Off to Scotland we go!

I haven't had an awful lot of time to blog this past week; we're going to Scotland tomorrow and the packing has just been horrendous.  But it's all going to be so worth it once we get there, ohhh yes it is!  You see, it's the first time we've been to Scotland since Little A arrived and I can't wait to take him 'home'.  Can't wait!

Admittedly I'm slightly freaking out about the 2 hour flight with the baby though...My only hope is that we won't be 'that' family with the screaming baby.  I know, I know, I'm certain that I've complained about babies crying on planes somewhere on this blog but that was before.  Now I'm going to be the one trying to ignore the dirty looks of other passengers, pretending that I don't know they're fantasising about punching me in the face while I simultaniously try everything possible to calm my baby.  Oh dear...

So you won't hear from me for the next week or so.  I hope you all have a lovely Easter!

Motherly Love Is...

...Building tents with your 9 month old son.

Big Bad Words

FP comes from a long line of swearers.  I didn't realise how bad his swearing was at the beginning of our relationship because

a) we were young and swore often because it was kind of 'cool'
and
b) he swore in French.

But my husband, and his whole family, are big swearers.

Although I knew certain French swear words (merde, for example) before meeting FP, he and his family have definitley been the people who have taught me the most 'gros mots' and if you sat at the dinner table with them one evening and counted the number of bad words that came out of their mouths I'm pretty sure you'd be shocked (or impressed, depending on your own opinions on cursing).

Because of them, I've found myself in more than my fair share of embarrassing situations during my ex-pat life in France.  You see, my in-laws swear so much in every day conversation that certain bad words are so indistinguishable from acceptable words that during my first week working at my first job in France I said I was a 'connasse' (stupid bitch) when in fact all I meant to say was 'oops, silly me' (or more likely, 'I'm an idiot').  Roll on a few years and you'd have thought I might have learned the difference between acceptable and unacceptable words but alas...I was working with children, teaching English.  One of my students (age 6 or 7) was doing something revolting and I told her that it was 'degueulasse' (minging, gross, filthy...it's not a swear word as such but shouldn't be used with kids).  Yeah.  She cried.

Ah bad words, what would life be like without them!

In my experience as an English teacher, swear words are probably the funnest vocabulary lesson ever and without a doubt - although I'm still not sure the exact reason for this - the naughtiest words are so much easier to retain than any piece of 'useful' vocabulary for an English student.  People are fascinated by bad words in a foreign language...it's true!  I know I can't be the only one who sat at the back of the class at high school, giggling, with a German dictionary open at 'scheisse'.

Ten years on from high school and I still occasionally think swear words are funny.  There are certain times and places where it can make me laugh, like in a stand up comedian's show or if FP is telling a story and uses a 'gros mot' for emphasis.  I've also been known to swear A LOT when I'm angry.  Otherwise, I come from a family of non-swearers where the odd 'shit' or 'shite' is acceptable when emotions are running high but we never go further than that.  I recently used the 'F' word in front of my mum for the very first time while I was driving and panicking and I cannot begin to tell you how ashamed I felt, even though my mum just said 'calm down' and later revealed to me the word has also slipped out of her own mouth when in the car without my dad who, it has to be said, would be shocked to hear either of us use the f-bomb.

And as I'm getting older I'm realising I've been turning into my dad.  Without the beard.  Okay, so I still swear if I'm annoyed but I'm trying to change that habit.  There's a little baby boy in our house, about to start learning how to talk and I'm very aware of that fact.  He already understands the word 'dog' (he'll 'woof' like a dog if you ask him to) and 'dance' (he'll bob up and down rythmically) and I really don't want him to be a baby swearer, in English or in French.

And so the time has come to start changing FP's bad habit of swearing.  When I told him this he looked at me the way a dog looks at his owner when he's sitting on the loo - you know, head cocked to the side, 'whatcha doing?' written all over his face - and said "but Linsey there are no other words in the French language to replace a 'gros mot' quite so elequently."

