One of life's dilemmas: la bienheureuse's youngest cousin thoughtlessly fails to predict that she'd be 8 months pregnant on the day he finally chooses for his wedding. After some dithering we book cancellable train tickets and leave the final decision until the last moment. And a week before the day the gestational diabetes is under control, sleep deprivation is no worse than it has been for the previous 8 months, so we decide to go.
And the journey starts off well enough. Okay, twenty minute delay to the 9am TGV from Lyon to Lille, but that shouldn't be a problem because we have a 90 minute stopover before our Eurostar is due to depart. La petite behaves impeccably during the 3 hour train trip, and only starts getting stroppy an hour after we've been through security and passport control into the Eurostar departure lounge. There we get the first hint of trouble - 40 minute delay announced.
Eventually we troop down onto the platform, get on the train and settle into our seats. Uhoh - another announcement - due to a problem with the engine there will be a further 40 minute delay before a replacement train arrives. Rather more than 40 minutes later we eventually all file off, cross platforms and get on the new train, which was originally heading in the opposite direction. Bizarrely the passengers on the replacement get off and get onto our original train. Presumably the engine was serviceable enough to get them to Paris but not to be risked in the Tunnel…
So we eventually arrive in Ebbsfleet nearly two hours later than scheduled, find the car hire desk, complete the formalities and the car seat for la petite is produced. Only it's the wrong size, suitable for a child twice her age. The Avis girl rings round nearby branches and eventually a replacement is fetched from Maidstone by a driver and arrives nearly an hour later. All of which means we end up on the M25 in rush hour instead of at two in the afternoon. An exhausted toddler is asleep within minutes and only wakes up when traffic grinds to a halt for the first time, somewhat surprisingly, an hour later just south of the M3. Having been a little angel all day, she decides it's time to let loose, and screams accompany our crawl along Blighty's blighted motorways for the next half hour.
However, she gradually cheers up roughly in proportion to the car's speed and we arrive at our hotel over three hours later than planned, frazzled and frayed round the edges but in one piece. Mass dinner with the thus far assembled family follows and we finally get to our room ready to fall into bed just before nine in the evening. Ready but not willing in one case - all the excitement of the day has been too much for la petite voyageuse, and she promptly goes hyper and takes a full two hours to fall asleep, which she finally does sharing the double bed with maman while papa attempts to kip on the single bed.
Nine hours later we are all awake again, the parents having also been awake at regular and frequent intervals in the interim. Mother and child end the night sleeping across the bed, the latter having turned a full 90 degrees in her sleep and almost succeeding in pushing the former off the edge.
The big day is not due to start until mid-afternoon, so we keep la petite amused with a trip to nearby Wellington country park where a kindly employee lets us into the children's play area for a free half hour to avoid paying the steep £9 entry fee. Snack lunch in the cafeteria follows and then we head back to the hotel to attempt to get la petite coquinette to have a siesta before the festivities begin. Success is eventually achieved by dint of papa sharing the bed in front of children's TV while mama goes to mamy's room to put on her party frock.
We find the venue, a former manor house which is now owned by a charitable educational trust, with only minor navigational difficulties, and choose seats in the back row for the humanist ceremony in the packed Tithe Barn. La petite more or less behaves, with only one short walk outside with papa required to stave off boredom. Thence to the main house for the reception and drinks to toast the bride & groom. The weather is kind enough - cool but pleasantly sunny - to allow the younger guests to run around outside while those so inclined imbibe the alcohol on offer.
The wedding feast begins late in the afternoon, bangers & mash, home baked cakes and bacon butties on the menu, all washed down with wine and followed by wedding cheese cake, literally. Speeches are made, (un)fortunately missed by papa & la petite due to an urgent call to the nappy change facilities, the ceilidh begins, and la petite famille, enlarged by one, eventually decides to head back to the hotel at about nine-thirty. This time we get properly lost and have to stop at a petrol station to ask directions. The attendant has no idea how to find the hotel, but fortunately his next client is a local, and we are eventually back by ten. Thence follows another lengthy two hour 'getting la petite to sleep' session. At least this time she eventually drops off in her own bed.
The next morning it's time to say our goodbyes, and the various aunts, two generations of cousins, siblings and in-laws one by one take their leave, leaving us to make the short drive to nearby Ascot where the marathon running civil servant and the armchair rugby man await their first meeting with la petite. Drs N & C, Ealing branch of the UKC connection, were also there and we all enjoy a sumptuous home-cooked and home-butchered roast pork lunch and walk it off in the afternoon with a walk round the chilly, wind-swept race course.
After the climax to the Football League season is suffered by some, we wave goodbye and head back for our last night of hotel purgatory. A quick dinner in the adjoining pub allows us to make an early, 8pm, start to bedtime, but the process still takes two hours and ends this time with la petite asleep on the floor. The whys and wherefores are better left unsaid…
Next stop on the itinerary is Bexleyheath. We arrive chez the two doctors and the Jezoids just before lunch the next day. After the Jezoid aîné survives a severe winding from a fall off the monkey bars while showing off, I head off into the big smoke for a final pilgrimage of the season. I meet le grand gooner and the margarita man in the pub before watching with gritted teeth an honourable but unsatisfactory draw with the newly crowned champions.
