Your Logic Is Impeccable, Young Sir

Secondo:  "Terzo, a table!"  ("Come to the table!")

Terzo:  "Oui!  Je viens!"  ("Yes!  I'm coming!")

Secondo:  "Quarta, a table!  Quinta, it's dinnertime!"

Me:  "Secondo, why are you speaking English to Quarta but French to Quinta?"

Secondo:  "Quinta doesn't know English!"

Me:  "Well, she's only three months old, so technically she doesn't really know any language yet."

Secondo:  "She can't understand English because she was BORN IN FRANCE, MOM!"

Silly me.

Quarta 1, Grandmere 0

So like many toddlers, Quarta has a lovey.  Hers is a pink fleecy, fuzzy blanket.  I have no idea where we got it and, of course, no way to obtain a second one.  Naturally, it gets filthy because my eardrums are not up to the task of taking it away from her long enough to get it into the laundry.

Grandmere's brilliant solution:  Cut it in half!

Quarta's response:  One of these halves is clearly superior to the other!  And she can totally tell the two halves apart.

So now Quarta still has just one lovey.  It's just half the lovey it used to be.  And it's filthy.

They Really Are Tape Recorders (Remember Them?)

I tend to say the same stupid things to all of my babies.  Case in point:

Me (to Quinta):  "You're PRETTY DARN CUTE!"

Quinta:  "Gurgle gurgle."

Me:  "Except that you're TOOTHLESS, BALD, DROOLING, INCONTINENT, and--"

Secondo:  "Unemployed!"

Fashion Friday: I Choose It Myself!

This is what happens when you get a toddler excited about "big girl underpants" ... and then let her choose her own outfit:

I Don't Know Whether This Really Translates

The kids' grandmother is a beautiful woman who is very dignified and takes herself very seriously.  In other words, she's French.  The other day when she appeared on our Skype....

Quarta:  "POULET!!!!!!!!!"  [In French, "poulet" means chicken.]

Me, horrified:  "Grandmere, honey."

Quarta:  "Poulet poulet poulet poulet poulet poulet."

I guess it's a good thing she's named after Grandmere and officially Can Do No Wrong.

Ungood in Two Languages

Primo:  "This book finish bien!"

Dad:  "Uh, you mean it has a happy ending?"

Primo:  "Yah."

Putting the Cart Before the Horse: A Scene From the Car

Some bad parent MIGHT have let the kids have lunch at McDonald's in Bordeaux yesterday.  (Yeah, I know.  But OTOH:  Saint-Nectaire burger!)  Later, driving home, this is what I overheard:

Primo:  "Terzo!  I know where McDonald's got its name!"

Terzo:  "Where?"

Primo:  "From a guy named Mac!"

Terzo:  "But what about Donald?"

Primo:  "They picked the second name because it rhymed with Ronald."

Self-Esteem, She Haz It

Quarta, gazing into the mirror:  "SO PWETTY!!!!!"

[And, of course, she's right.]

Friday Fashion: The Swede Life in Hanna Andersson

Anybody who knows me in IRL knows that I am pretty frugal.  The classic "mom with no decent winter coat."  And if there is one area in which it makes sense to be frugal, it's the kids' clothes, because they're going to rip/stain/outgrow them before said clothes would ever reach the end of their natural lifespan, right?  Exactly.

But now that I live in the land of REALLY expensive fashion for kids of all ages, I find myself really missing Hanna Andersson.  Which looks expensive on the surface, but really it's not.  I love the classic "it's a daydress, it's a playdress" for little girls:

It's a Playdress It's a Daydress, sale $30

However, it's little boys' clothes where Hanna really has given me my money's worth.  Because in my experience, their clothes are so sturdy, and so timelessly designed, that the economics of a typical Hanna purchase go something like this:

[[(Retail price) - (Outlet discount)]  /  (Number of kids in your family)] - consignment profit

