From lemons, make lemonade

To reduce daily costs, which can be very expensive in this city.  I recently decided I would make my own bread. This way, I told myself, we could stop spending 1,10 euros every day on a baguette, and throwing our money away on "Harry's American Sandwich Bread" for the girls lunches.

Full of hope and quite pleased with myself, I walked to the store and found (I thought) all purpose flour and yeast. Turns out, I purchased wheat flour and near as I can tell, baking soda.  So much for not wasting money. Deflated, I put my plans for making bread on the back burner.  Until yesterday, when I ventured again to the store, selected what I was pretty sure was yeast, and headed home to make a loaf of NY Times, no-knead bread.

I have cooked Mark Bittman's recipe twice before, with white flour, in a Dutch oven, and it was amazing.  I figured, whole weat, in a bread loaf pan might work as well.  Of course, in the past, I have had measuring cups and scales to work with.  This time, I used  eyeballs and "ratios".  The recipe called for 3 cups of flour and 1.75 cups of water, as well as 2 tsp of salt, and a 1/2 tsp of yeast.

So, I found a glass that looked like it held roughly a cup by volume; filled it and dumped it into a bowl, three times.  Then I filled it again with water, and then once more, but not quite full.  Next, I poured some salt into a pile that looked like it was about a tsp.  As it happens, I know from experience that I am pretty good at guesstimating a tsp of most things by looking at it.  Half a tsp. well, that would be about 50% less, right? In went the yeast. Finally, I squeezed in a bit of honey.  Mixed up the dough. Covered it, and let it rise on the counter for the next 16 hours.

This morning, the dough was dotted with bubbles (a good sign), and was wet and sticky to the touch.  So far, so good.  I turned on the oven. The recipe calls for a 350 degrees F, oven.  I figured 180 degrees C, was close enough.

Anyway, soon enough, the kitchen smelled like fresh, warm bread.  It was done cooking just in time for lunch, and tasted pretty nice.  Only problem is, we ate over half the loaf!  

I might have to re-think the economics of home baked bread.

Lagging

We have not yet defeated our unwelcome house guest, Monsieur le Jetlag.  Although each day is a little better, we have stayed pretty close to home in an attempt to keep all public mood swings and tantrums to a minimum. You know how parents can get.  

Poor Kris has had to power through the fatigue, as well as a cold, so he could start telecommuting. Someone needs to pay the bills after all. Speaking of which, the price of groceries is daunting.  I wonder if they might cost less in a different arrondissement.  Think we'll check out an open air market next week to see if we can save some money.

Isabelle is almost three, and now that she can keep up with her sister both physically and mentally, the two of them are thick as thieves.  Despite the many, many whine-tinged, scream-filled, insanity-inducing skirmishes they get into daily, they love playing with each other.  

 

In this picture,  they are playing hair salon (a favorite pastime).  Apparently, dropping brightly colored wooden blocks on each other's head was their interpretation of dying a client's hair.  Or was it shampooing it? Either way, don't fret for M, seconds before this picture was taken, I heard her say, "No Isabelle, more blocks!"

Next week, I'll try to get them out more.  Heaven forbid they should decide to place hospital.

The answer is in the mail

 

And in Seattle. Down the street. At the post office. Waiting.

The Consulat Général de France à San Francisco, has sent its response to our Visa request.  Unfortunately, the envelope requires a signature and we were not home when it arrived today!!!  Instead, we received a notice that our letter is waiting for us and may be picked up tomorrow!  This is both great news and excruciatingly terrible.

The photo above is of the remaining papers from our Visa de long séjour application, originals of all our important docucments concerning our identity, our finances, our healthcare coverage, and copies, copies, copies, thereof. 

I was a basket-case putting this dossier together, for I know, firsthand, what French bureaucracy is like.  And I know, from experience, what it is like to fly to San Francisco for a mere 30 minute appointment only to be told that you are missing a piece of documentation that is listed nowhere in the "required documents" section of the Visa application website.  Unlike my first Visa foray as a student, this time I was determined to make it through my appointment without panic or tears.

And I am practically giddy to admit that, this time, I passed bureacratic inspection with flying coleurs. Not only did the officer smile (!) at my efforts, he made a point of saying, "I must congratulate you. You are very organized. This is something we do not usually see."  At the end of our appointment, as he was clipping our entire dossier together, he laid it on the counter in front of himself, and pronounced, "Perfect." And then, he smiled again!!  

Ooh la la!

I wanted to shout my success from the highest hil, as it were.  "I did it! I did it! Ça y est! I made an officer of the French government smile! My application was perfect! Vingt sur vingt! (Well, dix-huit sur vignt, anyway)."  In that moment, I was seduced by French approval and I thought, "Who needs a Visa? I've already won!"  

Now that I've calmed down a bit, I do hope the answer waiting for us is a, Oui and not a, Non.  

We shall see...

living in the 1st

We will be leaving West Virginia in a few days. We're headed back to Seattle for 4 weeks, then off to France. In between now and March 1st, we will take 4 plane rides.  Kris and I have decided to apply for a Long Stay Visa before we leave, which means we will have to make our application, in person, to the French Consulate in San Francisco.  Even though we don't know that we want to settle ultimately in France (did I just write those words??), we figured it made the most sense.

