Son domaine.

School. The greatest cultural force in a country. It has been less than a month and I observe my girls imbibing their new culture each day they go to school.

The first week: Colette repeating French sentences without understanding the words: "Le lundi est tout gris”
The second week: Using French words in her English sentences. Grimace, parcours, gilet
The third week: full sentences “Je veux celle la, Papa” “Je suis dans la groupe des papillons"

Colette sounds like an American making a real effort to speak French at this point. Overplaying the ruh in the ‘r’ in her throat. It is very sweet.

She was invited to another birthday party last weekend. Xavier dropped her off, not giving any context on Colette’s current cultural position. He is easily read by strangers: 100% French. Apparently, Colette observed much of the party and then occasionally said a thing or two (sounding two years younger than she is: “Aime le train! Aime le train!"). The parents were slightly confused when Xavier picked her up. It was clear they thought she was slow. Xavier, good old Xavier, simply said merci and brought Colette home. He cracks me up. I asked why he didn’t clarify and he said that they must be slow if they didn’t understand Colette was just learning French.

Romy’s take is often more musical - French songs - phonetic, incorrect, but the sounds are all there. Zero accent when she pronounces French words. I went to pick her up the other day and she was outside with all the other children. She was hovering over something, cradling it in her hands. The kids were gathered around. She hadn’t seen me yet and I called out to her. She looked up and grinned a wide grin, “Escargot!!!” she shouted again and again. The instructors informed me she had been holding it all afternoon - coaxing it to come out of its shell - not letting anyone else touch it. So funny. She has a good friend, ‘Carla’ at school. ‘Carla’ said with a sweet French accent from little Romy.



We’ve already run into a bit of tension with Colette’s maîtresse, a very typically French teacher with posture that reflects her general approach in her classroom. She held a meeting for parents a few weeks ago. She began the meeting by taking a deep breath (almost theatrical, but not at all her style otherwise), sitting straight up and placing her two hands on the table in front of her ceremoniously - fingers taut and and in straight lines like pencils.

Then a statement about the children: “There are some children in the class who are still very “bébé” - others are clearly ready for the work of school. You know where your child stands.” She quickly proceeded to the subject of fire and earthquake drills. Then to the cantine, which she complained is completely overcrowded, hot and loud, and could we please pick up our children and feed them lunch at home from time to time? Next was “la collation" at 10:00am - snack - which is comprised of only fruits and applesauce (without any sugar added).

And then the sacred subject of writing: "I insist on a certain method of writing, of holding the tool. If the children form poor habits now, it becomes a nightmare. They lose the ability to be fluid in their cursive. Writing is a moment of calm. It is a moment where the children must be correctly installed. Take a deep breath first and have proper posture. I insist on these things.” She was the perfect visual illustration of her point.

Xavier asked a few questions throughout, which la maîtresse found rather disruptive. At some point, Xavier queried whether or not there would be field trips. She punctuated her remarks about the subject with a reproach: “And I will be choosing the parents who accompany the class on these excursions, Mr. Colette.”

Throughout I was so amused by the serious tone. I admired her professionalism and her devotion to her work. The classroom is perfectly organized, well-equipped. Her groups and programs (she outlined the cadence of the day - everything in 20 minute intervals) meticulously constructed. All in all - a very good environment for a personality like Colette’s. To that point, Colette is adapting and doing very well at this point.

Colette did make a request recently - “Can you ask the teacher if I can hold my pencil the way I want to hold it?” I cringed a bit and asked her to give it a try the teacher’s way. The second time she brought it up, Xavier and I agreed we should talk to the teacher.

Xavier went to school a bit early one morning and asked if he could have a word with la maîtrsse. He asked politely if she might allow Colette to hold her pencil they way she finds most comfortable. Direct affront. Absolutely not and her method comes straight from specific recommendations given by the French National Education System. Would Xavier accept an amateur walking into his professional domain giving advice? Of course not. Please respect her domaine.

He put up some resistance - pointed out that in the past left-handed children were forced to write with their right hand. “But Colette is not left-handed,” she responded - literal like her posture. She basically hung up the phone, in person - informed Xavier that she had a classroom to attend to, turned around and walked away from their conversation.

I was nervous to drop Colette off at school the next morning. Madame maîtresse’s posture grew even stiffer when she saw me coming (I am already somewhat awkward. I always remember my bonjour before anything else, but some parents give the teacher bisous and I will never know with whom I should share this ritual - it feels intimate, not at all impersonal).

