Let Me Rethink That

We've been fighting various and sundry viruses at our house for the last two weeks. Tummy bugs, bad colds, coughing. Mini-husband has been coughing so bad it sounds like he's a pack a day smoker. Bubba Love is clingy and gooey, with a nose running faster than I ever could. The Princess, bless her, is hardy stock (takes after me) and isn't unwell. Just annoyed with all the attention the boys are getting.

I finally was able to get them, with The Princess along for the ride, to doctor last night. One of my sisters once said to me that as soon as you get to the doctor's office, the sick kid is miraculously cured. Wiser words have never been spoken!

As we arrived around 5pm, it was obvious Chez Clark is not the only house in town that needs to be fumigated. In the waiting room, which is the size of a changing cubicle at the pool, there were 6 mothers and 9 children already wrecking the place.

Who were they kidding? None of these little people were ill! They were in top form! Running around, moving furniture, throwing magazines, screaming, laughing, hiding, and playing in the bathroom. Not a single runny nose, not a single cough, not a single wilted little love bug. Mine included!

When we finally did get to see the doctor, Bubba Love had had it. It was 6:30pm at this point and he was hungry, tired, and starting to actually look ill again. Mini-Husband went first and wonderfully answered all the doctor's questions while I held the melting baby and ever so politely asked The Princess to stop cleaning the windows of the office with a baby wipe.

After Bubba Love was examined from top to tail, I tried to gather up the kids, the coats, the prescriptions, pay the doctor and find the car keys. In this frazzled state, the doctor looked at me in the most aloof and pitiful way. I got the distinct impression that he would have liked to prescribed me a strong sedative.

So, here we are. Bubba Love with a mild double ear infection, Mini-Husband with a slight cause of bronchitis, and The Princess with her bells on, dancing through the living room.

Ah yes, the chaos continues. Toujours. La vie est belle!

Relfections on My Chaos

I just finished reading Water For Elephants and there is a point at which the main character, who is 90 or 93 (he's not sure) talks about how the days when the kids were little and the chaos was all around him were his "halcyon days." How scary. And yet how true.

Yes, my world is strange and busy and I can't remember what day of the week it is sometimes, but these really are good days. We're busy growing, playing, changing, and exploring. We're enjoying the nutsdom of our cluttered house and our dog fur covered clothes. The ritual demands from the tribe for walks or to eat or to watch "Cars" again for the 3045th time. It'll do your head in.

Yes. I'll admit it. I'm going insane with all that's going on.

It's wonderful.

Chaos is fun. Chaos is life. Chaos is bright yellow with toys all over the garden.

Isn't it great?

The Christmas List

The first of the Christmas toy catalogs arrived at our house this week. A nice little booklet with loads of wonderful toys from what seems to be every Disney movie under the sun. The Princess and Mini-Husband were adorable, sharing a chair, reading the catalog together. Every time they saw something that they liked, I told them "to put it on your list." 3500 toys later, the lists are very long and distinguished.

I tried to remind the kids that there are millions of children who don't get any presents at Christmas. I tried to really drive the point home that Christmas isn't about getting loads of stuff but giving things to the people we love to show how much we appreciate and care about them. It's about the giving not the receiving, that's what Christmas is all about.

The Princess reflected for about 30 seconds on what I said. She blinked her big brown eyes and tossed her head onto her shoulder, "That's nice, Mom. But I want these toys for my birthday."

Any suggestions on what I should say now?!?!?!!?

England vs South Africa

Because I am beyond excited about this match tonight and because we are having loads of friends over to watch, I have not been able to sit still today. It's so bad that I've even cleaned the bathrooms. So bad, I've even vacuumed up all the spiderwebs flying around. So bad, that the oven is sparkling. So bad, that I'm twitching.

Good thing I was able to escape with Typhon for a little training run. Anouk had already headed out with her friend, Musher Boy, for a seriously long adventure. Typhon was a little blue about being left behind, so it was great to be able to get him running on his own.

I do really love it when the two are out running together. He's a powerful dog and really comes into his own when he's following the pack or just Anouk. He's a typical wheel dog. He's not a puller by himself. He's not sure how fast to go, he's scared of the cows, and he would rather smell the flowers. But that was ok today. It was just us plodding along. He's learning, and so I am, that sometimes the best pack is us, one on one.

Unless you are England getting ready for a ruck, but that's another story..!!!

GO ENGLAND!

Strike Season

Yesterday was a lovely fall day here in the Auvergne. Cool temps and sunshine. Perfect for a hike or bike ride. Or if you we're like my friends, Hippy-Love Francais and her husband, a perfect day for manifestations!