While in Paris, we plan to make a couple trips to Amsterdam to get a feel for the city.  I read the other day that within the public school system in Holland, you can choose a Montessori or even Waldorf based program of learning. Kris is thinking about attending a conference in the Netherlands in early March, I think we might tag along.  Though leaving our apartment in Paris so soon after arriving might prove more difficult than I expect.

Speaking of which, we settled on a two bedroom place in the 1st arrondissement.  Not a location I ever imagined for myself or family.  I am a staunch left bank kinda girl.  Don't get me wrong, I appreciate Hermès, Chanel, and sipping chocolat at Angelina's.  To say nothing of that quaint little museum you may have heard of, the Louvre, but I feel most at home amongst the book shops, cafes, and smaller museums on the other side of the Seine.  What an embarassment of riches. Altough I am nervous about living in an area with which I am unfamiliar, I am totally open to the experience of getting to know this part of the city.  Afterall, we musn't pre-judge...

 

When looking for a place to rent, budget and sunlight were tied for the most important considerations.  As we would be renting a vacation rental for the first part of our time in France, I wanted to feel as at home as possible. So believe it or not, I was also looking for an apartment that was sparsely furnished.  Too many personal objects, furniture, books, etc., and I would feel like I was living in someone else's home. It would be hard to settle in, in such an environment.  And settle in is what we hope to do.  We want to get a feel for whether or not moving our family here long term makes sense for us all.  If our Visa is approved, we can enroll the girls in preschool.  My hope is they will meet new friends and begin learning French right away. I should begin some research on the preschools in our new neighborhood.

Initially, we found a place in the 9th that we liked very much, but I moved too slowly and someone rented it out from under us! I was so disappointed. When I came across this sun-filled apartment, I decided almost instantly that it was the one for us.  I showed the photos to Kris, and he agreed. I think le premièr arrondissment is not as family friendly as some of the other neighborhoods.  Nevertheless, we are within walking distance to the Tuilleries--which has a carousel, and in the spring and summer one can rent toy sailboats and float them in the reflecting pool.  We are also close to Les Halles, where a new children's play area has just been finished.  And one of my favorite parks in Paris is just behind the Palais Royal, which is also very close. 

Our closest metro is line 1, which runs straight through the center of the city and can be VERY, VERY crowded. But it's an easy ride to the Arc de Triomphe, or the Hôtel de Ville, where there is an outdoor skating rink in the winter (as well as ANOTHER carousel!!).  And, as the metro is not a particulalry kid friendly form of transportation, I suspect we will take the bus quite often.  I have no idea how crowded the bus will be, but I hear it is quite easy to navigate with kids in tow. We shall see.

Proof of Citizenship

As our departure becomes imminent, I am beginning to check items off my moving-to-Europe "To Do" list. I've ordered copies of medical records, birth certificates, mariage certificates.  I changed my last name-- both out of a feeling of solidarity for my children and husband, and under the assumption it would make our international adventure a bit easier. I've been searching for an apartment for months now. Shopping for airplane tickets (have you heard of "hipmunk.com"? love, love, love), etc. etc. etc.

A few weeks ago, I decided it was time to order the girls' passports. After coming across epassports.com, I thought it would be easier to take the photos at home. Like, maybe I could control the chaos, or at least the fly-away bangs.

Turns out, hair would be the least of my problems.

Madeleine, who loves to sit in my lap as I stream episodes of Project Runway and America's Next Top Model, was characteristically accommodating.  Child was born to strike a pose. With her blond braids and blue eyes, she kind of reminded me of a Von Trapp child.  Which, actually, might be good for moving to Europe. By the way, should you desire to dispell everything you learned of the Von Trapps via Rodgers and Hammerstein, have a look.

To her credit, Isabelle also behaved with characteristic comportment. But understand, when asked to describe my two daughters, I generally say Madeleine is the straight man and Isabelle is the pratt-falling sidekick; a true Costello to her sister's inner Abbott. 

After many maddening attempts, this is the best we could do:

Dejected, and half-crazed.  I screamed at asked Kris to take the girls to Office Depot, where recently, I had noticed a sign in the window advertising "Passport Photos Taken Here!"

I have an amazingly accommodating husband.  "No problem," he shrugged.  On his way out the door, he asked over his shoulder, "Do you want to do anything to their hair?" At that point, they still looked perfectly coiffed. "No," I answered, "just make sure they look presentable".  

I should have been more specific.

This is what he came home with:

In the end, we retook Madeleine's photo at the post office. Speaking of which, you'da thunk I had asked the postal employee to cut off her right arm and donate it to our cause when I told her we would need photos of one child. But true to form, M. climbed into the awaiting chair, straightened her back and "smeyes'd" for the camera. Tyra would be so proud. The postal worker was certainly tickled. 'Wow! I can't believe how well you did!" she assured Madeleine.  The praise, of course, played right into Madeleine's constant quest for perfection.

The only real bump, besides the failed photoshoots, was that apparently, if you apply for a passport not in your home state, you  need two pieces of valid identification.  I had only a tempory driver's license with my new name and an expired passport with my former name.  I was waiting for my pernament ID to arrive before I applied for a new passport.  We just photocopied everything we had that might prove I was who I said I was, and that these two passport-seeking minors had, in fact, sprung from my loins. 

In less the two weeks, the Department of State sent their passports and returned their birth certificates, thank you Uncle Sam.  

I was elated to open the matching, non-official looking envelopes. For some reason, the fact that my two and four year old have an actual passport is one of my proudest parental achievements thus far. Now, if only I could get Isabelle to poop on the potty.