When God Closes a Door....

Three months ago, we asked Maria what she wanted to be for Halloween.  She answered immediately, "I will be a door, and Louisa will be a window."

I'm not sure what inspired these choices.  We had just acquired Carl's Masquerade---a book featuring many splendid inanimate object costumes---a volcano, a pile of burning coals, and a watermelon being a few of the more memorable.  But it might also just be written in Maria's genetics--- her daddy was known to costume himself as things like bendy straws and spatulas.  Whatever the inspiration, Maria stuck with her choice.  (Clearly, she hasn't inherited her mother's tendency to indecision.)

Though happy to postpone the inevitable princess years, I became less enthusiastic about the door and window costumes as the holiday approached.   Time was short.  The sewing machine was still packed.    The costumes on the racks at TJ Max were both beautiful and surprisingly cheap--cheaper than a supply run to JoAnn Fabrics.  Finally, I decided to forgo my plans involving felt, foam rubber, and a window box full full of silk flowers, and make something simple out of a material we had on hand---cardboard.  Best to not even set foot in a craft store.

What resulted were perhaps my most successful costumes yet:

We judged that our neighborhood would be too dark for trick-or-treating with small children, so we took our little door and window to the St. Mary's Halleluja party.  It was a Halloween, All Saints Day, and All Soul's Day party in one, and it was just our speed.  There were many sweet people dressed as saints giving out candy and prayer cards.  There were crafts: making St. Bridget's crosses from pipe cleaners (which turns out to be a bit of a challenge even for adults), coloring bookmarks, and decorating votive bags to decorate the alter for the vigil Mass.  There were bean bag and ring toss stations, as well as a doughnut gauntlet.   Maria did crafts and took a hay ride in the parking lot.  She let other kids borrow the door costume--so the fact that her costume wasn't attached turned out to be one of its best features.  Loulou ran around with a stolen bean bag and cavorted with a little girl dressed as a My Little Pony.

Maria, after a bout with a powdered donut.

 We all enjoyed soul cakes (aka. donuts) that were fried on the spot.   After recognizing the glazed, sugar-adled look in the girls' eyes, we retreated home, lit our two Jack-o-lanterns, and made a late dinner of scrambled eggs and grapes.

Donnie and I agreed that it was our best Halloween ever.

A (Very Rough) Portrait of the Artist at Four Years Old

Dear Maria,

Some weeks ago, we celebrated your fourth birthday.  The girls from downstairs came up.  You wore a chef's toque made from wrapping paper and we decorated cupcakes.   You and your little friends ate sprinkles  from the jar.  When it came time to sing, you suggested that we sing happy birthday to "Louie,"   This suggestion was so characteristically you---that in your enthusiasm for the idea of the party, you forgot that all the hubbub was happening in your honor.

I've been struggling over how to write a birthday tribute, and this post has turned into a bit of a juggernaut.  At first, I was tempted to write something pithy and enigmatic:  Four years ago, a mystery was born, and she still lives with us today.

But I'd like to leave some record of four year old Maria.   Someday, in your quest for self-knowledge, you may stumble upon this post. There should be a few white pebbles in it to help you find your way.

We adore you, darling Girl, but we often struggle to understand you.  And I'm unable to describe you without recording some of the struggle.  During pregnancy, I imagined that I'd have an instant, instinctual understanding of my baby. Your appearance at the end of those nine hidden months would answer all questions, and an intuition of your needs and personality would be  delivered to me--perhaps via the magic of post-partum hormones.

Instead, I discovered that the mystery was just as great after birth as before---it just now had a shape around it; a beautiful Maria-shape, with long legs, a full head of hair, and big, slate gray eyes.  You were a joy, but also a puzzle and challenge.  It was difficult to understand your baby ways and to trust the great hidden leaps of your unfurling intelligence. We fretted over you--over your sleep, your picky eating, and your language acquisition.   We still fret--will you ever learn to use a fork or blow your nose properly?  Will you ever learn to give a straightforward answer, without the haze of fantastic, French-accented gibberish?   I'm sorry for all the fretting, Dear.  You are, after all, our little test pancake.

This past year, the shape around your mystery has grown more distinct.  What instinct did not provide, we are slowly learning through study.  We find you sensitive and creative.  You have complicated ideas that build in the depths of your mind and burst forth in an often-difficult-to-understand froth.  You have an incredible, goofy sweetness.  Your joy is nutritive.  I've never seen a better image of paradise, than the sun shining on your smiling face.