I said bonjour and brought up the subject directly, saying I knew she and Xavier had spoken on Friday. Rigid puff of air from her. I told her I wanted to emphasize the many things in the classroom that we admire - I named 5 things specifically. I told her that Colette’s difficult transition is going very well, largely due to her efforts and accommodations. I thanked her. She softened. She even said that my words had touched her heart (unexpected). Thinking we had made some progress, I turned to Colette to say goodbye and send her off.

The maîtresse continued, “After all, it isn’t an American who will explain to me how I should run my classroom!”
I smiled and held my breath a minute. I turned back to her, “Indeed not. This is your domain.”

Took a deep breath and tried to walk away with very straight posture.

La Rentrée

Big big day here for us. First real day of French school. In my projections of our life in France, this day gave me very cold feet. And alas, Xavier and I drove away from the schools looking at each other wearing big smiles. Colette was A++ and Romy a superstar too (she had a bit of preparatory advantage).

Yesterday, I took Colette into Aix-en-Provence for a date. We roamed around, ate lunch, bought a backpack and watched a movie, Comme des Bêtes (The Secret Life of Pets). Colette shouted in the theater: "That's New York!" We ate popcorn and laughed a lot.



It was sweet to spend time together in the streets of Aix, stop at the market and sit and talk over lunch. I told her that she has a superpower that I (and all grownups) have lost. Magic words. One of her biggest fears about school is that she won't be able to say what she means - or anything at all. She understands French - Xavier has always spoken to her in French, but expressing herself in French is unknown territory. I told her that this magical power allows her brain to just be there - in the classroom - with the others and suddenly after a week or two weeks, the French words she means will just start flowing out of her mouth. Her eyes lit up. I told her that soon her français will feel just like when she speaks English. She hesitated and said, "but I don't want to lose my English magic words." I promised we would always use them together - that way they will stick.





A good breakfast and a quick picture and we were off. Both girls with their backpacks, doudous safely held inside. Colette was confident and a bit over excited. Romy was delighted to go see Colette's school, wearing her backpack proudly.





The names in Colette's class! A change from Harlem for sure: Aurélien, Mathéo, Clémence, Lilou, Lola, Gabin, Anselm. Very sweet. We walked in - gave her Maîtresse, Isabelle, a big bonjour/bisou and started to observe. Colette walked over to where a girl was sitting and playing at a table and sat next to her. She didn't come back to find us. We had to go over and ask her for a kiss at some point. She said, "I will see you later, at the end of the school day" matter-of-factly. Sacrée Colette. All of my fears for naught.

Provence harvest

Today we went to the village harvest festival - les vendanges. Colette, with her dress pulled up and tucked into her collar, stomped on the fresh crop of grapes in a big tub - with the local village children. She had a disgusted look on her face at first, but soon enough she melted into the grapes and loved the sensation.



The very start of harvest season here. Appropriately, I feel like for the first time in many years I am aware of true seasons of the wild things around me. I am intimately familiar with the form of the moon and where it is in its cycle every night. We eat most meals outside. We eat up fruits and vegetables from the market down the road - all things that are grown in the fields around our house. Stephen gave me Alice Water's The Art of Simple Food before leaving NYC. I've enjoyed reading it and finding that many of the suggestions in the book are really intuitive in this part of the world. Heading to the market and just discovering what is freshest at that moment - asking the vendor what is tastiest and how she likes to cook it. The potential in tomatoes (and they are heavenly right now around here). Tapenade, anchovies and herbs. Real simplicity based on the quality of the ingredients.





My favorite activity is pulling up a map of the near region and selecting a little village - doing very little research beforehand and just driving there/showing up. Balade-ing. The Lubéron is almost mystical to me. Definitely feel high-spirited exploring there.







Excellent ice cream cones in the Lubéron as well.

On the home front, still feeling chaotic - need some regularity and measured rhythm to our existence. I think it is coming this week. La Rentrée. Romy has done very well in her adaptation period leading up to school (small chunks of time at the crèche). She basically runs over to the baby dolls and toys, looks at us and says, 'see you later' when we go to drop her off. No issues. Found the right spot for her doudou on the wall.
Colette begins school on Thursday.

