will WE play in Peoria?

I just left a French lesson, and all I want to do is burst into tears. It’s all I wanted to do for most of the hour and a half I was there. Not because my French is so bad… which it is. Because Kaitlyn’s is worse.

The teacher I had today was Kaitlyn’s teacher yesterday. She started my lesson by telling me she just doesn’t know what to do about Kaitlyn. (join the club) Kaitlyn seems to think the lessons are great fun and play time… but she doesn’t seem to take it seriously. But I don’t know how much any four year old really takes seriously. The teacher said she thinks Kaitlyn isn’t learning much of anything. But she said when she reviews the previous week’s lesson, Kaitlyn knows the answers.

Do we keep the lessons? Drop the lessons? Maybe it’s all just too much for her? I mean, sometimes I think it is too much for me, and I don’t have to spend all day immersed in French.

While mulling all this over, I went to pick Kaitlyn up for lunch. She hopped up from the table where she was playing with play doh and started telling me all about what she’d been making. The teacher stopped her conversation with another parent to tell me the obvious: Kaitlyn parle beaucoup. Mais, en anglais. Yes, yes. I told her that Kaitlyn has been taking French lessons and she seemed happy to hear that… but there’s no denying it doesn’t seem to be doing much.

I don’t want to push her so hard that it becomes a battle I can never, ever win.

This whole canteen thing is getting completely out of control.

Today while eating lunch at home, Kaitlyn announced that she is afraid to go to school. I asked her what she is afraid of. Because I have no problem dropping her off… she kisses me good-bye and goes to play. When I pick her up she is always smiling and happy. Then out of the blue, she told me two times today (lunch and this morning) that she is afraid. So when I probed for some details, which are always sketchy when she tells a tale, she said she is afraid of the canteen. She has eaten there fairly regularly for months now. Generally when you ask her favorite thing about school, she says “eating upstairs.” Which is how she has always referred to the canteen. Until now.

The first thing that changed is she no longer says she eats upstairs. She calls it the canteen and she pronounces it like she’s French. If you say it with an American accent, she looks at you like she has no idea what word you’ve just uttered. Just like a French person will do to you.

The only other thing that seems to have changed is one of her little friends is eating there every day. And hates it. The other American mothers have taken to trying to drop our kids off without being seen, because this child will grab you and hold you and cry for her mommy or daddy. It is heartbreaking. And there’s nothing you can do about it. I’ve hesitated to tel l her mom because I was so peeved last year when someone told me that Kaitlyn was “seen crying” in the canteen. Further investigation with the teacher revealed she was just having normal 4 year old moments. And maybe this little girl is going through some normal 4 year old reactions to having her day completely changed… from spending all summer at Grandma’s to spending all day at school. But I feel caught in the middle. Do I be a butt-in-ski? Would it help? Or is this just something she has to go through then she’ll be over it and all fine? No way to know.

Kaitlyn said this other little girl is sad all day… because she hates the canteen. That was actually the conversation that sparked Kaitlyn’s declaration of fear. So I think that the fear may be that she’ll end up sad, too. Or that she will have to sit next to someone who cries through the meal all the time. Neither sound appealing to me, either.

When I took Kaitlyn back to school after lunch she was fine. She kissed me goodbye and went to play as long as she could get away with before nap time. The kids were already being ushered through the potty with a “tu vas faire du pee pee?” from the teaching assistant. (yes, luckily for the little ones, pee pee is the same in French.)

I thought I’d left the canteen drama behind for a while and headed to the store. While there I got a call on my cell phone from a friend whose daughters go to a different school. She wanted to talk about her own canteen drama… and the trouble she is having getting her girls adjusted to eating there.

Now, here’s the question I really cannot answer in the face of all this canteen hubub.

France is big on this whole idea of equalite. Everything is equal, especially in education. (especially in theory, mind you) So if everything is equal, then how come some of the kids eat lunch at school and some go home to eat with their mommies? And if so many women work in France (well over 50%), who do those kids eat lunch with? I’ve seen some that go “home” to eat lunch with their babysitter. Is that really any better than just eating a 4 course meal and getting some recess time?

The canteen fuss must come to a swift end. It is giving me heartburn.

Today I drove by a school and saw what appeared to be a middle school P.E. Class. There were pissed off looking kids in a clump all running at an escargot’s pace around the track, while some goodie-deux-chaussers were up ahead actually trying. They weren’t wearing uniforms… or P.E. Uniforms are very free-form here. Otherwise, it looked just like the hell I remember gym being at that (or any) age. Nice to see some things are universal.

Tiger Woods can sleep easy tonight. He has nothing to worry about.

We took Kaitlyn for her first golf game today. Well, mini golf.

She loved the idea of holding a big club. And swinging at the ball.