I return to our base for the night find la petite already in bed, having had a two hour siesta in the afternoon, and she soon drops off with little fuss. A welcome return to near normality. The lady and the boys of the house are up and out on school day before their visitors are up, and we are left with to enjoy a leisurely morning preparing for the journey home. Short drive to Ebbsfleet, where Avis at least have the good grace to waive the car seat hire charges, Eurostar arrives on time, transfer to TGV in Lille progresses smoothly, and we arrive back in Lyon at seven in the evening. There the travel hoodoo strikes again. It's raining, rush hour and not one bus turns up in the half hour we spend waiting. We eventually decide to walk home, a two kilometre slog with suitcase, bags and two year-old toddler not made any easier by the fact that the cursed outward journey had also put paid to the child carrier, bent out of shape somewhere along the line. At last the blessed sanctuary of home is attained and, after a quick snack dinner, we fall into bed. La petite is asleep within minutes. Hallelujah…
30 avril 2013
23 avril 2013
Hot and cold
Well, summer arrived briefly (27C in the middle of last week, which encouraged a rather pleasant picnic dinner in the park one evening), then abruptly departed (a damp and chilly 9C on Sunday), and today spring seems to be trying to make a belated entry. The weather yoyo has seemingly mirrored other aspects of life over the last week or so. Potty training briefly gained momentum, but has since taken a back seat (so to speak) for a while. First success two weeks ago was followed by further encouragement when la petite coquinette was suddenly amenable to wearing 'big girl's knickers'. However, she was still only informing us about 'pipi' either when it was an event either in progress or already over. Which naturally led to four or five changes of underwear a day and, when it came to going to crèche, it seemed easier and kinder to put her back in nappies. And with a 6 hour cross-Channel train journey coming up this weekend, in nappies she'll stay for a while…
And after several weeks free of the wretched winter illness, last week le rhume struck the youngest member of the family once more, though fortunately a fairly benign strain which did little to put her off her stride. Meanwhile, the move to to a normal bed has been an almost unqualified success. Recently she's even been sleeping (or at least staying quiet) until eight and beyond. Only minor blip came one morning last week when we were roused by a rather plaintive whimpering rather than the more strident demands for attention that are more the norm. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre to find the little dear curled up under the chair next to the bed. How long she'd been there or how she'd ended up there, only she knows. Our grasp of the syntax, vocabulary and grammar of toddler Franglais isn't yet sufficiently strong to decipher what she may have tried to tell us…
And after several weeks free of the wretched winter illness, last week le rhume struck the youngest member of the family once more, though fortunately a fairly benign strain which did little to put her off her stride. Meanwhile, the move to to a normal bed has been an almost unqualified success. Recently she's even been sleeping (or at least staying quiet) until eight and beyond. Only minor blip came one morning last week when we were roused by a rather plaintive whimpering rather than the more strident demands for attention that are more the norm. La bienheureuse went into la petite chambre to find the little dear curled up under the chair next to the bed. How long she'd been there or how she'd ended up there, only she knows. Our grasp of the syntax, vocabulary and grammar of toddler Franglais isn't yet sufficiently strong to decipher what she may have tried to tell us…
14 avril 2013
Breakthrough
The spring that never was - the sun at last comes out, temperatures at last climb into the twenties and, somehow, all seems a little more right with the world. After throwing the mother of all paddies over papa denying her the right to perform gymnastics with a pair of nail scissors in her hand, la petite coquinette has been (almost) a model of good behaviour since. Of course part of that may be due to the fact that we had visitors last week.
The good Doctors C and the two now-not-so-mini Jezoids arrived on Monday on the early morning flight from Gatwick for a 5 day Lyon city break. They thus arrived chez nous in time for lunch before heading off to their hotel, allowing la petite a chance to nap and recover from the excitement of having two young lads to keep her amused. A short walk round the zoo convinced the visiting parents that an early night was necessary for them all to recover from the early start. And with la petite at crèche the following day, it was early evening before she renewed acquaintance with the two Jezlas.
In the meantime the tourists braved Lyon in the morning rain to visit the Roman amphitheatre before the weather improved enough in the afternoon for a play in the park. Dinner for seven back at ours followed, and it was thus well after nine by the time peace descended on the apartment once more and la petite was at last asleep having overcome a doudou lost in bed crisis. Her new, big bed that is. Another small rung on the ladder of toddler development was otherwise successfully climbed without drama (so far) last weekend, when a trip to Ikea to purchase a rug finally led to a rearrangement of la petite chambre and a move from cot to bed.
A group outing was on the agenda for Wednesday, with a trip to the park and lunch in the sunshine in one of the buvettes. La petite famille then headed home to allow a nap for la petite and la bienheureuse to beat the 2pm deadline. Our visitors stayed to enjoy more time in the park playgrounds and a boating trip on the lake before joining us for dinner once more.
Thursday was crèche day for la petite and meanwhile her parents were treated to lunch by the good Drs C. The expectant mother then headed home in time for two to await the visit that, of course, never came, while papa accompanied the Lyon tourists on a mini-tour of the old town. Up via funicular to Fourvière basilica, where a whinging cease-fire deal was reached between father and sons to allow a short visit inside the religious edifice, before we trudged down the hill for a look around la Musée Miniature et Cinéma. The young visitors were more interested in the original cinema props than the models that originally made the museum's name, but we still spent nearly two hours wandering through the exhibits. It was thus five rather foot-sore tourists who trudged back across two rivers for a final diner en (deux) familles.
