The boulangerie

   Right after we moved into our apartment, a new bakery opened up down the street.  They opened up in August, right as everything else closed for vacation, and they were initially open every day of the week, the better to serve the neighborhood.  They were great, offering reduced-price baguettes, free samples of things we weren't buying, throwing in extras of things we did buy, and offering tastes of items that my kids were curious about.  They also were extremely solicitous of our family (and, I assume, everyone else), apologizing if we had to wait for the bread to come out of the oven or if there was a line of customers.  I explained to my kids that this was fairly unusual as a method of doing business in France, but that people tend to be loyal to their local merchants, as they have a personal relationship with them, so if one decides to open up a new bakery, the best way to get people to change their loyalty to you would be to offer them a better alternative, especially during vacation when nothing else is open.  (Also, their bread is delicious, as are their cakes and cookies.) 
     It has become "our" boulangerie not only because it's close and they are friendly but because their bread is excellent.
    I had mostly forgotten this conversation until this past week.  I've been occasionally giving my two oldest daughters a little bit of change so that they can grab a sucker or small treat after school gets out.  On Friday, I knew I'd be home late, and I suggested to my daughter that she and her sister grab a baguette after they get off the bus, so that they would have some bread in case I was later than planned.  I added that, if they didn't want to make two stops, they could just buy a baguette at the bakery that's right by school, the one where they buy their small treats.  She said, "No, I would really rather go to OUR bakery."  She thought just a second and said, "Hey, that's like what you said about having a special relationship with your baker.  We do now!  I'd rather go two places than buy bread from someone who isn't MY baker.  That's kind of cool."

Being tourists v. living there

We've been taking advantage of the Toussaint holiday to explore more of Lyon, including the Parc Tete d'Or and various museums and churches.  We even took advantage of some of the recent beautiful weather to ride one of the open-top Lyon tour buses around and see Lyon from a different -- more touristy -- angle.  My oldest daughter remarked that we were being stared at like we were tourists, but "we aren't!  We live here!  At least for a little while!"  When I said that we were certainly playing tourist, she insisted that wasn't true, since we weren't just "touring" Lyon, or France, for that matter.   For her, it seemed important to recognized that she has learned more about France and experienced more of Lyon than a typical tourist.  I'm sure some of that is just pride, but I think it also recognizes that she's making France her own, that she wants to be a part of Lyon and not "just" a tourist in this city and country.

French Theme Songs

My kids have been watching the Disney Channel on cable in our apartment.  I make them watch it in French, and they pointed out an odd phenomenon.  When there is an American show, with a title sequence that has a song, it's invariably higher-pitched in French than in English, even if it's the exact same song.  So, for example, Selena Gomez (really popular here in France, at least according to my daughters and their friends) sings the theme song to Shake It Up!  In the US, it sounds like this:

 

but when listening to it in France it sounds like this:

 

 

The same is true for Good Luck Charlie, Jessie, and others:  all modified to be at a higher pitch.  I welcome thoughts on why that might be!  (I am especially curious since Selena Gomez is popular; I wouldn't think they would change her voice that much more here than in the U.S.)



Halloween, such an American holiday

     The kids have been disappointed to not get to dress up and trick or treat while they are here, and they asked if there was any way that we could carve a pumpkin.  I told them that we would look for one but that since pumpkins were grown for eating here, not for carving, we might not be able to find an appropriate one (either in size or price).  We've been seeing them here and there, but mostly they've been out of our price range or discolored and small.  Today, we went to the market with a mission:  search out a pumpkin!
     After not too much searching, Kate spotted a fruitière who had a few whole pumpkins available.  The price was not too crazy, so we walked over and, after asking if they could touch the produce, I let the kids decide which of the five had the best carving face.
      The fruitière tried to point us to a small, squat, pumpkin that she declared perfect for Halloween. Clearly she has never carved a pumpkin. No, no. We need that big one. Yes. That one.  She weighed it and said "It's ten kilos..." clearly expecting that I would balk at the price and decide that her attempt to assist me by pointing us to the small pumpkin was far better judgment.  Of course, it may have been, but I nodded acceptance and pulled out my wallet.  (Compared to bags of candy and costumes, one large pumpkin isn't that big of an investment.)

