could fit me too?
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