At the first hole, she actually let Bill play and then let me take a turn when she was done. The idea of a game disolved quickly from there. Pretty soon, we were just chasing Kaitlyn around as she randomly went from hole to hole. She wasn’t bothered by the fact that she may swat two dozen times at the ball before it would finally drop into the hole. Or if the hole was too challenging… maybe had a big hill or a small hole you had to get the ball into on its way to its final destination… she would just roll it over or drop it in with her hands.

She thought it was great. She threw her arms up in the air and cheered when the ball went in the hole. Even if she’d just plopped it in there.

I think we’ll wait a while before we try that one again.

I am determined to find a marche worth going to. For weeks, our town has been advertising a marche des artisans (art market) going on today. Naturally, I went. I even talked friends into meeting us there.

I was expecting the park to be packed with people selling their artistic endeavors. What I found was a few booths (a dozen at most) with people selling stuff I really didn’t want to buy. Like the candy booth. That’s not art. That’s sugar. Much of it on a stick. I tried a sample of the lavender candy; I’ve wanted to know what it tastes like. It tasted like, well, sugar.

Still, that was better than the booth next door. The honey booth. It’s proprietors had brought along part of their hive to share. No, thank you. Not my idea of entertainment.

I thought maybe some lunch would make up for the crummy art sale.

After watching Kaitlyn ride the carousel a couple of times, we went to a fondue restaurant across the street from the park. Turns out that one of our friends had never had fondue before. He was a fondue debutant. I think the melted cheese served over potatoes and cocktail wieners was a hit. Definitely made up for the marche.

During dessert, our meal turned to a massacre. A bee that had been coveting our food landed on the remnants of Bill’s jam filled crepe. The bee thought it had found a feast. Not so. First, Bill mashed it with his fork. (his excuse is that it was trapped in the jelly anyway) Then the fondue newcomer took his knife and chopped the bee in half. I was disgusted. Kaitlyn thought it was a thrilling finale to the meal. I may never get over it.

It seems that everyone here has a “cave.” (pronounced cah-ve… it’s a wine cellar). When we were here looking at houses, the relocation woman was always sure to point out if the house had a cave. Sometimes it’s a basement. Sometimes it’s more of a hole in the wall in a basement. Whatever form it takes, it’s something of a necessity.

Having a cave is one thing. Stocking one’s cave is another. It’s just not that easy. Or, it’s not that easy to do it well.

So far, I pretty much just go to Carrefour and guess at what to buy. If I get lucky and guess well (and remember to write down what it was that we liked), I buy it again.

This week a big annual wine sale starts at all the supermarkets. I am not sure just what I’m going to buy. I guess I’ll buy a couple of cases of the few things that I know we like, then pick up some other bottles on sale to guess some more.

Last night, we got our cave off to a slightly better start than my original plan. We were invited to a wine tasting party. Unlike all the others we’ve been to, we didn’t have to bring anything. Luckily, I had happened to bring our checkbook.

The hosts had their favorite wine guy (how do you get one of those?) come with samples of four different kinds of wine that he either makes or distributes or something (I missed that part). Like it a lot? He had a few cases in his van he could sell. It was like a tupperware party for wine. But it worked. We bought two cases plus one magnum. A lot of people followed this guy out to his van at the end of the night to load up.

So now we have the beginnings of our little cave. I need to buy some wine racks. And this week, I’ll head to Carrefour to play the guessing game at the sale.

Roller skating is not easy.

When we got home, Kaitlyn just had to try out her new skates.

Even though we’d bought the smallest kind they had, they are a little too big. Bill did his best to strap them on so they’ll stay. The pads are all kind of big, too, but they were the smallest ones at the store.

Kaitlyn took her new skates for a spin on the patio outside. She did pretty well. She fell a couple of times on her bottom… which fortunately comes with its own built-in padding.

Maybe if she gets the hang of it Mommy and Daddy can buy some skates. Then we’ll just have to find a flat place to go skating.

After the sign up, we went to the sporting goods store to buy Kaitlyn ballet slippers. They aren’t required for the class, but you’d better believe that if Kaitlyn is going to ballet class she is going to want to look like a ballerina.

Before we made it all the way to the ballet area, we stopped at the roller skates. All the ones that come with the shoe part attached are too big for Kaitlyn. So we bought the kind that strap on her shoes. She also insisted on getting the set of pink knee, elbow and wrist pads. We figure her bike helmet should work for her head.

In the ballet area, we got new pink shoes, a pink ballet outfit and pink tights. She should at least look the part when she starts her class.

I have had today marked on my calendar for weeks… ever since I got the town bulletin that said today is the Forum des Associations. This is the ONE day of the year when you can go sign up for clubs and activities. If you want, you can drive from town to town to sign up for different things in different places.

I made Bill and Kaitlyn go with me. It probably would have been better to go alone, but the idea of facing something new and in French just was more than I could face on my own today. Although when we got there, we ran into five families we knew; I’m sure I could have gotten some help if I needed.