     She gave it to us after making quite a show of how heavy it was and how it was difficult to pass over.  I suspect that was less about the weight of the pumpkin than the fact that she knows that we are going to cut a face in it, throw a candle in, light it up, and then throw this perfectly good pumpkin away.  Of course we are going to do that!  I expect we will have a good time doing it, even if we have to use an electric knife -- or maybe especially if we have to use an electric knife.  However, the fruitière's suspicion of our motives made me realize that Americans do indeed waste a great deal compared to other people, in contexts that I never even think about it.

 

Aren't they cold?

Got three comments today at the marché how cold my children must be (they were all wearing tshirts and jeans or leggings; it was about 60 degrees).  When I said that they had refused the jackets that I was carrying in the market bag, so I suspected they were not cold, I got warned that they were going to get sick.  (Isn't that an old wives' tale?)  When I said that I hoped not, they shook their heads reprovingly and you could tell they were kind of saddened by the combo of my stupidity and poor parenting.

Profiting from time abroad

     A few weeks ago, in music class, my son was chastised in front of the class for not having memorized the answers to a quiz.  When he indicated that his French wasn't yet strong enough to have completed the assignment, the teacher asked him how long he'd been in France.  He said two months (though he'd only been in school for about a month at that point) and the teacher said, "You must profit from your time!  Profit James, profit!"  Apparently, the exchange has continued, with the music teacher calling him up first last week and telling him that he's not really benefitting from this opportunity, because he hasn't learned enough French.
      This demonstrates that James and the teacher have rather different understandings of what it means to profit from time abroad as well as what James' "job" is here.  Overall, all the kids' teachers have been pretty understanding of the fact that they came knowing no French and that they're trying but that they don't yet know much.  However, I expect that it's hard for many of the teachers to see them making reasonably little progress in French, as it seems like they must not be learning anything about France.  Of course, that's not true.  They are picking up lots of French -- though nothing systematic -- and they are learning a great deal about social expectations, cuisine (school lunches are an entirely different animal here!), and playground games (marbles!), just to mention a few things.  They will not go back to the United States the same as when they left, whether they can carry on a conversation in French or not.

French School System

     I had big plans for this week:  meetings with scholars and plans for work at ENS-Lyon.
     So on Monday, I showed up at the Ecole des Entrepots, all excited for Lucy to have a full day of school -- and for me to have a full day of work. Turns out one of the teachers was out sick, so they were asking parents to keep their kids home in the afternoon. You could say no, but then they would parcel your kid out to another class so they could reach a better ratio. I don't think that's a recipe for success, given what a hard time she's having with the idea of full days. So she stayed for lunch and I picked her up at 1:30.  Since her teacher was going to be out sick for the entire week, it meant that I had to pick her up at 11:30 every other day.
    Then, on Thursday, I went to pick Lucy up and found Kate in Lucy's classroom. My first thought was "Oh no, lice!" But no, Kate's teacher was sick, so they parceled the kids out to all the classes...and sent Kate to preschool, where she was helping the four year olds with crafts and gymnastics.  Since I was already bringing Lucy home, I brought Kate home, too.  Then, about an hour later, I got a call from the principal, telling me that Molly's teacher was going to be sick tomorrow as well, so I am keeping all the girls. I really think I am not supposed to get any work doon Friday (along with Kate's and Lucy's).  So I just kept them all home.  
     This makes me wonder a few things.  I wonder if "sick" is code for "strike."  I suspect it's not, or they would have said, but perhaps they have a reason.  More importantly, I wonder what this says about childcare and the French public school system.  I saw many grandparents arriving to pick up the kids in Kate and Lucy's classes.  What do single parents or people without flexible jobs or without family backup do?  Often in the U.S., people point to Europe --and notably, France -- as a country that has solved the problem of childcare and working, but this experience doesn't seem to demonstrate to me the truth of that statement.

Americans in a French school

My oldest three kids have found the transition to French school to be far easier and way less terrifying than they had expected.  There are people around who are willing to help them, and it doesn't hurt that a good amount of their homework is comprised of things that they are unable to complete, because they don't know enough French yet.  Perhaps most of all, it's been a lot of fun for all of them.  In France, they are cool and interesting, just because they are American. Or maybe not just because, but it certainly gives them some extra caché. James is already able to parse a great deal of written French and Kate and Molly feel like they're picking up enough to get by (for example, learning how to say whatever word is not "poisson" on the lunch menu!).   Unfortunately, the youngest isn't finding her transition to be nearly as easy.  But I've promised her a puppy when we get home, if she can manage to stay in school full days and learn French.  (Let's hope shameless bribery succeeds, because I have a lot of work to do!)

French school supplies (or Vive la rentrée!)