... assuming you are fortunate enough to live near an outlet (say, in Portland, Oregon), which I once was.  And the outlet prices are pretty darned good, especially if you shop a few years ahead of when your kids will be wearing the clothes, and you're not too picky on colors.  Even without outlet or online-clearance prices, Hannas have always been a good deal for our family.  As long as I'm buying for my oldest boy, each item will be worn by at least three kids (five, if the color/style is unisex enough), and everything I've bought has remained in good enough condition to resell at consignment for 25% or so of the original price.  In other words, these originally $48 sweater and $40 jeans:

Open Spaces Sweater Hoodie, sale $38

Five pocket slim jeans, $40

end up costing only about $30/kid even if only the boys wear them, and even if I don't sell them at the end.  The math is even better if the girls wear them too.  I love it when I can be cheap, and the kids can look their cutest, all at the same time.

Now if only Hanna sold decent winter coats, I'd be stylin'. 

Un-disclosure:  This post is not an ad, I am just a big fan.  In real life, Hanna Andersson gets MY money, not the other way around.  All images are from Hanna Andersson.

Linked to Gettingaheadblog.com's "Frugal Tuesday Tips."

Entourage: The Next Generation

Terzo:  "Dad, what's Quarta's middle name?"

Dad:  "Simone."

Terzo:  "What's my middle name?"

Dad:  "Cesar."

Terzo:  "What's Secondo's middle name?"

Secondo:  "MY middle name is HOLLYWOOD!!!!"

Mommy's Little Negotiator

Secondo:  "I'm inviting Jean, Noah, Enzo, Antoine, Nicolas, and Benjamin to my BIRTHDAY PARTY!"

Dad:  "First of all, your birthday isn't for another month and a half.  Second of all, we didn't have a birthday party for Terzo because we'd just moved here, so we're not sure if we can have one for you this year.  Maybe, maybe not."

Secondo:  "Maybe YES!!!"

L'Amour!: A Scene From Valentine's Day

[The scene:  Outside school at afternoon pickup.  It's FREEZING and, because the roads are pretty icy, we are walking home.  The boys have just been released from school and we are headed for home.]

Me:  "Secondo, who is that little girl waving at you?  And pulling on her daddy's sleeve to point you out?"

Secondo:  "Oh, she's in my CLASS."

[Five minutes later.  We are walking down the main street of town and the little girl's dad beeps his horn at us as he slowly drives by; as he passes we can see her waving frantically from the back seat.]

Me:  "Well, are you friends?"

Secondo:  "Yes.  [Long silence.]  She doesn't hand me.  But I want to hold hands with HER."

Awww.

Just Like Her Brother: A Scene From the Kitchen Table

[The scene:  I am trying to scarf down my pitifully inadequate, Dukan-approved lunch before Quinta launches into her fifth screamfest of the day.]

Quarta:  [Lunges toward my galette (pancake), the ONLY THING RESEMBLING BREAD THAT I GET TO EAT ALL DAY.]

Me:  "Quarta!  Stop that!  Daddy's getting you lunch in a few minutes."

Quarta, using her best Scooby-Doo voice:  "I RUUUUV YEW!"

Me:  "Here you go."

Quarta, I am pretty sure:  "Sucker."

She gets it from Secondo, most likely.  Flattery is a technique that has worked well for him with a number of ladies, including me.

Maybe You Can't Take the City Out of the Boy

Terzo:  "MOM!"

Me:  "Yes?"

Terzo:  "Look at those CHICKENS!"

Me:  "Wow."

Terzo:  "They sure poop out a lot of eggs."

It's Good To Think Five Seconds Ahead: A Scene From the Bathroom

[The scene:  Bathtime!  Youngest to oldest.  I am bathing a screeching Quinta in her little baby tub while Husband fills the big bathtub for Quarta.]

Me:  "Why is Quarta completely undressed when the bathtub isn't ready yet?"

Husband:  "What's the worst that could hap--"

Me:  "Do you hear somebody peeing?"