The real mission was to make sure that Kaitlyn has something to do on Wednesdays. I’d forgotten until this week how hard that day off in the middle of the week can be. And I only imagine it will get worse as the weather does.

Inside was pretty much what you’d imagine. A lot of folding tables set up with signs for each club or class along with a smiling person willing to take your money. Only everything was in French. And everyone else there seemed to know just what they were doing. It must be possible somewhere to figure out who has what classes when… because different people mentioned very specific plans before today. (you know, like “little Jimmy will take soccer at 4 in town A while Sallie is in ballet over in town B, then a different day both will be in swimming in town C.) How do people find this out? I don’t know. Maybe after being here another year I’ll have figured that part out, too.

One of the other moms we ran into pointed us toward the table with ballet lessons. I stood and waited in the non-line (I’d somehow forgotten that there wouldn’t be lines, just mobs of people, since the French don’t believe in queues.) The signs didn’t say anything about ballet. But while I waited, Bill cruised the room and reported that I was standing at the only table with kids dancing.

Finally, it was my turn. Or close enough. I told the man I wanted a ballet class for my 4 year old. He just nodded his head yes. Ok. So I asked if there was something on Wednesday. Yes. 9:30am. Perfect. No lounging around the house in our pajamas. He pushed a piece of paper at me, which I filled out. I even managed to write the check, although I did double check the spelling of the word for fifty with Bill.

Just like that, Kaitlyn is signed up for ballet. Wednesdays. It starts in a week and a half. And I think it lasts until June. There’s even a big recital at the end of it all. I hope she likes it. Turns out, I signed her up for the same class as her friend. That should help.

Then I cruised the room to look for an activity to enroll myself in. I was hoping for something artsy… scrapbooking or painting… something I’ve never had the chance to do before. (well, since junior high) I also checked out the table for the Uriage Tennis Club. (Uriage is our town) The adult classes are on Saturday mornings. The art classes are on Saturday or in the evenings. I’m trying to fill up my weekdays! I guess I’ll just keep on doing laundry, grocery shopping, fumbling through my scrapbook project and otherwise managing to pass the time.

I was surprised that Bill didn’t enroll with the remote control group. Thank goodness he didn’t. He has skiing here. Once it starts to snow, that will take up plenty of his time!

When I checked the headlines online this morning, I saw that Luciano Pavarotti died… another victim of pancreatic cancer. Although his was operable. And he lived more than a year after his diagnosis… an unbearably low number of patients do. (It’s a statistic that makes you shudder: 15%. And that’s number doesn’t reveal anything about what that year is like and whether or not it’s worth beating the odds.)

Pancreatic cancer is simply not a cancer that most people know much about. I knew nothing about it until Mom was diagnosed. And then I got too scared to do much research because I just didn’t want to know.

I’d like to think that Pavarotti’s death will at least bring about some discussion of the cancer. But it won’t. When you read a story about a celebrity diagnosed with breast cancer, it is filled with statistics and information about the disease. What I’ve read about Pavarotti was a dull recap of every note he’d ever sung.

Maybe Pavarotti’s cancer won’t change the big picture. But it did something to me. It made me stop and really think about what the disease took from me and from Kaitlyn. And it reminded me of why I quit working to spend time with Kaitlyn. Yes, I was miserable at work. But part of that was because my mom’s death made me realize how precious our time is and how much more of mine I wanted to spend with my daughter. It sounds goofy and cliché but it’s my story.

It’s a reminder I needed after a difficult day of struggling with one strong-willed four year old yesterday. So today when I picked her up for lunch, it was with a better outlook. Lunch together isn’t taking time out of my day or setting ourselves up for a struggle over the tv, or going back to school. It’s a blessing I’ve been handed… a chance most Moms don’t get to spend more time with my beautiful little girl. She wanted to have a picnic on the floor, using the pillows off the couch for tables. Sure! She wanted to give her stuffed Pooh Bear his own juice box. Go ahead. She helped me make our pizza. We played with her dolls. We ate on the floor. (with a blanket acting as a table cloth) I drew a pretend pizza slice on Pooh’s paper plate. Did Kaitlyn ask to watch tv? You bet she did. Did she fuss about going back to school? Yea, she did that, too. But it didn’t define our time together. Playing and enjoying each other’s company did.

I don’t know how many years I will get to spend with Kaitlyn. Twenty? Forty? Sixty? Maybe. Maybe less. Maybe more. It’s not a question we get to know the answer to. So I’m not going to waste my time. That doesn’t mean I won’t spend some of that time snuggling with her on the couch watching tv. That’s some of the time I spent with my mom that I remember most. It was special to me. And I think to her, too.

Pancreatic cancer is a horrible, horrible killer. I’m not a doctor, I can’t even think about blood without getting grossed out. I’m not going to find a cure. But I am going to find some way to fight it and to help others fight it. I am not going to let my loss be for nothing. I may never even realize the good that will come out of it. But I know this… good will. It has to.