The travellers were back in time for Friday lunch, before heading off to the airport to catch their flight home. They were thus privileged to witness the partial beginnings of another breakthrough in la petite coquinette's growth. Having resisted for some time virtually all attempts at potty-training, on Friday morning, as she wandered toute nue through the apartment (prior to our guests arriving I hasten to add), she suddenly decided it was time for a first proper pipi in the potty. And several more since. The process remains a bit hit and miss, since she still refuses to wear normal panties and once a nappy is on, well… a nappy is designed to be peed in, isn't it…? Mais bon, ça commence enfin…
The good Doctors C and the two now-not-so-mini Jezoids arrived on Monday on the early morning flight from Gatwick for a 5 day Lyon city break. They thus arrived chez nous in time for lunch before heading off to their hotel, allowing la petite a chance to nap and recover from the excitement of having two young lads to keep her amused. A short walk round the zoo convinced the visiting parents that an early night was necessary for them all to recover from the early start. And with la petite at crèche the following day, it was early evening before she renewed acquaintance with the two Jezlas.
In the meantime the tourists braved Lyon in the morning rain to visit the Roman amphitheatre before the weather improved enough in the afternoon for a play in the park. Dinner for seven back at ours followed, and it was thus well after nine by the time peace descended on the apartment once more and la petite was at last asleep having overcome a doudou lost in bed crisis. Her new, big bed that is. Another small rung on the ladder of toddler development was otherwise successfully climbed without drama (so far) last weekend, when a trip to Ikea to purchase a rug finally led to a rearrangement of la petite chambre and a move from cot to bed.
A group outing was on the agenda for Wednesday, with a trip to the park and lunch in the sunshine in one of the buvettes. La petite famille then headed home to allow a nap for la petite and la bienheureuse to beat the 2pm deadline. Our visitors stayed to enjoy more time in the park playgrounds and a boating trip on the lake before joining us for dinner once more.
Thursday was crèche day for la petite and meanwhile her parents were treated to lunch by the good Drs C. The expectant mother then headed home in time for two to await the visit that, of course, never came, while papa accompanied the Lyon tourists on a mini-tour of the old town. Up via funicular to Fourvière basilica, where a whinging cease-fire deal was reached between father and sons to allow a short visit inside the religious edifice, before we trudged down the hill for a look around la Musée Miniature et Cinéma. The young visitors were more interested in the original cinema props than the models that originally made the museum's name, but we still spent nearly two hours wandering through the exhibits. It was thus five rather foot-sore tourists who trudged back across two rivers for a final diner en (deux) familles.
The travellers were back in time for Friday lunch, before heading off to the airport to catch their flight home. They were thus privileged to witness the partial beginnings of another breakthrough in la petite coquinette's growth. Having resisted for some time virtually all attempts at potty-training, on Friday morning, as she wandered toute nue through the apartment (prior to our guests arriving I hasten to add), she suddenly decided it was time for a first proper pipi in the potty. And several more since. The process remains a bit hit and miss, since she still refuses to wear normal panties and once a nappy is on, well… a nappy is designed to be peed in, isn't it…? Mais bon, ça commence enfin…
04 avril 2013
Choker
The Easter weekend started off with me abandoning les deux filles (et demie) for a final solo cross-channel flight of the season for football obsession feeding purposes. And it was an entirely relaxed trip for a change. Smooth outward flight, chauffeur-driven ride from airport to pub, pre-match pint or three in the pub with le grand gooner and the surrogate barrel-maker number 2, comfortable victory against the doomed Royals, delicious post-match dinner back in Cambridge with le grand chef et la petite beaucoup, and finally uneventful trip home the following day.
Meanwhile the girls apparently had a good time without me, barring one half-hour Saturday evening tantrum. And so it was en famille that we headed to the park on Easter Monday morning. After a pleasant stroll in cool, hazy sunshine we headed to the nearby garden centre café for lunch. And there the weekend almost came to a distinctly unpleasant end. La petite gourmande was tucking into a fruit salad when she suddenly started choking. Not an unusual situation in itself, as when she was younger she often stuffed too much into her mouth at once. However in the past she's always managed to cough it up and out straightaway. This time the offending object was well and truly stuck, and the way our little treasure was desperately and vainly trying to suck in air with a look of panic in her eyes suggested this was no ordinary choking episode. Her parents were also somewhat panic-struck, but after a scary moment that could have lasted anywhere between 20 and 60 seconds, papa's rather tentative attempt at the Heimlich manoeuvre at last dislodged a large chunk of pineapple.
Fortunately there were no discernible after-effects, though it was mildly worrying to see her uncharacteristically almost fall asleep on her push-along tricycle on the way home. Pineapple remains off the menu for the moment though…
The gestation of her future little sister apparently progresses well, though la bienheureuse's last appointment at the hospital produced an 'arrêt pathologique', a sort of maternity sick-leave (in her case due to the gestational diabetes) which extends the prenatal maternity leave by two weeks. La mère travailleuse thus stops work on Monday. No excuse for a holiday though - as it is a type of sick leave, she is constrained to be at home between 9-11am and 2-4pm every day of the two weeks. And the social security apparently can call round to check...