    We caught the bus to Auchan (kind of like Wal-Mart for Europe) yesterday in order to buy school supplies for the kids.  Lucy doesn't need much (slippers, a blanket, and a pillow for naptime, for example), but the other kids had very long lists.  Apparently, this is something new.  Public school used to be entirely free, with almost everything but the bookbag provided by the school.  Thie lists, however, included everything from a fountain pen (with refill cartridges) to special drawing paper, and many interesting office supplies in between.
     Anyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for office supplies, so I was pretty intrigued by the lists and thought I would know many of the things.  Some were obvious (compas/compass, for example!) and others familiar (a box of tissues for the classroom to share).  However, despite lots of previous purchases at papeteries in France, as well as a fair amount of time spent on Google Translate and with my dictionary, a number of items left me completely stumped.
   Polly Platt, in French or Foe, offers a useful phrase, which basically translates as "Excuse me for bothering you, sir (or madam), but I have a problem...."  She then suggests making a colorful story out of one's particular need, hoping to engage the interest and sympathy of the person to whom you are making an appeal.  So far, it's worked every time I've needed to use it, and ultimately, I decided that the simplest way of figuring out what everything was would be to take Polly's idea to Auchan with me and, once there, to stop a friendly-looking mom in the aisle and ask her to take pity on me.
    I debated between a few women, but one looked too harassed by her own list and another looked irritated by my children.  I eventually decided on a mom who was speaking kindly to her son and grabbing workbooks to add to a pile, figuring she had her own list and her own children and didn't seem too irritated already.  She smiled at my pleas of total American incomptence in the face of French school supplies, and did indeed take pity on me. As it turned out, she spoke a decent amount of English -- but had no idea what the English words for most of the items were, though she could point me to what they looked like -- and tell me that the list was excessive for public school, but that there was nothing to do about it except suffer through it.  It turns out that many items are things that I've never seen in an American classroom, which might help explain why I didn't have any idea.  (For example, a plastic notebook cover and a fountain pen eraser/rewriter.)  She also had a boy Kate's age, and we sent Kate and the boy off together to look for the supplies that they both needed, and we did our best to get the other things on our lists.  We debated the best compass to buy (cheap? mid-range? expensive?) and discussed whether or not her daughter (almost 3) was too young to be away from mom for preschool two mornings a week (her mom's verdict:  probably).   
    When I got to the checkout and the checker told me the total (nearly 200 euros), I made a long face and she laughed and said, "Vive la rentrée!"  Yes, indeed.
    But I do now know a lot of words for school supplies and have a pink fountain pen.

Ecole des Entrepots

  The girls and I went to their school today.  The director is a lovely woman who was very helpful, and it turns out that there is another American family in the school, who have been in France for two years.  (The mom is French, but the dad is American and the kids didn't speak French when they arrived in France.) Quite happily, Kate and Molly have one of each of their kids in class with them, which should be quite helpful.  We also met another dad and his sons; the dad is Russian and the child doesn't speak much French at all.  (The dad speaks almost none; I ended up doing quite a bit of translating between the director and the dad, as she gave us a tour of the school together.)
  Molly is very excited for school to start, as they have badminton, fencing, and ping-pong as sports.  Kate is less excited, but she picked up a number of sentences that I said, so she's clearly already learning some French.  Lucy was quite overwhelmed by the end.  The communal bathrooms were the last straw.  After she saw how public and open the toilets were (they just have small, low dividers between them), she started crying.  It may be a bit of a struggle to get her to go, though she is excited about the play structure in the courtyard.

School Enrollment

   When I preregistered the girls for school, I was told that I had to meet with the director (principal) of the school in order for enrollment to be complete and that I had to call James' school in order to set up a meeting with them.  I quickly figured out that no one would be available until the week before classes, which meant that today (August 27) was the first day that anyone would be in the office and available to set up a meeting or talk about school enrollment. 
   I made some notes for myself and got out the girls' forms, then I called James' school to talk to them.  I got transferred right away to the director, who told me that it is the correct school for the location where we live, but they can't take him, because they don't have any assistance for French as a foreign language.  She took my number and said she'd call me back.
   I called the girls' school before I could get too nervous about the possibilities, but I got an answering machine.  Rather than stutter a message, I hung up.  About forty minutes later, the phone rang, and the director of the school said, "You called?"  Um yeah, when I had all my notes in front of me and was mentally prepared to talk to you....
   She was very nice, despite my stumbling though the explanation of what I needed.  They also have no extra resources for the girls, and she offered to see if they could transfer to a school with some support.  As she and I talked about it, though, we decided to leave all the girls in the same school, figuring they'd catch on.  (The extra support is mostly grammar-oriented and is only once a week; I don't think it really matters, given that the kids will only be in France for 4 months.)   I'm going tomorrow to finish enrolling the girls.  They'll come with me to see the school, too.
    James, however, still doesn't have a school....

