Day 80

I pee with my weenie and mommie pees with her butt.

Yup, that pretty much sums up the day.  I would argue that nothing more needs to be said, really.  My daily life has become the art of managing too many f_ _ _ing irons in the fire.  Between part time student and full time Dad my energy reserves are beginning to become dangerously low.  Between the mental exertion of learning a new language and the daily grind of raising proper young men, I am freaking tired.  Je suis fatigue!  That much French I do know.  Mom left for Paris this morning and I can already tell this is going to be a LONG week.  We did our usual schooling thing this morning and I crashed after serving the youngest his traditional peanut butter sandwich and banana.  There was just enough time to close my eyes for about 5 minutes before I was on the road again to pick up the eldest.

Once back home, I gave the lawn a shaving and fed the boys a late afternoon snack to spoil their dinner.  I would then endeavor to catch back up on the laundry and clean the never ending mess on our floors.  White floor and black dog equal disaster.  Did you know that they never stop painting the Golden Gate bridge?  I always thought that this was a depressing thought for the painter.  As soon as the final brush stroke is made, you have to return to the beginning and start again.  It is the very same reason that postal workers have a questionable rep for going ballistic at the drop of a hat.  It just never freaking ends.  The mail just keeps coming and coming.  That is the way of our floors.  It just never ends.  No sooner do I finish sweeping and mopping than I have to start all over again.  STUPID DOG.

Laundry is just about as daunting.  Being caught up on this task is a falicy.  You are never really caught up.  That is unless of course you are a nudist.  I am beginning to see the light.  As you fold the last towel, you know with a certainty that you are soiling more garments to be removed in the evening only to find themselves in the laundry basket.  Monotony.  I hate it.  It causes one day to bleed into the next and before long you can't even tell what month it is.  This is my rant for day 80 and I feel cleansed.  The only concern I have is that I seem to have misplaced my vaccum cleaner.  I know that sounds weird, but it is a small cordless affair that is of the exact same make and model as the one we had in the hotel when we first arrived in France.  It is just a glorified dustbuster and at the rate of abuse is likely to need replacing in a month or so.  It is so small that each room requires 1635 passes before it is clean.  That is a whole bunch of work in a house with a dozen or so rooms that require cleaning.

I may force a move to the neighboring village just to rid myself of the white tile flooring.  Lets not forget that once the sweeping is done, one must mop and their standard sponge mop has a head about the size of that wich is on a match.  Enough about the cleaning though . . . I am starting to get depressed.  I recently ordered some items off of the internet and the site I ordered the items from seems to have a fraud prevention system that requires me to give up the title to my home and bequeath my first born son to them before they will complete my order.  If it wasn't all in French I would just cancel the order, but since there is still such a large language barrier, I haven't a clue if it is even possible.  Who knows what will happen at this point.  I am going to assume that my lack of response will cause them to simply cancel the order, but at this point it is hard to say.  All I do know is that if ordering online here is this much of a circle jerk everytime, I am going to start buying everything outisde of the country and paying to have it shipped here.

Finally, the decision to move the children to a different school was a decision well made.  The report from school today was interesting.  Since this was to be an English day and the English teacher was absent, apparently nothing was actually taught.  Seems as though it was just a free day.  Now when I was a kid, we certainly took advantage of having a substitute in the even the regular teacher was gone, but the curriculum was followed none the less.  Perhaps less was accomplished, but teaching still transpired.  Apparently in the school my boys now attend, no teacher means no education.  What a trip.  And so concludes this days events.  A new bedtime routine this evening gives me hopes for an early exodus.  We shall see.  Bonsoir.