Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Grocery Store Friends

The kids and I have just enjoyed a marathon weekend of food and friends. We had a lunch on Saturday with a family from Lily's school. Saturday night I was invited to a dinner at my friend's house--the friend who invites me to all the art museum outings. Sunday we had lunch at friends' house--friends who have adopted the kids and me as a part of their family. Right from there, we left to go to a couple's house for the "gouter" (the French snack in the afternoon). I didn't cook all weekend long! And while I was still lonely for my husband, it was very nice to have fun people to see and places to go, making the weekend pass quickly. And can you believe it, all these people were French...

So, do we know people here? Yes. Are we making friends? Yes. Are beginning to feel embraced by the locals? Yes. And you know what? It wasn't just this past weekend's busy social agenda that confirms all of this...

I passed my "move every three year" test: Running into someone at the grocery store. It's only Tuesday, and this has happened twice already. More importantly, more than just seeing someone I know in the grocery store, these French friends seemed genuinely happy, interested, and went out of their way to acknowledge me.
Two women shopping at a grocery store Stock Photo - 3226650
I love feeling like I belong!

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Answered Prayer

This adventure of living in France has been one of the most difficult and challenging things we have ever done in our lives, so we are trying to keep a journal (like a real book and not just a blog) of ways we have seen God open and close doors for us, guide our decisions, and precisely answer specific prayers. He does this ALL the time, but during difficult moments of transition, Phil and I are more tuned-in to His leading and made much more aware of our utter dependence upon it.

We've been here a year and half. And as we look back at that small amount of time, we can see His hand and His perfect provision for us in every way. It's faith-building stuff. Stuff that I want to write down and keep for my kids so I can say, "Look at what He did for us in the past! Our God has always been faithful to our family. He is always with us. And we can trust Him with what is to come."

VoilĂ , the story of Julie. It was early in September 2010 and we were preparing for Phil's upcoming deployment with the French Navy. I was seriously stressing. This was the third deployment since we got married, and I knew what was coming. Crazy loneliness, twenty-four-seven parenting/disciplining/consoling, and all of the running-a-household-responsibility falling to me. But I could do that. I have done that before. However this time, on top of all of that, I was going to be, pretty much, alone--a foreigner in France struggling with the language. Combined with another big issue-- I was soooo far from family and my support system.

So Phil and I started talking and praying about finding a girl to live me with during his mission. I really, really wanted someone French. I wanted someone who could help me with the language, help me on the phone, and someone who would know the system, the way, French people do things. I was really praying for a miracle and telling everyone I knew what I was looking for.

Through our tiny church of twenty-some people, we found Julie-- the daughter of an American missionary couple there. She was born and raised in Toulon. A Franco-American! She went to college in the US and was finished with her classes and looking for a job. A real job. Not a "nanny" job. She was so overqualified for what my "job" entailed. But as soon as I heard her name, I prayed and prayed and prayed for weeks that she would come back to France and live with me during the deployment.

And God answered that prayer. At the last minute, having never met us, she agreed to come! She stayed with me and the kids through the four months of Phil's planned deployment. And even more recently, she so graciously agreed to come back for a little bit of Phil's unplanned, new deployment (to Libya).

I'm will never be able to express how much she means to me. She helps me the kids and they adore her. She is longsuffering and gentle as she corrects my French as we talk (about 40% in French and 60% in English). She helps me make doctor's appointments on the phone and sometimes I practice my little speech with her before calling someone myself. She helps me correct emails I'm trying to write in French. She explains to me vocabulary I don't understand. She does the dinner dishes while I'm upstairs doing the whole, exhausting, bath/pj's/teeth/stories/bed thing. She helps me find places when I'm lost in Toulon. She has become a very close friend, something I don't really have here--seeing me, and my kids, at our worst, and encouraging me with her sweet smile and kind words. She has talked me off of on-the-edge-of-seriously-losing-it-craziness. She is a gift to me.
And bigger than Julie...bigger than how much she's helped me and encouraged me...is the bigness of my God who ALWAYS gives me His best. Who ALWAYS meets my every need. I will look back for the rest of my life at this time, "Phil's Deployments While in France", and think of the Julie. The gracious answer to a very specific prayer for a specific need. I will say to Lily and Zack with confidence and faith..."Look, remember what God has done for us...Remember how He sent us Julie? He is good-- hearing and answering our prayers...and we can trust Him with everything."

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Sunny with a Little Sadness

It's been only four weeks, and the home-coming-honeymoon isn't anywhere close to being over. The kids love making pancakes on Saturday mornings with their Daddy.

And on Saturday afternoons, I love having leisurely French lunches with rosé. We were just settling into a nice family rhythm again. But the party is coming to an abrupt end tomorrow...

Right now our bedroom is filled with suitcases and pieces of uniforms as Phil learned Friday that he will be leaving with his French ship to head to Libya Sunday. Great. How long, we don't know? We're guessing three to six weeks. But who knows, in general, the French public support for the mission seems to be lacking.

It's a sunny day in Southern France. But the deployment, or "depointment" (as Lily calls it) cloud looms large again in this house.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Bright Copper Kettles


So as I've been living here I've been accumulating a mental list of things that I would like to leave France with in our big move back to the US. Things that are quintessentially French--things that will "mean" so much more coming from this country with a story. Some of things are little--like these bullion cubes that I'm obsessed with here that makes everything delicious--and some of the things are big--like my dream French Provencal farm table. I'm a smart woman, and in order to maintain peace in my marriage, I gently, sweetly, try to verbalize some of the larger wish-list items on the list just so that if I would happen to stumble upon the item, Mr. Buyer's-Regret won't feel ambushed by my excitement and haste and begging for it.