Here are a few anecdotes from recent life.  I submit them to you.  They're far from complete--I had hoped to include two or three others---but in the interest of preventing "better" be the enemy of the "good," here are just three.  They are a very rough sketch: Maria, at four years old.

I

We recently had a sort of parent-teacher conference with your maitresses at the French pre-school.  They talked with knit brows and grave faces.*  At one point, I laughed out loud, because what they were saying sounded so much like a line from the movie, Amelie:

"She doesn't play with the other children.  She's in her own world."

What your teachers didn't understand, was that for you, a little goes a long way.  You love your friends, with an open, disinterested affection.  You come home with stories of their doings, and you laugh about their jokes days after they make them.  They seem to enjoy a second life as your imaginary playmates.  You plan what you're going to tell these friends and hash over what you've already told them.

But when you are with them, you have a hard time keeping up.  Part of it is the language, but it's also that you, like your parents, tend to be a little caught in your head  Your friends don't follow what you try to explain your thoughts.  But you're happy to caper after them, to take in a small exchange and digest it completely on your own.

And being this way, you don't seem to need a great number of friends, or a great deal of stimulation.  You spend much of your time with the other children, engrossed in your own narrative.  But there is no doubting your open-hearted love and sociability.

II

You've proven to be a devoted and protective sister.  This protective part has come as a surprise.  For so long, whenever we discovered Louisa doing something dangerous or destructive, we more likely than not, found you along side her, laughing in delight.  But protective you have become---especially when we're outside the house.  It distresses you when Louisa tries to walk about in the the train by herself---you worry she will fall.   And it worries you when she goes up to strangers.  You grab her hand and pull her back---a move that we used to discourage---but now you have learned it to  do it with just enough gentleness. Yesterday, I was able to buy myself a pair of shoes thanks to your vigilance.  Louisa tore through the aisles of footware with you as a monitor.  When you felt exasperated from your charge, you told me frankly:  "it's time for Loulou to go in the stroller."  That was that, and we buckled her in despite her protests.  And so you had peace of mind.

An old picture, taken shortly after Christmas.

III

I've been tired lately, and often collapse in my bed after putting Loulou down for her nap.  When I wake an hour later, I find that you've glued bits of paper with drawings  of letters and people onto the inside of a styrofoam tray and filled it with beads and buttons.

"Un cadeau, Maman."  "A gift, Mama. "

Yes, my Sweet---the gift of a decorated tray and the gift of a nap.  I can delight in both your creation and your being happy left alone to create.

It has been interesting to watch your artistic trajectory.   Back in October, you made your first "face"--  a circle, with two dots and a line for the mouth.  You said it was a Carebear.   I sat back and waited for more faces to follow.  Months went by and none emerged.  Instead, you plunged back into the abstract.   Sometimes, I asked you what you were drawing.  Most often, you answered succinctly, "Lines and dots."  On some occasions,  you made an arabesque with your hand and said in a grave voice "the whole world."  I'd look at your big loopy circles and lines and think, "yes, she's got it right."

You graduated to delicate branching  drawings, with lines meeting at big, dark dots.   They reminded me of Miros.  I guessed you were learning from the drawings in Daddy's research notebooks.  You drew these branching graphs on napkins during our travels in Barcelona and Amsterdam, and I promised myself that I'd give you some proper paper when we got home, and that I'd frame the drawing.

One of my favorites: "Broken Bidets"

But, abruptly, the graphs gave way and, at last, people emerged: great, bodiless heads, with flagellum-like limbs, and googly eyes of discrepant sizes.   You labeled your figures with zigzags standing in for text.  In recent weeks, bodies have made an appearance; hair too---both curly and straight---as well as fingers, eyelashes, and dots for cheeks.    In and around these figures are letters.   Real, undeniable letters.  I have to give credit to the French school--for certainly some of their lessons have hit home, and they blossom forth in your art.

Little four-year-old Maria, How blessed we are to have you in our family.  How blessed we are to watch you grow and be your parents.  Here's to another year of living with the Mystery!

*Maria's teachers were concerned because they were unaware that we would be moving this summer.  They were reviewing Maria's work and weren't sure that Maria had learned enough of the material to graduate to the next level.  Maria only for attended for half days and she was frequently absent because our many trips.  Clearly, we, as a family, didn't get fully on board the French kindergarten thing.  While that was not a good think for Maria's language acquisition, it meant that we got to see more of Europe and Louisa and I got to see more of Maria.  You take the good with the bad.

Pre-Christmas Marketing

Here's me playing catch-up.