Quarta:  [Grins at us while the puddle at her feet grows bigger and bigger.]

They're Turning French, I Think They're Turning French, I Really Think So

Me:  "How was school, Secondo?"

Secondo:  "Oh, FINE."

Me:  "What did you have for lunch?"

Secondo:  "Well, for the FIRST course..."

Paging Gracie Allen

Me:  "Time for bed!  Say au revoir, Quarta!"

Quarta:  "AU REVOIR, QUARTA!!!!"

Terzo Proves Charles DeGaulle Right: A Birthday Scene From the Grocery Store

Me:  "Terzo, because it's your birthday, you can pick out a SPECIAL CHEESE."

Terzo:  "Ooh!  Ooh!  I'm getting Pik & Croq!"

[Pik & Croq is the only nasty cheese I've seen since moving here.  Basically, it's Cheez-Whiz, packaged with a couple of stale mini-bread sticks.  In other words, it's the French version of Handi-Snacks. ]

Me:  "Uhhhhhhh... don't you usually like something like Camembert or Caprice des Dieux?"

Terzo:  "Oh, I saw it in a COMMERCIAL."

[The only kid who ended up liking it was Quarta, who licked the cheese off the bread sticks and then tried to give me the soggy remains of her processed-cheese-delivery-devices.  Thanks, little girl!]

H/T Charles De Gaulle ("How can anyone govern a nation that has 246 kinds of cheese?")

Time To Start Shopping At Wal-Mart (Or, Meet the Cugina)

The scene:  A Target store, somewhere in the Deep South, where children allegedly behave themselves.  My own family isn't allowed in such a place, of course:  this one is courtesy of my sister and her toddler.

Cugina, whose speech is not all that clear yet:  "I want a Hello Kitty CLOCK!!!!!!"

Sorella:  "The word "clock" has an "L" in it, honey.  Also, "kitty" starts with a "K."  Not a "T.""

Zooty zoot zoot!

Terzo: "Can I have a cracker?"

Dad: "Sure, here are 4."

Terzo: "That's just SWELL!"

French Women Don't Raise Brats?

Cross-posted from The Ex-Americans.

So this Saturday the Wall Street Journal ran an essay with the snarkalicious title of "Why French Parents Are Superior."  But don't be fooled:  Pamela Druckerman's piece on "modern parenthood" is, comme d'habitude, all about the moms.  (Two of the fathers in the piece are mentioned only in passing; a third is interviewed only to complain about American kids' bad behavior.)  In a nutshell, after allowing her toddler to act like an animal in a restaurant (apparently more than once), Druckerman noticed that French families with similarly-aged children were able to enjoy their restaurant meals in relative peace.  While giving lip service to French "public services that help to make having kids more appealing and less stressful," Druckerman eventually concludes that the differences can largely be explained by the lessons in waiting exemplified by the cultural institution of the four o'clock snack, along with the the magic of a confident "no."

While I'm certainly a fan of both the gouter and the word "no" (just ask my five kids), I think there's a lot that Druckerman is missing here.  Accordingly, I'd to suggest just two of the many additional reasons besides "snack" and "no" that French children may appear to be better behaved.