Well as of today, I can scratch one of the "oh man, I'd love to have that from France," items off the list. I went to a consignment store in the area (think Goodwill, but without clothes), one that I frequent every month, and stumbled upon a set of copper pans.

Now, I've been coached here from an American friend, very much in the know with all things cool, about what makes a good-copper pot --the weight of the pot, the width in mm of the pure copper casing, the condition of the interior of the tin. The ones I was holding--35lbs worth of pan between all 6 of them, 3mm copper, and perfect tin lining. Check, check, check. I was most attracted to these because there are 6. All alike, brass handled, hammered copper, and a French-brand stamped on the side of each one. Jackpot!

I don't cook anywhere close to good enough to warrant the need for copper cookware. However, someday, I'd love to have them on display in a future kitchen of ours. They're classic.

The price was good. Not super cheap, but not over the "you must call and ask permission of your husband before you impulsively spend that much money" limit. And then after comparing my purchase to nearly the same set on ebay (except that set only has 5 pans), I'd say I got an outright steal! If someone wanted to buy them I could make double on what I paid! But they're not for sale, although I might still be convincing my husband of this. (He thought I was taking these pictures for Ebay). He's so funny.

Let the search for the table begin...

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Carnival and Catwalks


This week at Lily's school they celebrated, "carnaval". It's Europe's version of Mari Gras. A lot of the cities and towns around us have large parades before Ash Wednesday with flowers and candy and costumes. One of the largest "Carnaval" in France is in Nice and we've heard it's really something. We've never made it to Nice to see it, I guess it's the Protestantism in us.

Anyway, the French don't celebrate Halloween at all. When they think of Halloween they think of "All Souls Day", "Day of the Dead", I don't know, all the weird, dark, devil-ish stuff. Their kids do NOT walk around in benign, happy, character costumes at the of October. But they do wear costumes during "Carnaval".

This year at Lily school (a different school than the one she was at last year), they planned their big parade with the kids on Tuesday. Lily was thrilled and barely slept Monday night she was so excited to wear her dress-up wedding dress, lovingly handmade for her by her Grandma Connie. I dutifully packed it all--the dress, veil, and flower bouquet in the her bag and sent her to school.
I arrived late for the parade. A very badly twisted ankle in combination with ZERO places to park anywhere close to the building are my excuses. Not that that's good enough. Because I missed Lily's class' parade.

But, when I walked into the school courtyard I couldn't get over how they were doing the "parade." They had five small, school-room tables lined up in a row, and they were having the kids walk, one by one, across this make-shift stage. Music blaring, it was like a cat-walk for elementary school kids.
there are terrible pictures, I know, but you can kinda get an idea of what was happening...
Oh my word. My fear-of-man-ruled, totally self-conscience heart jumped in my chest as I scanned the crowd for Lily. I couldn't imagine my little mini-me (in terms of personality) strutting her stuff on top of these table, like I was watching the other kids do. In a way, I was relieved I wasn't there when it was her class' turn. Really, I couldn't have handled the pressure I would have felt for her. I found her in the crowd, called her name, and she gave me this sweet look...she was fine. I was so proud of her.

It was just a French moment. Maybe I'm more sensitive to it because this week is "Fashion Week" in Paris and on the nightly news they have taken time out of each incredibly busy news-cycle to flash what weird, bizarre looking "costumes" Dior, Channel, Hermes are releasing for their spring lines. Maybe I'm just catwalk-ed out.

Regardless of the format, Lily had a great time. I arrived so uninformed and so late that I didn't waste a second of the day worrying about if she would succeed in walking across the tables by herself.
A picture of the teachers who walked across the tables all together at the end. Where is OSHA? I thought for sure someone was going to fall and break something!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Homecoming

I feel like there are very few moments like it in life...in fact, I would be willing to rank my "most anticipated days" in the following order...

1. Waiting on the birth of my children
2. Our wedding day--after dating for five years (four of which were long distance)
3. Deployment homecomings (In our 7 years of marriage, we've had 3)

It's that important and exciting. And I don't want to be too philosophical or too political but man, the sense I pride I feel when I'm standing there waiting for my husband to land a huge helicopter right in front of us--knowing that he has just returned from flying that helicopter around dangerous situations, people, countries---that our family has endured a long separation* for some ideal belief in "serving your country" a "sacrifice for the greater good"--these are powerful issues that I can't help thinking about as I stand there for what seems like an eternity waiting for the door on the helo to finally open...I'm telling you, it's a moment...

And I can't capture all of that emotion with my amateur camera skills, but you can tell my kids love their hero-daddy and couldn't wait for him to hold them...





This homecoming happened almost two weeks ago. At this point, Phil probably thinks his "hero" status has worn off a little. I might have asked him to fix the dishwasher, attend to Zachary's crying fit in the middle of the night, and take out the trash. In fact I'm wearing fleece, penguin pajama pants as I write this blog--pajama pants that make him shake his head at me. Life is returning to it's normal rhythms. Homecomings are thrilling, adrenaline-filled moments, but it's regular, real life where I'm reminded daily that he is a hero. And I'm just so happy he's home!

*his deployment was short for US standards--and I realize that--many, many families are surviving separations much more intense. And for those of you who are doing that, I'm impressed and encouraged by you.