Meanwhile the girls apparently had a good time without me, barring one half-hour Saturday evening tantrum. And so it was en famille that we headed to the park on Easter Monday morning. After a pleasant stroll in cool, hazy sunshine we headed to the nearby garden centre café for lunch. And there the weekend almost came to a distinctly unpleasant end. La petite gourmande was tucking into a fruit salad when she suddenly started choking. Not an unusual situation in itself, as when she was younger she often stuffed too much into her mouth at once. However in the past she's always managed to cough it up and out straightaway. This time the offending object was well and truly stuck, and the way our little treasure was desperately and vainly trying to suck in air with a look of panic in her eyes suggested this was no ordinary choking episode. Her parents were also somewhat panic-struck, but after a scary moment that could have lasted anywhere between 20 and 60 seconds, papa's rather tentative attempt at the Heimlich manoeuvre at last dislodged a large chunk of pineapple.
Fortunately there were no discernible after-effects, though it was mildly worrying to see her uncharacteristically almost fall asleep on her push-along tricycle on the way home. Pineapple remains off the menu for the moment though…
The gestation of her future little sister apparently progresses well, though la bienheureuse's last appointment at the hospital produced an 'arrêt pathologique', a sort of maternity sick-leave (in her case due to the gestational diabetes) which extends the prenatal maternity leave by two weeks. La mère travailleuse thus stops work on Monday. No excuse for a holiday though - as it is a type of sick leave, she is constrained to be at home between 9-11am and 2-4pm every day of the two weeks. And the social security apparently can call round to check...
28 mars 2013
Déjà vu
It sounded strangely familiar. A call, days before she was due to visit, from la soeur, warning that she might not make it, due to a missing passport this time rather than a merely out of date one. Fortunately all was well following a couple of expensive hasty dashes to the Liverpool passport office, despite some less than precise parental birth and marriage details. The fates hadn't finished toying with travel plans yet though. A forecast of heavy early morning snow in the frozen wastes of northern England forced a drive south late in the evening before her flight. But it was all worth it as she arrived on time in Lyon in 18 degree sunshine.
That was an isolated day of good weather though. Spring steadfastly refuses to arrive. There was however enough watery sunshine to allow the odd outing or two, including a trip to the park and ride on le petit train again. Not that much extra amusement needed to be provided, as aunt and niece generally found enough entertainment in each other's company. Not sure what la tante thought of the entertainment on offer one afternoon though, when it was a small bear cub with a sore head that woke up from her afternoon crèche rather than a happy, smiling toddler…
The day la petite was at the crèche, papa took his little sister for a first look at the new shopping complex at the Confluence. The year-old development has been criticised for being out of the way and poorly served by public transport, and veers between being very busy on Saturdays and during school holidays to empty during the week. It was indeed virtually deserted on a cold and breezy spring Tuesday, but getting there was easy enough on the tram, and we took the river shuttle back into the town centre, which was a pleasant way to travel. The top floor of the centre is also devoted to restaurants, with wooden decking and terraces, which I imagine would be very pleasant in the summer.
That was an isolated day of good weather though. Spring steadfastly refuses to arrive. There was however enough watery sunshine to allow the odd outing or two, including a trip to the park and ride on le petit train again. Not that much extra amusement needed to be provided, as aunt and niece generally found enough entertainment in each other's company. Not sure what la tante thought of the entertainment on offer one afternoon though, when it was a small bear cub with a sore head that woke up from her afternoon crèche rather than a happy, smiling toddler…
The day la petite was at the crèche, papa took his little sister for a first look at the new shopping complex at the Confluence. The year-old development has been criticised for being out of the way and poorly served by public transport, and veers between being very busy on Saturdays and during school holidays to empty during the week. It was indeed virtually deserted on a cold and breezy spring Tuesday, but getting there was easy enough on the tram, and we took the river shuttle back into the town centre, which was a pleasant way to travel. The top floor of the centre is also devoted to restaurants, with wooden decking and terraces, which I imagine would be very pleasant in the summer.
21 mars 2013
Hard and easy
Toddler behaviour, part n: swings between sweet nature and irritable, stubborn bad moods seem to be par for the course at the moment, though it should be admitted that the upswings are generally longer lasting. Another weekend trip to the pool passed off sans tantrum, and capped a pleasant weekend that started as is now usual with papa et fille enjoying a 'motricité' session at the crèche. Songs, games, and circuit training for under threes add up to a fun-filled hour for toddler and parent.
The major behavioural downswing came yesterday morning, midway through a two-day spell without mama. A nappy change just after lunch resulted in a major tantrum which only ended when papa pretended, without having to put on too much of an act, to cry as loudly as his daughter. We'll put it down to missing mama (in Paris on her final work trip, by train, before confinement) and some ongoing digestive problems. Said nappy change was required after a concerted and eventually successful effort to force a bowel movement. Constipation is unsettling enough for an adult, so can't imagine how it makes a two year old feel. Fingers crossed things loosen up soon...
The major behavioural downswing came yesterday morning, midway through a two-day spell without mama. A nappy change just after lunch resulted in a major tantrum which only ended when papa pretended, without having to put on too much of an act, to cry as loudly as his daughter. We'll put it down to missing mama (in Paris on her final work trip, by train, before confinement) and some ongoing digestive problems. Said nappy change was required after a concerted and eventually successful effort to force a bowel movement. Constipation is unsettling enough for an adult, so can't imagine how it makes a two year old feel. Fingers crossed things loosen up soon...