Yes, it's October and that means it's time for the French to participate in their favourite hobby, organized walkouts and strikes. A large majority of the unions went on strike yesterday over proposed pension reform issues. It's a hot topic over here and something that could get ugly. Reform needs to happen, but I'm not sure the French are ready to deal with the pain and struggle that will come from that.

That being said, as my friends dropped off their kids at school, Hippy Love beamingly told me how they were heading into town for the protest. They both had the air of high school kids heading off to a football game, eager to participate, eager to be there. It was refreshing, I must admit. I don't think I'll ever really understand this incredible commitment to social justice and leftist politics that the French have, but I'm glad to have the chance to watch it in action.

I was inspired after seeing my friends and decided that yesterday would be my own strike action day. I decided not to do the laundry, not to clean the bathrooms, not to pick up poop in the garden, and not to do the dishes until my own pension reform plans were met. (Simple demands really: new dog sled, more dogs, bigger garden, etc etc.)

I took Bubba-Love out in the jogger for a little run to see the manifestations in our village. The manifestations of the leaves changing colours, the herds of cows grazing in the fields, the farmers turning the soil, and the hawks flying about in the sky.

For what it's worth, my demands have not yet been agreed too. And the worst part is that today I've got a hell of a lot to do. Sigh.

It's Important to Look Before You Leap

I come from a swimming family. I have one sister who swam competitively in college and now coaches triathletes, aiding them to become more efficient in the pool/swimming portion of their sport. My other sister is one of those swimmers who glides through the water, like a sting ray who moves so effortlessly through the currents. She has qualified for the National Masters Championships and has always been a force in the water. She's competitive like a rip tide, sneaking up on you when you aren't looking and then acting as if she really wasn't that fussed.

I, on the other hand, swim like a school of fish during a feeding frenzy. Thrashing about, water going everywhere, no sense of direction or purpose. Good thing for me, the lanes are clearly marked at an indoor pool. There is no direction except straight.

Tuesday mornings, when I'm free of all of my children and I've got time before class, I'm thrashing about in the pool in town. (It's good for me to cross-train my niggles from running and soak the boo-boos from my dog/bike accidents.) The first time I went, I was a nervous wreck. There were so many people and I was desperate to find a lane that didn't look too crowded or full of bobbers. (Bobbers (n): People who move up and down the lane without using any of the four major recognized swimming strokes.)

In my haste to actually get to the pool, I had forgotten to bring some goggles but at least I had my swim cap. As I wrestled that rubber thing on my head, I saw an opening in lane #2.

There is nothing like the first fluid strokes of freestyle. You feel strong, light, and just as the name says, free. Of course, I was swimming free and blind since I didn't have my goggles, but what was I worried about! I was at the pool! I was swimming! I was free! I was cruising! I was strong! I was getting tired! Goodness me!! Where was the wall?!?!!?

Note to self: Might be a good idea to actually check out the length of the pool before you start swimming in it. Yes, it's amazing how far 50m really is when you didn't notice the distance in the first place.

Ah yes, I'm the ultimate of bobber. A bobber who looks like she knows what she's doing when in reality, she's clueless. Free and clueless, but clueless all the same.

I went back this week. This time I had some goggles and I knew where the wall was. Still had to dodge the bobbers, but at least I knew I could. I felt good and strong. Almost like my sisters.

Just The Two of Us, And a Couple of Other English Speakers

Ah, a moment to sit and post. It's been a little hectic since our night away in
Salers. This beautiful little town has been voted one of France's most beautiful villages for several years and it's easy to understand why. It's location in the Monts du Cantal makes for spectacular scenery. It was so nice being there....

The highlight of the weekend had to be our evening in the local bar watching England beat France! There we were, in a bar the size of my parent's bedroom, chatting away with an American couple from Michigan (and hence CLUELESS as to what rugby was. But GO LIONS!), a couple from Ireland who spoke not a word of French (so I ended up translating agricultural terms all night for them, kindly being paid in beer), and a young aspiring politician from Salers who works for the Assembly National. (I had no idea he had a blog till I googled "Salers," but hey, as my cousin says, "Everyone's got a story to tell!") Hubster enjoyed a evening of rivalry with his favourite team to hate, but in the end made friends with three lovely French girls who actually invited us to go nightclubbing with them at 1am!Yup, we're getting old, but we're not out, just yet!

And with a thud (in the shape of fevers and tantrums) Sunday evening, it was back to the 5 of us. (Opps, 7!)

At least we've got Saturday to look forward to: England vs South Africa in the final. Yes, South Africa. Yet another country where Hubster has friends and connections. We're waiting for the phone calls and teasing to start about 9pm. I think the only team England could've played that wouldn't have caused huge amounts of rivalry would have been the US.

What? You didn't realize the US rugby team had made the World Cup?!?!?!

Wait. Right, sorry...Go Ravens! Go Chiefs! Go Packers!