"There are loads of words to replace swear words."  I said.  "Crotte, mince, zut..." I listed off on my fingers.

He looked at me wide eyed and pointed an accusatory finger my way.  "You want me to sound like a dafty *!  No one uses those words above the age of 5 and below the age of 85."  He hmphed**.  After a moment he asked me what words I'll be replacing my own swear words with.

I looked at him, all dignified and said, "flip, sugar, oh dear..."

FP smirked.  "We'll see," he said and turned back to the TV.

It wasn't long before I got the chance to use my new swear word replacements.  That evening I dropped a full wine glass all over the kitchen floor.  There was red wine & broken glass everywhere and not only that but it was the last of the bottle!  The frustration built up inside me like a bomb about to explode.

"OH F-"

"Ah-ah" FP interrupted me.  "No swear words."  I looked desperately from him to the baby and back again.

"F-F-F-FLIP FLIP FLIIIIIIP!"  I said through gritted teeth.  "OH FIDDLESTICKS!"

It really didn't make me feel better at all.  Not the way a good old fashioned 'shit', 'shite' or 'f**k' would have made me feel better.  And I suppose it was at that moment that I realised I had two choices : sound like a dafty everytime I needed to swear or have a baby swearer.

 I still haven't quite made up my mind on that one...

* dafty = idiot in Scottish slang
** yeah, I did just make up a verb!

What's He Wearing Today?

Dribble bib from Next

Plain white vest from Marks and Spencer

Grey sweater vest from Okaïdi

Navy cords from Boutchou

Grey and navy socks from Okaïdi

Story time

Little A was refusing to nap but, having been awake and on the go for the past 5 hours, he was getting pretty grouchy so I sat myself down on the sofa, put him on my knee and chose a boardbook to read together.  It was 'That's not my puppy' from the 'That's not my...' series (I highly recommend these touchy feely books, they're so cute!).  Miraculously, as soon as I started reading, Little A's grumpy wee face lit up and he reached out eagerly to stroke the puppy's fur on the front cover.  We were halfway through when I realised that I couldn't turn the next page.   The cardboard pages seemed to be firmly stuck together.  Being very careful not to damage the book I slowly managed to peel the pages apart and opened the book at one of Little A's favourite puppies :  the puppy whose 'ears are too shaggy' .  But lo and behold one of that puppy's poor shaggy ears was covered in...what...is it really?  I gave it a good sniff.  Yes.  Yes, it was. 

Baby vomit.

What a glamerous life I lead.



*photo was when he was 4 months old.

What's He Wearing Today?

Ok people.  I am obsessed with baby fashion.  Obsessed I tell you!

There's a post on a parenting forum I know where people post photos of their scrumptious wee babies in scrumptious wee outfits.  I love it!  But I can't participate because I've completely forgotten my password and my user name so...I'm going to do it here.

This wasn't today.  This was a few days ago but it's one of my favourite pairs of dungarees that Little A has ever owned and I think this is probably the last time he'll get to wear them as they're a wee bit nippit (that's a Scottish word for too tight / too small).

Checked dungarees from Sergent Major.
Green t-shirt "stop les punitions" ("stop the punishments") was a gift and I don't recognise the label...
Beige long sleeved vest from Petit Bateau
Socks with non-slip grips on the soles from Baby-Walz

La Belle Saison : Part Three

The beginning of part three should probably have started when Little A was born.  His arrival was evidently what changed everything.

FP, the pussy-chat Ollie and I had been living in Versailles since I moved to France.  However, if you know the Parisian region of France you will be aware of the impossible housing prices and the tiny apartments.  We wanted out.  With a baby on the way we wanted to buy a house with a garden and enough bedrooms to have a couple more babies in the future.  But with FP's job keeping him in Paris, and him not wanting to add on any more time to his 2 hour commute to and from work every day, we were stuck renting a 58m² flat in Versailles.  As we prepared the new baby's bedroom - a cot and chest of drawers squashed in beside our desks and computers in the office - we couldn't help but feel disappointed that we would be raising our first child in a tiny flat with mould growing up the walls.  It just felt wrong.