14 mars 2013
Tempered spring
Spring is in the air, but hasn't quite arrived yet. Temperatures climbed to 18C the day la petite reached two years as if in celebration, but a week later they have plunged back down to barely above freezing. Brr, but at least the sun has been more in evidence over the last fortnight.
There was a double celebration for the second birthday. First with les petits copains at the crèche, and then back home with immediate family. Two cakes, two lots of candles successfully blown out and, err, a number of presents. Over-excitement was the order of the evening, but she eventually went to sleep.
The terrible twos seemingly started several weeks early. Tantrums are beginning to rear their ugly head, usually with no obvious cause. The first public one came and went with bewildering speed last weekend when we all went swimming. It was la petite coquinette herself who decided it was time to get out of the pool and go home, so all the more disconcerting that getting her dried and changed provoked a screaming fit. Hope we don't have to get too used to it…
Today, another minor tantrum after breakfast, followed by some sulking under the table. Soon cheered up though, and was sweetness personified the rest of the morning. Perhaps she was missing granny, who flew home yesterday after two weeks that passed quickly on all sides. Marmalade was made, kitchen thoroughly spring-cleaned, birthday cake baked. Surprising how useful a third adult is when coping with bringing up a single toddler.
There was a double celebration for the second birthday. First with les petits copains at the crèche, and then back home with immediate family. Two cakes, two lots of candles successfully blown out and, err, a number of presents. Over-excitement was the order of the evening, but she eventually went to sleep.
The terrible twos seemingly started several weeks early. Tantrums are beginning to rear their ugly head, usually with no obvious cause. The first public one came and went with bewildering speed last weekend when we all went swimming. It was la petite coquinette herself who decided it was time to get out of the pool and go home, so all the more disconcerting that getting her dried and changed provoked a screaming fit. Hope we don't have to get too used to it…
Today, another minor tantrum after breakfast, followed by some sulking under the table. Soon cheered up though, and was sweetness personified the rest of the morning. Perhaps she was missing granny, who flew home yesterday after two weeks that passed quickly on all sides. Marmalade was made, kitchen thoroughly spring-cleaned, birthday cake baked. Surprising how useful a third adult is when coping with bringing up a single toddler.
28 février 2013
Brighter outlook
The sun has finally begun to make more regular appearances over the last week and, as the days lengthen, so the days of the cursed colds and coughs seem to be numbered. The course of antibiotics would appear to have done the trick for la bienheureuse and, while la petite & papa are slightly enrhumés with a cold that lingers on, it is a minor inconvenience rather than a major health hazard.
Despite being somewhat bothered by a blocked nose and chesty cough over the last ten days or so, la petite coquinette continues to astound and amaze. Favourite trick last week was diving head first off the sofa. With a pile of cushions to soften the landing I hasten to admit. She also spent most of the two hours we spent at 'Indoor Aventure' on Sunday on the trampolines, and was unfazed by a slide designated for over-3s that scared papa. Jumping is one of her favourite activities, "saute" is one of her favourite words, just one of a rapidly increasing vocabulary. About three quarters of the words she speaks at the moment seem to be French, perhaps surprisingly given that she only spends 2 days out of 7 in a totally francophone environment. It's tempting to conclude that simple French terms are easier to pronounce than English, or maybe the maternal assistants at the crèche just speak more clearly than papa…
Meanwhile her future little sister apparently sorted out all by herself the minor kidney malfunction that was causing mild concern, though la grossesse can't be said to be progressing quite as smoothly as the first. Maman, accompanied by papa, spent the morning at the hospital early this week, firstly for the echography that gave the renal all-clear, and then for a consultation with an endocrinologist, gestational diabetes having been diagnosed during the last monthly checkup. Daily blood sugar monitoring and a more careful dietary plan were prescribed.
Hopefully the new arrival won't put in her appearance during working hours. We made the decision to drive, on the correct assumption that the appointments would overrun and force me to drive straight from there to the airport to pick up la belle-mère, arriving for her grand-daughter's 2nd birthday. Big mistake (the decision to drive to the hospital that is, not going to fetch la belle-mère) - we got to the top of the hill and traffic ground to a complete halt. Neither of us could remember how much further the hospital was, but in the end the expectant mother got out and walked, leaving me to crawl along in the car.
Right decision this time, because the hospital was a mere two or three hundred yards further on, which took three minutes on foot and more than twenty by car. Ironically, it turned out that the traffic problems were caused by the queue to get into the hospital car park, which was all but full. I eventually got there, parked in the exorbitantly expensive drop-off area, and was in time to see a rather nice 3d image of an unborn face. Looks remarkably like a similar image we were treated to just over two years ago…
Despite being somewhat bothered by a blocked nose and chesty cough over the last ten days or so, la petite coquinette continues to astound and amaze. Favourite trick last week was diving head first off the sofa. With a pile of cushions to soften the landing I hasten to admit. She also spent most of the two hours we spent at 'Indoor Aventure' on Sunday on the trampolines, and was unfazed by a slide designated for over-3s that scared papa. Jumping is one of her favourite activities, "saute" is one of her favourite words, just one of a rapidly increasing vocabulary. About three quarters of the words she speaks at the moment seem to be French, perhaps surprisingly given that she only spends 2 days out of 7 in a totally francophone environment. It's tempting to conclude that simple French terms are easier to pronounce than English, or maybe the maternal assistants at the crèche just speak more clearly than papa…
Meanwhile her future little sister apparently sorted out all by herself the minor kidney malfunction that was causing mild concern, though la grossesse can't be said to be progressing quite as smoothly as the first. Maman, accompanied by papa, spent the morning at the hospital early this week, firstly for the echography that gave the renal all-clear, and then for a consultation with an endocrinologist, gestational diabetes having been diagnosed during the last monthly checkup. Daily blood sugar monitoring and a more careful dietary plan were prescribed.