The first reason is political, and Druckerman does allude to it.  Quite simply, it is a hell of a lot easier to be a hands-on parent in France than it is in the States.  Anybody who's reading this blog (all two of you!) is probably aware that France grants generous paid maternity leave (and less-generous paid paternity leave) as well as a monthly cash benefit to families with children.  More significant, though, is the the 35- (or 40-) hour workweek, and its benefits to families.  My totally unscientific research on this subject involved working as a lawyer in Los Angeles 60+ hours a week and sending my then-only child to a school where I saw kids who behaved so badly your hair would stand on end.  The worst-behaved (and unhappiest, because most of the really badly behaved kids were clearly really unhappy kids) tended to come from pretty similar backgrounds.  Typically, one or both parents worked lots of hours and were unable to be as involved in the kids' lives on a day-to-day basis as they probably would liked to have been.  So they overcompensated with a complete absence of the word "no" when they were able to be around.  (The more affluent parents also seemed to overcompensate with way too many toys and electronic gizmos as well.)  In other words, the parents were overworked at work, and were insecure at home.  Their lives were out of balance.  I count myself to have been in their number, just to be clear, although my own choice was to torture myself with my feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, but still to keep saying the word "no" when it was appropriate.  Here, on the other hand, people tend to work more reasonable hours and take real vacations; on the "have-not" end of the scale you don't tend to see a lot of folks who need to work multiple jobs, thanks to the existence of a decent social safety net.  That allows the time to be more involved in schoolwork and day-to-day things.  I can't help but think that the "easy, calm authority" that Druckerman lauds perhaps has something to do with the fact that French society is organized in a manner that allows most parents to be present more often to exercise that authority in a consistent fashion.

The second reason is personal:  according to my anecdata, French women are generally more selfish than American women.  And not to sound all Ayn Rand, but in my book, that is a good thing.  Druckerman marvels at French parents (moms) who are able to chat with friends without a stream of constant interruptions.  Perhaps that is because their children (at least the children Druckerman profiles) don't expect to be the center of attention 100 percent of the time?  There's a reason that attachment parenting has never caught on in France:  women here expect to continue to have lives of their own after having kids.  But a young child can be, as they say, a jealous mistress.  My own children absolutely would interrupt me every 15 seconds (and honestly, it sometimes feels like they do) if they didn't know how to play on their own.  But it is really important to me that they know how to do that, because someday they will have to stand on their own two feet and well, you've gotta start somewhere.  And maybe I'm selfish too, because although I have made a hell of a lot of sacrifices for parenthood (more than any of my two readers will ever know), I also don't want to wait 15 years before I can exercise/do my nails/write a blog/go climbing/have friends again.  In my own generation, it seems as though the kids whose mothers' lives revolved around them were the ones who had the most contempt for those self-sacrificing women.  In other words, I'd like a little respect.

At the same time, though, I'm not sure that what American parents (mothers) need is another helping of "You're doing it wrong!" when the reasons that the kids aren't alright are so often out of their control.  Plus, as an American lady who lives in France, I'm a little bit (where "little bit" = a lot) tired of the way that the media likes to pit French and American women against each other--with the American women never quite measuring up.  (Mireille Guiliano, I'm giving you the side-eye here.)  While I know this is never going to happen, I'd love it if the Wall Street Journal would spend a little bit more time reporting on the obstacles faced by working families, and a little bit less time blaming parents for their inability to live up to the Gallic ideal.

Double-teamed; or, The Parisian and the Peasant

The scene:  Dinner.

Secondo, in a Robert Plant falsetto:  "MMM, c'est bon!"

Terzo, in his growling like a pirate vote:  "MMM, c'est bon!"

You kind of had to be there.  At least they liked the food.

3 Going on 13

The scene: Our [old] back deck, from which one could see the neighbors' back yard. Secondo apparently had a crush on the neighbors' daughter, who was home from college for the summer. As our scene opens, he is jumping up and down and waving to get her attention.  He is also pointing at me, his mother.

Secondo: "That's Terzo's mama!"

I thought they were supposed to be in junior high before starting to pretend they're not related to you?

Note:  I meant to post this about two years ago!  Now I know how to use the "schedule a post" function, thankyouverymuch.

In which my boy channels Grandma Liz

Secondo:  "Are you SAD? Are you HAPPY? Are you HUNGRY????"

Why We Have No Friends

The time: EARLY on a Sunday morning.

The place:  The backyard, about 20 feet from the next door neighbor's house.

The announcement: "MA-ma, you have to be VEWWY still and VEWWWY QUIET to hear the TURKEYS!"

The decibel level: I'm guessing about 110.

Ready to (G)Rumble

"Da-DA, my tummy and my BUTT are GRUMBLING!"