After Mass on the last Sunday of Advent we went to the Palaiseau  market to buy some fish for our Christams Eve dinner and a roast for Christmas Day.  A few pictures from the trip:

A Boulangerie and Patissier displaying Buche de Noel in their window.

A fishmonger's shop decked out for the season.

Capon and fattened hens for sale, heads and feet on.

The poultry stand where we buy our Christmas roast.  We are pleased to find the same vendor who sells at our neighborhood Lozere market.  She's friendly, greeting us in her rolling, Spanish-accented French (she's from Columbia).  Today we buy a trussed goose roast.  She gives us a few artisan chicken nuggets for the kids. 

The fishmonger's stall, where we purchase two flounder.

Pretty fish.

On the street, heading back to the Palaiseau train station.  It's a gusty, cloudy day that threatens rain.  There's an urgency and furtive character in the movements of the shoppers.  Vintage Christmas airs are piped in over the loudspeaker system, the quavering voices adding a note of melancholy---but maybe that was just me being hungry.

Trip to Brittany and Normandy: First Three Days

At last, here's the write-up of our Easter vacation (April 6-11).  First of two posts.

Last month, we had a wonderful vacation with Meme and Grandpa.  They rented a mini-van and took us to Britttany and Normandy. It was so good to spend time with them and to see a little more of France.

Here's an account of the trip:

Holy Week

Donnie is away Monday through Thursday at a workshop in Cluny. I'm home with the kids. I'm still not used to managing on my own with these two girls! The days are so full. In the evenings, I work on the labels for Bridget's Apothecary.


Good Friday

On Friday morning, we make a family trip to the market to buy supplies for a welcome dinner. Mom and Dad arrive at our house in the late afternoon, after hours of "exploring" the Paris area. (I won't go into gory details, but the short of it is, if you're renting a car in France, don't use Hertz!) We have a dinner of salmon cooked in parchment paper with lentils and rice and cut veggies on the side.

That evening Donnie and I pack. The children seem to sense our excitement, and wake often in the night.

Saturday

Mom and Dad arrive at the apartment. We load the car and make it our of the house only an hour and a half behind schedule. There's some crying a Louisa falls asleep for her nap, but the rest of the ride goes well. Mom valiantly rides in the seat furthest to the back---a position that induces immediate car sickness. We have a picnic lunch out of the back of the van in a parking lot--cheese with sliced veggies on baguette. I feel vindicated for having bought an absurd amount of cheese at the market the day before.

We arrive in Dinan. Our hotel (the Rue de Jerzual Best Western) is located on a bank of the river Rance. From outside the hotel, we can see the port of Dinan and the town's dramatic viaduct arching over the river valley. I attempt to get the children to a nap. Loulou dozes while Maria warbles and jumps around in her cot. Donnie, Mom and Dad explore the town and find coffee. They return and we slowly make our way up the medieval thoroughfare, Rue de Jerzual, to beautiful restaurant, Creperie de le Artisan.

The ambiance of the Creperie is nothing short of perfect. The dining room has craggy stone walls and timbered ceilings. There are model frigates hanging from the ceilings, and a merry fire in a blackened hearth. At the head our our table there's an oil painting of a genial Breton grandmother, watching us benevolently from her canvas. We choose our crepes. Brittany is famous for its thin buckweat crepes with simple and utterly delicious fillngs. In an adventurous leap, Dad abandones his resolution to never eat tripe, and orders Andouette avec fromage. (Andouette is a sausage from the from linking of a calf's stomach.) We order the children's menu for Maria. Unfortunately, it includes a tri-color cocktail---sugar and dye with a little water added. Before long, Maria drains the glass and is talking in long, incoherent, sugar-charged spurts. Donnie and I share a caramel crepe for dessert.

When we return to the hotel. Meme and Grandpa watch the kids while Donnie and I try out the hotel hot tub. The massage settings are so forceful and create such a roaring froth, that we end up sputtering to keep the foam out of our eyes and mouths. We can't help but giggle, imagining the view the people manning the security camera are seeing. When another couple arrives at the hottub, we intentionally refrain from warning them, wanting to see their reaction to the maelstrom. All four of us have a hearty laugh.

Perhaps it was the three-dye cocktail, or the German cartoons before bed. That night, Maria sleeps terribly, crying in her sleep.

Easter Sunday

After a terrific breakfast the a the hotel restaurant, we set out for Easter Mass at St. Malo Church in old town Dinan. After giving us directions to the church, the concierge tells Donnie: "I appreciate your dressy-casusal outfit for Easter Sunday." Such a funny compliment.