The universal language of insecurity

     When I was talking to some fellow travelers on the train from Lyon to Toulouse, one of the French women in the seat next to me observed that "The French are well-known for not having good language skills."  I kind of goggled at her and told her that was not my impression at all, and that I had the impression that France was not at all known for a lack of language facility, especially when compared to the United States.  Another woman chimed in and said that she agreed with the first woman and that though students study language, their study tends to be formal and written, so that many French people are not facile speakers and are uncomfortable about speaking foreign languages.
     I have had a couple of other conversations like that since then, with French speakers expressing their discomfort with their English language skills -- when in fact, most of the time, I hope I sound as fluent as they do! 
     Today, I hurried out to the courtyard in order to run into the woman who lives in the apartment above ours as she was walking her dog.  My kids have been playing in the garden and, from time to time, making enough noise that her dog (a smallish dog, maybe a Yorkie) yaps loudly at them.  I wanted to catch her in time to introduce myself, apologize for the noise, and make it clear that I'm trying to get the kids to keep it down.  Also, I planned to mention that the kids don't speak French, so if they're in the garden, they can't really understand anything that is said to them.  (Just in case she decided to tell them to keep it down and thought they were ignoring her or something...)    She was not only exceptionally kind about all of it -- mostly a "kids will be kids, and sometimes dogs will yap" response -- but she wanted to warn me about a couple of places in the garden that she thought were a bit dangerous (and why).  As we spoke, I made my usual apology for not always having access to the right words, etc., and she smiled kindly and said, "I would be happy to speak English as well as you speak French!"  We haven't spoken English yet, but I wouldn't be surprised to find out that in fact, she does speak English as well as I speak French.  It's nice to know that I'm not alone in my insecurity, though!

Carte Cigogne

    Inspired by my success at the mairie, I decided to go to one of the transport centers in order to get my public transportation pass.  You wouldn't think that would be all that difficult (pay them some money, get a pass) except that to get a pass, you have to prove that you are a resident.  (I have those forms!)  Also, as long as I'm proving that I'm a resident in order to get a pass, I figured that I might as well take advantage of the "Carte Cigogne," which is the reduced-rate pass that they have for families with three or more children.  (It's a savings of almost one-third the total monthly rate.)  Of course, to get that card, I have to provide documentation (birth certificates, etc.)  (I have those forms, too!)
   It was surprisingly easy, so much so that I ended up getting all of the kids their transportation passes, too.  (School passes, requiring proof of age, etc., so the same forms that I needed for mine, plus a photo for each kid.)
    Oh, and the name "Carte Cigogne"?  It means "Stork Card." 
    At least it doesn't look any different from any other card....

Children: Half-Registered

Or half pre-registered, so is that a quarter registered?  I went to the Mairie for the 4th Arrondisement this morning and registered my children for school.  Except they only accept registrations for maternelle and elementaire (primary/grade school) and not collège (middle school), and I still have to contact the elementary school to speak with the director in order for the youngest two to be fully enrolled.  The older two kids have a separate registration process, so I have a number to call in order to find out which school is the proper one to contact.  (Yes:  a call in order to be able to make a call.)  But I still consider it a success!

    Saw this jam on the shelf in the supermarket today, next to fig and sour cherry.  There's been some recent discussion of the book French Kids Eat Everything (for example, the Huffington Post has an article about it), and the irony of seeing this right after reading that discussion wasn't lost on me.
    In fact, I'm not even sure it was ironic.  A nation that can offer rhubarb, fig, and sour cherry jam on its supermarket shelves is certainly a nation that has different culinary expectations for its children than the United States.  An American "Good Mother" would not be serving her children rhubarb jam!

Loud Americans

Since returning from my brief trip to Lyon, I am reminded how loud Americans are when compared to most French people.  In particular, I see how loud and rambunctious my kids are compared to French kids.

When they go tearing through the house or yell up the stairs to one another (or just make random loud noises for no apparent reason, as they are prone to doing....), I have started telling them, "You have to knock that off, or you will get us kicked out of our apartment in Lyon!"

I'm not entirely sure I'm kidding.