FML

You all know I'm a tiny person; I make up for it in personality.  I also have a vocabulary like a sailor, having spent most of my life around sailors (or not).  Still, I assume you know this blahg should be for (im)mature audiences only.  But I'm making a small effort to keep this family accessible.

Still, I totally had a FML day.  French My Life.  Monday was our first "full" day in France.  I suppose if I got out the door before 1:00 p.m., things might have gone differently.

Let me describe.  The two youngest children woke up at around 4 a.m.  They have flashlights - why, I know not.  WHO GAVE THEM A FLASHLIGHT?!  Those two were running around this big, old house with flashlights.  H1 and I were both awake, still.  Around 5 a.m. I finally fell asleep.  Special K (Speshul K) is fascinated by the old iron work - the door knobs.  They are about 4 1/2 feet high in the door, and most of them barely work.  A lot of the doors have old keys, long, beautiful keys, but pretty much the only way to open the doors or cabinets is by using the key.  It is also the only way to have them shut - so they constantly "BANG!" open all the time.  Old iron work is beautiful, but loud.  Much to my irritation - Special K was (and still is) opening and slamming every single door with a key.  French My Life.

The bell tower still tolls the time.  Every hour, every half hour.  And H1 and I hate it already.  French My Life.

I finally dragged myself out of bed after a few hours of sleep.  Got coffee from a pod (now I know why people drink crap coffee - if it is the only thing available, it just might save your life).  I decided to clean up before we left the house.

Dishwasher - check.  Washer - it only fits about 4 towels, but, check.  Dryer.  Ugh.  If I could figure out the telephone, I would have called Lee to ask him to ask somebody.  I almost went across the street to the mairie (the city hall where the police would have an office) and ask for help.  No telephone.  No cell phone.  No clothes dryer.  FML.  Frustration reigns supreme.

Seriously - the dryer has 2 buttons (a power button and a start button) and a dial.  It can't be that hard.  It is like entering a code to a high security Swiss bank vault.  Kid you not.  Turn dial to 0, turn on power, close door, wait for audible "beep," turn dial to desired setting, wait for audible "beep," pause, press start button.  Pray to the Jesus down across the road that it starts.  Did I mention that when it does start, it sounds like a cement truck rolling down I5 at about 65 miles per hour?

I finally get in the car and leave the chateau.  Sounds very French My Life to say that out loud.  We decided to drive into Pau to see some stuff and get ice cream.  Simple.  Except I didn't know where I was driving and got detoured several times.  The roundabouts are nice - if you take the wrong one, just follow it around.  Within 5 minutes, both the Champ and Special K were slumped over snoring in the back seat.  I got into Pau, was honked at and flipped off at least twice.  FML.

The girls quickly learned to NOT wear flip flops due to the many piles of dog poo on the sidewalk.  French My Life.  Now I know why nobody walks in a straight line.

Two cranky kids in tow, I remembered that everything is open from 10-12, and 2:30-5.  Meaning, if you show up at 1:00, the only thing available is lunch.  Which I ordered.  Which my oldest decided NOT to eat - "I don't like it."  Well, drink the water.  "I don't like that either."  It's Perrier - how can you not like Perrier?  Grrrr.  French My Life.

Let's get ice cream.  So, in town there is an award winning glaciere.  Two order chocolate (let's stick to the classics, eh) and shockingly, Special K ordered cinnamon.  It was fantastic.  I order last (at this point, the server only speaks French and we were reduced to pointing because I do not think he could abide my horrible French any longer)... salted butter caramel - pour moi!  He smiled at that.  I then had to pay him.

What is it with the French and coins and exact change?  Knowing the "exact change" preference, I pull out my 3 pound bag of euro coins.  Follow along... I need 8 euro.  I pull out a 5 euro bill, a 2 euro coin and a 1 euro coin.  He says, "Ah."  And digs through my 3 pound bag of coins and retrieve two 1 euro coins.  Then he shows me the 5 euro bill and the three 1 euro coins. WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  I can't speak French so well, but I sure as hell can do math.  I had exactly 8 euro!!!  Whatever.  French My Life.  

Torture, I know.  Smile for the camera.  More walking.  More complaining - in English.  Me, trying not to yell at my kids in English or French or Sailor.  I give in.  Back to the car.  Back to the chateau.  Immediately into the pool (after I pull the 3 pairs of pants out of the washer and de-code the dryer).

I realize, these are all very First World Problems.  And I am very aware of the fact that we are suffering from lack of sleep and "jet legs" as Special K calls it (similar to "sea legs).  And I know that I signed up for all of this - learning new things and challenges with communication while dragging my children through it with me.  So I end my complaining today with an appreciation for French(ing) My Life - c'est la vie.  It may be a bit challenging, but I can't say it sucks.