When Little A arrived two things happened.  The first thing was that we lost our poor little cat to an unexpected heart attack before I got home from the hospital.  He is still very much missed in our lives.

The second thing was that FP, without telling me, began to consider leaving his job.  Now that our baby son was here he couldn't bear to have us stay where we were, paying for the over-priced cost of life in Ile de France without getting anything out of it.  So on the very first day back at work after his paternity leave he started searching for another job.  And funnily enough, the company in Germany, where FP had worked as a student, was looking for a new engineer.  He sent a CV and a cover letter immediately and got a reply the next day from the boss, saying they remembered FP well and when could he come for an interview.  With us both feeling very hopeful, FP went to Germany for an interview and was offered the job of his dreams 3 days later!  

Now, we weren't ready to leave France completely, and luckily FP's new work was on the German border so the obvious solution was for us to move to Alsace...Somewhere near Strasbourg but not too near.  We chose a village.  A beautiful, friendly village.

And here we are, 6 months later.  We now live in a big, modern house (220m²!) with a garden and a beautiful bedroom for Little A.  Life here is much, much cheaper than Versailles and for us life is also much better here.  It seems we're not really city dwellers after all.  We get to make the most of our weekends together as a family and Germany is only 15 minutes away, where groceries are even cheaper!

We're very happy here.  Of course we often stop and think about how Ollie the cat would have loved life here.  Though I guess he's a happy kitty in cat heaven right now, probably playing with a ball of wool or drinking from the running tap...

So this is the next chapter of my life.  Our lives.  Here in Alsace.

*Little A.  That's what I'm calling him.  FP's name also begins with an 'A' and he's my 'Big A' but similar to when the actor in a soap opera quits and the production team decides to replace him with another actor who looks nothing atall like the original in the hopes that viewers won't notice anything, I find it would be far too confusing for me to start calling FP by his new nickname of 'Big A'.  

Um...Hello!

So.  I've been writing a little on a new blog for the past week or so.  I wasn't sure whether to just write about (or more likely post pictures of) what I felt like on La Belle Saison because well, folks, I don't know any other way of putting this...I'm obsessed with my son and all things mummy!  I just couldn't see a way of joining up this blog with a mummy blog and to be honest, I already annoy the hell out of my facebook friends with photos of my son that I kind of didn't want to annoy any more people.

I've changed so much, you see.  My life has changed in a very big way.  I suppose that's to be expected when you have a child, but I just wasn't sure how to come back here.  The blog where I've chronicled my final year as a student, my romance with FP and my move to France.  How to continue writing as before?  I'm old now (26.  I know technically it's not old but I recently found a white hair so I'm feeling it.)  I'm a wife and a mum.  A mum!  I don't want to bore people but, honestly, the most exciting parts of my life right now tends to be when my son sleeps through the night (a rare, rare occurence).

So is it fair to take this lovely blog which has seen me through so much and to turn it into a 'mummy blog'?

I remember when I moved to France in 2008 just after my battle with health issues had been victoriously won (almost 5 years ago!).  At the time I remember thinking that it was a new chapter in my life and therefore it meritted a new chapter on my blog.  It became La Belle Saison Part 2. Well, how about I make this Part 3?

Yesterday I found my old blogger friend Zhu and was delighted to find she has recently had a little boy!  It was then that the thought occured to me...I've changed but surely so has everyone else who I used to know in the blogosphere (are we still saying that?  I better catch up on the lingo, I feel like I've not done this since 1999).  So who knows, perhaps there are one or two of you out there who might still be interested in reading my musings.

Well at least I know my biggest only fan (hi mum!) will be reading this!

So I'm going to add posts from the new blog to La Belle Saison (warning it's ALL baby related but I promise it won't be 100% baby once I start writing here!)

How is it that such a tiny wee person can have such a huge impact on our lives?
 

Thank you for turning our lives upside down.  We love you xxx