Hopefully the new arrival won't put in her appearance during working hours. We made the decision to drive, on the correct assumption that the appointments would overrun and force me to drive straight from there to the airport to pick up la belle-mère, arriving for her grand-daughter's 2nd birthday. Big mistake (the decision to drive to the hospital that is, not going to fetch la belle-mère) - we got to the top of the hill and traffic ground to a complete halt. Neither of us could remember how much further the hospital was, but in the end the expectant mother got out and walked, leaving me to crawl along in the car.
Right decision this time, because the hospital was a mere two or three hundred yards further on, which took three minutes on foot and more than twenty by car. Ironically, it turned out that the traffic problems were caused by the queue to get into the hospital car park, which was all but full. I eventually got there, parked in the exorbitantly expensive drop-off area, and was in time to see a rather nice 3d image of an unborn face. Looks remarkably like a similar image we were treated to just over two years ago…
21 février 2013
Fogged up
Winter weariness continues, seasonal sickness recurs yet again. La bienheureuse returned from frozen Finland with lungs and sinuses all clogged up. A visit to the doctor resulted in a referral to hospital for tests. Four hours spent at Croix Rousse urgences having a swab shoved up a nostril, seemingly as far as the brain, and various needles jabbed into the arms for blood tests resulted in an all-clear for flu but confirmation of bacterial infection.
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
Thus, another course of antibiotics is in progress. Meanwhile, la petite has picked up yet another cold and, just as papa thought he could see good health in sight, he too succumbed anew. Cough, cough. We yearn for the sun and warmth of spring.
The old fool didn't help his health by indulging an addiction with another trip across the Channel. Quel cauchemar. Monday evening the phone rings and British Airways inform me my flight at the nice relaxed time of eleven thirty in the morning has been cancelled because of bad weather. Alternatives offered: 7am or six in the evening, the latter too late to get me to the match on time.
Thus, I was up (after a night of little sleep) and making my bleary-eyed way through fog-bound Lyon to the airport at 5am in the morning. Fog at Heathrow was ostensibly the reason of the cancellation of the original flight. Surely in this day and age planes can take off and land in fog? Of course they can. An overheard conversation with the pilot of the 7am flight revealed that the later, less full flight, was probably just cancelled to avoid the knock-on delays that fog can, however, cause. Thanks, BA, think I'll stick to budget airlines next time.
Sure enough, fog blanketed London, but only the north and east. Heathrow itself was completely clear, and I thus found myself in sunny central London by 10am with a whole day to waste. And waste it I did, watching Bond fall from the sky, spending vouchers on childrens' books, having a leisurely lunch and then an extended pre-match dinner in the pub with le grand gooner. And then wasted the next two hours watching the misfiring Gunners being taught a lesson by a well-oiled Bavarian machine. The football season is all but over. Would that the winter season would end so abruptly.
And to cap it all, the flight home was full of enemy Spuds, coming over for tonight's match against OL. Though perhaps I ought to use the word enemy more advisedly. Enemy in the 'friendly' sporting rivalry sense. English fans were apparently attacked last night in a couple of pubs in Vieux Lyon that I've frequented on more than one occasion myself. Reports suggest that they were deliberately targeted by an extreme right group rather than opposition fans. I was thinking of going to watch the match - think I might watch it on TV instead. Too cold to watch football live anyway...
12 février 2013
Chink of light
While it was optimistic to expect all coughs and sniffles to have gone within a week, in the case of papa et la petite at least, there seems to be light visible at the end of the tunnel. For la travailleuse however, another cold has added to the persistent cough. Not serious enough to stop her travelling to Helsinki this week though, hopefully the last work trip for several months. Father and daughter just about survived two days and nights without her last week, but only just. Seems 72 hours without mama is the absolute limit for a nearly two year old toddler...
On a brighter note, sunlight reappeared in the apartment last week, the first indoor sighting since early November. Maybe the sombre, unhealthy days of winter really are numbered. Then again, maybe not. A couple of minor snowfalls last week would seem to suggest otherwise anyway, even if the bigger dump forecast over the weekend instead turned to rain. Temperatures are still well below the seasonal average though.
In the wider world, almost half the primary school teachers in Lyon and elsewhere are on strike today, as protest against the reform of the school week proposed for the start of the next academic year. For the last twenty or thirty years, French primary school pupils and teachers have had Wednesdays off. Up until a few years ago, they went to school on Saturday mornings instead, but that was done away with under the last government.
There is general agreement that this led to too intense a school day for the children (French primary school children have 6 hours of lessons a day, the highest in Europe, when psychological studies show they are generally attentive for a maximum of 4.5 hours day). What there is less agreement about is how to redistribute the hours in the school week. The government is proposing Wednesday morning lessons, with a longer lunch break the other days of the week and non-academic activities in the afternoons. Parents and teachers alike aren't too keen of the idea of a change in the routine they've got used to over the last twenty years. The argument continues…
On a brighter note, sunlight reappeared in the apartment last week, the first indoor sighting since early November. Maybe the sombre, unhealthy days of winter really are numbered. Then again, maybe not. A couple of minor snowfalls last week would seem to suggest otherwise anyway, even if the bigger dump forecast over the weekend instead turned to rain. Temperatures are still well below the seasonal average though.
