Friday was an uneventful day, so I won't bore you with the details. The only important decision of the day was one that will likely cause me a fair amount of heartburn later on. The decision has been finalized to transfer our boys out of the International School they are currently in and throwing them right into a French school beginning in the fall. This is not a decision we take lightly as our children are the most important things in our lives and a big reason why we decided to move half way around the world. It is already amazing to see how profoundly differently they see the world and I can only imagine how much more they will grow as time carries on. The decision is fairly simple. Put them in a school here in the City or uproot ourselves entirely and move to the town where my wife is employed. There are some benefits to each and we are still on the fence regarding location. We are but simple country folks and there is much to be said about the smaller community where my wife works. It is much more rural and nestled in amongst the vinyards that make this region so famous. You get much more house for the money and room for the kids to roam.
The flip side of this coin however, is that we are currently in one of the gems of the french crown so to speak. A lovely city that is at all times churning with excitement and social activity. I hate to think of isolating ourselves and missing some othe opportunities that we have already enjoyed by nature of simply living where it is all happening. I don't know the right decision and I don't think I am going to rush to make one either. One thing is certain, if a move is in order, this one is on our tab and we will have to do the heavy liftin ourselves. God I hate moving. It is the like the worst proctological exam you could ever imagine and it never seems to end. I think my wife cooks this stuff up just to keep me on my toes. It seems that anytime I have spent a fair amount of time fixing up a home, she decides it is time to move. I for one don't see the humor in it, but it seems to bring her joy, so I will let it be. I will keep you posted.
Since life sucked on Day 70, let me give you a recap of the French experiment of my prior post. For those that were able to make sense out of any of it . . . good for you. For those that couldn't even get it translated with the help of a translation service, here is what it said . . . or at least what it was suppose to say:
My afternoon was filled with domestic matters and there are some perks to my job I would like to share with you all. We've long been a house full of toilet trained individuals, however, our youngest still needs help in the wiping department. It's much better than changing a dirty diaper, but it is still far from glamorous work. A full week of cleaning toilets and constant softserve have made me rethink our youngest’s dietary regime. As it turns out, peanut butter sandwiches and bananas equal a toilet bomb. If this continues, we'll have to call old Smokey the mend the toilet again. I feel really bad for the child, but I feel worse for me and our poor overworked toilet.I just noticed the translation of toilet bomb and am having difficulty typing for all the laughter. Ok, ok. . . back to the task at hand. As you all know, the youngest now speaks with a bit of a British accent, and I am now having to fight against this disease with the elder. His new best mate is an Australian lad. The two are inseparable and the Australian accent is being rub off. So, I now have an Australian and a Brit, when my hope was to have two Frenchmen when it was all said and done.
The youngest does seem to be the first to be spontaneously speaking in French. This is not altogether surprising, and I am very pleased to see his progress. He will now mix in a French word or two into his conversation and seems to use them in the appropriate context. It is really amazing. In addition to the word or two here and there, he seems to have come up with his very own langauge that is clearly his way of working on the new sounds he hears on a daily basis. His use of vowel sounds, hacking of the throat and rolling of his tongue is spot on perfect. If we are here long enough, it is certain that he will be fluent. The wife and I said the other day that it is very likely that, when he moves to the States, he will probably not remembered his time on the farm at home and only remember his home France. Reverse culture shock? It will be interesting to watch unfold. Stay tuned and good luck with the translation. Goodbye.
1 comments:
Most of that came through just fine on the french end, so no worries, except to the suckers that don't speak french. One thing I did forget to ask though, have you talked to this Australian lad's parents to see if he is picking up a bit of an American accent?
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