Maria and Louisa fall into deep sleep early during the Mass. Mom and I remain seated, not wanting to wake them after our difficult night. The church is beautiful. It's gothic with a sparsely decorated interior. There are some gorgeous windows, including some showing the transport of St. Malo's relic's to the church in Dinan, and another incredible window showing Our Lady of the Rosary. There's also an ornately painted organ.

After Mass, we set out into town, and eventually plop ourselves down in a restaurant named something like "Maison Fruit de Mer". I order whelks because I'm sure what they are, and ordering them seems like a good way to find out. Turns out they are a sort of sea-snail-type mollusk and are  delicious dipped in mayonnaise. We have oysters and a number of other treats. The meal drags on because our waiter forgets about us multiple times (it was a very busy restaurant). He gives us a round of chocolate mousse to make up for his negligence. We emerge from the restaurant a good three hours after we entered, stuffed to the gills and very happy. A fitting Easter feast.

We return to the hotel and attempt to get the kids to rest, but it's already after four--no dice. Meanwhile, Meme sets up an Easter egg hunt. The tradition in France is that on Holy Thursday, the church bells fly to Rome and return on Easter Sunday. During their return journey, the bells deposit chocolate eggs, bunnies, and hens in the garden. We love this version of the story since it ties in better with religious tradition than the Easter bunny.

After Meme gives the signal knock on our door, we tell Maria that the Bells have passed by. A trail of plastic eggs leads through Meme and Grandpa's room and into the hotel courtyard to a stash of Easter candy and gifts. There are chocolates, new pajamas, some Easter-themed books, and a new game. Thank you, Meme for bringing all the Easter goodies for the hunt!

That evening, Donnie and I explore a little more of Dinan's medieval quarter. We walk on the ramparts and see the statue of Betrand de Guy. What a lovely thing it is, to walk through an old city at night! There are wonderful smells, and our appetites finally reawaken after our Easter gorging. We stop into a tiny pizza parlor, and in less the ten minutes are walking back down Rue de Jerzual, pie in hand. When we return, the children are still awake. We have a late night pizza and clementine party. Then it's lights out for everybody.

Our Fourth Anniversary

Yesterday was our fourth anniversary. It turned into quite a holiday!

The truth is that Donnie and I find it difficult to plan personal celebrations--especially date-type celebrations. We're much better at the impromptu fete. I used to think this just meant that we were an unfussy, low-maintenance couple. But after a couple of years, I've come to realize that planning for these little milestones--birthdays, anniversaries, even the odd Valentine's day--is important. If you stop paying attention to them, time begins to look like one long undifferentiated stretch--and that feeling can lead people to do all kinds of silly things!

We decided a few weeks back to copy our friends the Waleses and adopt the traditional list of anniversary gifts. The list provides an extra measure of structure and inspiration for those of us who find it difficult to find something new to do every year. The fourth year anniversary gift is fruit or flowers (under the UK list) or silk and fine linen (under the US list). We opted for the fruit or flowers, in part because I didn't think Donnie needed another tie.

Our plan was to go out for breakfast and then meet at the Phipps Botanical Garden in the afternoon for some tea, and a flower viewing stroll. We went for breakfast at the new Pamela's on Murray. The space is beautiful--they're new gallery provided enough people--watching opportunities to keep Maria fully entertained. The food was good too, and came in heaping quantities.

As my gift for Donnie, I spent much of the day making my version of a German fruit-topped cake. (It's a layer of vanilla cake covered with pudding, covered with fruit, covered with gelatin.) My plan was to bring this cake to the Phipps to have with our tea. We'll, I didn't plan sufficiently for cooling time, so 3:30 rolled around and the kitchen was still a mess, and the gelatin on top of the cake no where near solidified. I called Donnie and he suggested that we skip the Phipps and that way he could come home early for the tea, and then he and I would go out in the evening.

The afternoon unfurled quite beautifully.





Donnie's gift to me was a beautiful peridot-colored, linen scarf with flowers on it (notice he managed to include the UK and the US gift in this one present). I've been a bit obsessed with linen since reading Women's Work and discovering it's amazing moisture wicking . It's also so very chic and European to wear a summer scarf!



We put Maria down to sleep and our dear friend Lynn came over to keep watch. Donnie and I headed to the Southside. It was one of those scrumptious summer evenings when the sky reminds you of sherbert. After a delicious dinner at McCormick and Schmidt's (the baby needed a little seafood :), we went to see Midnight in Paris. We both thoroughly enjoyed the movie, and it was certainly exciting to see the city that will be our new home!

It was a decadent, lovely and memorable anniversary!