In the wider world, almost half the primary school teachers in Lyon and elsewhere are on strike today, as protest against the reform of the school week proposed for the start of the next academic year. For the last twenty or thirty years, French primary school pupils and teachers have had Wednesdays off. Up until a few years ago, they went to school on Saturday mornings instead, but that was done away with under the last government.
There is general agreement that this led to too intense a school day for the children (French primary school children have 6 hours of lessons a day, the highest in Europe, when psychological studies show they are generally attentive for a maximum of 4.5 hours day). What there is less agreement about is how to redistribute the hours in the school week. The government is proposing Wednesday morning lessons, with a longer lunch break the other days of the week and non-academic activities in the afternoons. Parents and teachers alike aren't too keen of the idea of a change in the routine they've got used to over the last twenty years. The argument continues…
05 février 2013
Coughing comeback
And so it continues. Just as one illness is on its way out, so another takes its place. La petite's cold improved, then got worse, la bienheureuse's cough was almost gone before returning with a vengeance, and papa had just about recovered from his previous ailment when yet another cold came along and aggravated the cough again. Splutter, three ailments in two months from a man who claims three in ten previous years. All now slowly recovering, fingers crossed and nostrils blocked…
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
Of course, air travel is never good for the health, so perhaps I was tempting fate by indulging in a cross-Channel trip last week to ease my lifelong football fever. And the health of the Premier League heroes continues to ebb and flow, with yet another half and half performance against the red Scousers. Still, t'was an entertaining game and a pleasant evening otherwise, a pre-match pub dinner with la petite beaucoup et le grand chef followed by a post-match pint or two with the McBhoy, who also provided convenient overnight lodgings a mere ten minute walk from the ground.
Meanwhile, la femme enceinte is also risking the perils of planes, with the first work trip of the new year - a short hop to company headquarters in Germany this week, albeit a two-nighter, before a longer trip next week to the land of a thousand frozen lakes. Maybe by then, we'll all be healthy...
29 janvier 2013
Ups and downs
The respite from winter malady was all too brief. During the blighted trip to Blighty, my cough gradually got worse. Two days later I spent the day lying in front of the TV or in bed, and was driven to the doctor's surgery. For the following week antibiotics and anti-inflammatories coursed through my system, and happily seem to have more or less done the trick. Only worries now are the cough that refuses to go away chez moi, yet another in a seemingly unending procession of minor colds chez la petite actuelle, and a minor anomaly in one kidney chez la petite à venir.
Elsewhere, on foreign fields, the ups and downs also continue. A tendency to play only the second 45 minutes of each match proved enough to down the Swans and the Seagulls in the FA cup, but not enough to overcome the blue Russian not-so-nouveau riche of west London. On fields closer to home, the season for les gones has also been a bit up and down. Beaten on penalties in the first round of the French cup by a team two divisions lower (sounds familiar), but playing yo-yo with PSG and OM at the top of Ligue, OL currently lie second on goal difference to the Qatari-funded Parisians.
Talking of which (Qatari-funded sporting concerns, that is) today's edition of France Football magazine is effectively claiming the decision to award the 2022 World Cup was purchased. Not a new accusation, but what is new is the allegation that Sarkozy and Michel Platini met secretly with the Qatari crown prince ten days before Qatar was awarded the World Cup. Allegedly, the Qataris were promised the French vote in return for buying PSG and funding the new French sports channel that is currently threatening the TV football hegemony previously enjoyed France by Canal+, who Sarko viewed as a thorn in his side…
Elsewhere, on foreign fields, the ups and downs also continue. A tendency to play only the second 45 minutes of each match proved enough to down the Swans and the Seagulls in the FA cup, but not enough to overcome the blue Russian not-so-nouveau riche of west London. On fields closer to home, the season for les gones has also been a bit up and down. Beaten on penalties in the first round of the French cup by a team two divisions lower (sounds familiar), but playing yo-yo with PSG and OM at the top of Ligue, OL currently lie second on goal difference to the Qatari-funded Parisians.
Talking of which (Qatari-funded sporting concerns, that is) today's edition of France Football magazine is effectively claiming the decision to award the 2022 World Cup was purchased. Not a new accusation, but what is new is the allegation that Sarkozy and Michel Platini met secretly with the Qatari crown prince ten days before Qatar was awarded the World Cup. Allegedly, the Qataris were promised the French vote in return for buying PSG and funding the new French sports channel that is currently threatening the TV football hegemony previously enjoyed France by Canal+, who Sarko viewed as a thorn in his side…
15 janvier 2013
Cross dressing
And so, gradually we settle back into the routine of everyday life in chilly Lyon. La petite resumes her two day routine at the crèche with a trace of shyness but enjoys her fun-filled days there as usual. However, getting her dressed in the morning becomes something of a daily pitched battle, perhaps her way of protesting at getting abruptly abandoned after almost three weeks in the near full-time company of both parents.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
Away from the morning wrestling and bargaining sessions, things trundle along just fine. The lurgies of the past few weeks seem to have finally been beaten, a lingering cough or two apart. Indeed the only health scare occurred on la travailleuse's first commute back to work, when a packed metro induced a fainting fit and heavy fall. Not uncommon for a woman in her condition apparently, and fortunately no damage done and no recurrence since.
