Day 48

Do they just call it toast?  Mario and Luigi's guide to parenthood.

Well, predictably, I let the little old lady from Boca Raton down and am still on a day delay with my posting.  Yesterday brought with it many revelations, not the least of which was the content of our dinner conversation.  My wife is a peach of a gal who works her ass off and still tends to as many family matters as time permits.  On this day I decided to relieve her of kitchen duty for the evening and whipped up a nice canneloni dinner.  The only side dish we had on hand was a can of green beans.  The eldest, who is not a picky eater, sort of turned his nose up at the appearance of the green beans.  It was then explained that they are the same bean that he is used to eating, they are just "French" cut.  The can of course just lists them as "Green Beans".  This brought up an interesting debate that has been comic foder for the likes of Steven Wright for years.  If the French Cut Green Beans, as they are labeled in the States, are just called "Green Beans" and the French Fries are just called Frits, what do they call French Toast . . . just toast?  I do not yet have a firm answer to my eldest's inquiry, however, I suspect that they do NOT just call it toast.

Having started this post at the end of the day, I think it only appropriate to work our way backwards through the day.  My wife was somewhat late home from work due to a brief stop at an electronic's retailer to purchase the eldest a new game for his XBOX.  For the first week here in France, we essentially lived off of his collection of pocket change.  He has forever had a wallet full of Euros that he has collected whenever Mom would return from trips to Europe.  Having drained his wallet, a debt had to be repaid.  He decided that the amount owed would be the equivalent to a new video game and that this would be a fair system of repayment.  The object of his desire is a disturbing piece of media called Dead Space 2.  If you haven't a clue what I am talking about, there is a nice piece of pop culture out there featuring two mothers attempting to play this same game.  A quick search of youtube should do the trick.  Take a peak if you would like a giggle or two.  The content is disturbing and the gore factor would make Rob Zombie envious.  Our eldest has always been very adult in his outlook on life and his understanding of violence on television so we have granted many indulgences that would make most parents flinch.  That being said, I still miss the days of Super Mario.  That Bowser was such a trouble maker.  Dear god, I have turned into my father!

The morning was spent at the police station.  No, this did not relate to any of my exploits at the city parks, but rather a final nail in the expatriation coffin.  Some more forms were filled out and additional pictures provided.  The pictures are an interesting bit of lore in and of themselves.  We have taken no less than 50 or so identification pictures througout this process and we were sent yesterday evening to obtain four more.  The most recent set is my favorite for a number of reasons.  The cost was a mere fraction of that spent in the states and I look like a guy who was just booked into the county lockup.  It's a beaut Clark!  The pictures can be obtained at a photo booth like you would find at an amusement park.  The process for contorting yourself into shape for the appropriate snap shot has you leaning forward at the waste with eyes bulging when the picture is taken.  I look is one of surprise and constipation.  I have one left that I shall keep for posterity.

That about sums up the major events for the day and I will have to call this finished for now as the youngest is demanding a peanut butter sandwich.  Damn parenthood is glamorous!