Grey clouds in the sky, but the only dark cloud on my personal horizon is of the trivial sporting nature. I enjoy, in certain senses of the word, another cross-channel trip over the weekend, outward via train. Near St Pancras I meet up with le grand gooner chef for a very pleasant Sunday roast and beer or three in the pub before we head to the game against the oil-doped Mancunian citizens. A self-inflicted wound and a disappointing game later we spend a quiet night with tea and toast in Cambridge before I catch the plane home the next day to seek consolation in the family bosom.
04 janvier 2013
Feasts and family
As it turned out, the two day journey from Lyon to Cheshire wasn't as bad as feared. La travailleuse took half a day off work (intended to be a full day, but an unreasonable deadline at work put paid to that idea) to do most of the packing, leaving me to load the new voiture and finally figure out, with help from la bienheureuse, how to fit the roof bars securely (blame a head befuddled by illness and fatigue). Bars for a roof box that in the end we decided to travel without, partly thanks to efficient packing, but mostly because the new, higher car with roof box attached won't fit into the garage or even through the door into the courtyard which houses the garage. Gnash, gnash...
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
And so, the Friday before Noël we set off soon after 9.30am on the long drive north. Eight and a half hours and two refreshment breaks later we arrived at our overnight stop in the wonderfully named Loon Plage near Dunkirk after a journey troubled only by minor complaints from the child seat. iPads are wonderful in-car child entertainment devices. Dinner in the hotel and a relatively quiet night, at least in the case of the youngest occupant of the room, followed. Her parents, both still suffering heavy colds, intermittently slept and snored well throughout the night, though apparently never at the same time.
A five minute drive to the ferry terminal the following morning allowed us to check in more than an hour before the 10am sailing, though there was a bit of unseemly haste later after a relaxed drink in the café was rudely interrupted when la bienheureuse went back to the car to find it was only one of three left in the boarding queue. The two hour crossing was smooth enough and made easier by a soft play area which kept la petite coquinette amused for much the time, and French wheels touched English soil for the first time just after eleven in the morning.
Long drive north number two through persistent rain and a mere two traffic hold-ups (A2 and M25) took almost five hours, but we arrived chez la belle-mère (who had paid for her trip in the reverse direction three weeks earlier by contracting the dreaded virus) only mildly the worse for wear. Exhaustion was staved off until after dinner and then we all collapsed into bed.
Rest and recovery was the main item on the agenda for the next couple of days, apart from two shopping trips for la bienheureuse et la belle-mère, one for a bit of last minute Christmas shopping, the other the weekly provision run.
Come Christmas morning, lingering coughs and snot-clogged sinus pains apart, the adults in the family seemed to be on the slow road to health, and la petite was already there. After a morning spent opening presents it was off across the border to spend Christmas day chez le beau-frère in deepest north Wales. A cosy time was had by all, Christmas lunch was delicious and enormous, once again the in-laws were far too generous and received the dubious present of the nasty virus in return.
On Boxing Day, the slow gathering of the opposite side of the clan commenced, with le grand frère arriving late in the afternoon. The next day le petit frère and la cuñada dos arrived in the afternoon, after a game of hide and seek with me in their hotel in Chester for a few minutes, and la soeur completed the party the same afternoon. Despite suffering from a the after-effects of a heavy cold herself, la belle-mère heroically aided her French visitors' recuperation by doing almost all of the cooking and cleaning. Delicious roast ham was on the Boxing Day dinner menu, and followed by luscious roast lamb on Thursday.
The cook was given the morning off on Friday for the mass visit of the East Cheshire branch of the family, leaving me free reign of the kitchen to put together the now traditional family Christmas tartiflette for thirteen. Nieces and nephews keep growing and changing, but a good time was had by all, particularly the baby of the family who had sundry aunts, uncles and cousins to keep her amused and give her yet more presents. Enough to make us wonder if the roof-box might after all have been needed.
The next day, the visitors left one by one and the football obsessive also took temporary leave for a day trip to the smoke to watch the trigger happy gunners and geordies take unequal shares of a ten goal thriller. Well worth the long day and late night return. Meanwhile, the three girls took advantage of the absence of guests with a trip to the soft play centre at a nearby ice cream farm.
After another pleasant day in North Wales on Sunday, and another trip to the ice cream farm on Monday, all too soon it was the eve of the new year. We compromised on need for sleep and sense of duty by seeing in the French new year with a small coupe de champagne before going to bed. And on New Years day, it was time to start the long journey home. With a hint of a tear in the eye and car stuffed with baggage and gifts we took our leave of la belle-mère and headed south to our first stop near Cambridge, where we spent a pleasant day and two evenings chez Professor Margarita with his poorly spaniel.
Then we hit the road once more. Dover, cross-channel ferry, Dunkirk and three hours on French autoroutes passed in a blur before we made an overnight stop near Chalons in Champagne country. Thence it was a mere four hour cruise down the autoroute before we were back home in not-so-sunny Lyon. The end of a very pleasant, only-slightly-marred-by-ill-health festive holiday.
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