The trickiest part for me is still parenting. It is bizarre. I can think about it rationally, but I still take the nightmares and emotional woes as a verdict - somehow a reflection of how I/we are doing providing the necessary emotional scaffolding for this big shift in their lives. Too much screen time. In order to unpack boxes and organize or paint or make food or entertain visitors, I turn to Daniel Tiger or harebrained Peppa Pig. I get a knot in my stomach thinking their brains are turning to mush (as I tell Colette) and project into the future - they won't be as adept or creative. Sheesh. Ridiculous.

The reality is that their days are mostly spent digging and swimming and breathing Provence air. Pretty fine.

Profiter

We have been in Provence for over a month now. I feel like our noses and lungs are full of beauty. We are breathing it all the time.



Colette told me that she is starting to like our new house, but still wants to go to back to New York to be with Claire. Romy also often chatters about Claire - brings her up most days. Xavier and I feel sad thinking about her too. There was something really special about sharing the intense devotion we have for our girls with someone else (and something very special about Claire). Our family feels smaller here. We had Claire in New York, and also a whole network of close friends and family who shared in celebrations and everyday toil.

Xavier found a babysitter this week (someone local) and it was the first time we had extracted ourselves from the girls, together, in over two months. It was odd leaving them with someone we hardly knew. We pulled back up a few hours later and Colette burst out of the house with a huge smile on her face. Relief. The babysitter represented lots of current apprehensions: language, culture, strangers.

The reality is we have two little American girls. Even if Xavier has spoken French to them their entire lives, they are American. They have listened to him and understood him, but they’ve always responded in English. I can see the beginnings of a new thread weaving. At the little village park: Romy shouting to another kid, “c’est a moi!” (It’s mine!). Colette repeating French words without the dripping American accent she’s always born when forced to speak French. After playing with one of her little cousins she came over to me delighted and breathless and said, “We were doing n’importe quoi everywhere with Siméon!” With the babysitter there was some pantomiming, but mostly Colette and Romy worked it out in their new tongue.

Romy starts ’school’ on Monday. It is actually the village crèche, but she is insistent. She is starting school. She is most excited of all by the idea of a backpack - totally fixated. French infrastructure for parents is unreal when landing from New York. We will spend very little money to have Romy occupied, playing with other kids for a few days a week - essentially becoming French. We were both certain we wanted Romy in some kind of care center, if only just for language. We recently met with the director of this particular program and saw the other children at play. The director took 30 minutes to sit with us and describe their center. Some things were spectacularly French. Food. Food first, every time. The director outlined the cadence of a given day and gave particular focus to meal and snack time. The children slow down and read books before meals and snacks. They have to be prepared and calm to enjoy the food. She doesn’t want parents coming to get their children during the ‘collation’ (goûter): translation, snacktime. Too distracting. It is a time when they need to sit calmly and pass the snack to one another to partake around the table. Other things too. There is a ‘doudou’ wall. Storage pockets for all the children’s doudous - their little blankies/lovies. Also very French. They all have one - very sweet. The director informed us that the children are free to take the doudous when needed, except during mealtimes and the goûter, of course. The 18 children (with 5 care providers) are of all different ages, 0-3 years old. I am excited and nervous for Romy’s transition.


"Doudou wall" at Romy's school

Colette will start school with the rest of the nation - at the much-referred-to ‘rentrée.’ La rentrée is essentially ‘back to school’, but adults use it as a point of reference as well. It is part of the collective conscious, how the nation meters its calendars and tempo. Beginning of September. End of prolonged vacation. Shops re-open. People pick up their pace.

School formally begins in France at 3 years-old. Colette will be in the second year of school here. We will go to meet with her teacher at the end of the month and she will have the chance to see the school and hopefully get mentally prepared for what is coming. Colette’s transition worries me. She is an articulate 4 year-old, with some big worries in her heart. It helps her enormously to express things. The month or two of feeling stunted in saying how she feels will be a burden for her. I know she will be fine, but we expect some outbursts and sulking. She told me the other day - curled in a ball, crying, “It is hard to move to a new country.”



I understand where Colette is coming from, although I haven’t had the chance to feel lonely - we’ve had so many visitors already. Mostly bits of Xavier's family from around the area (or vacationing in the south of France from Paris) - and even some friends from New York who stopped by to stay a couple nights in our new house. I do feel curious though. Curious about what comes next. When la rentrée comes around and the pace of life returns to a non-vacation clip. I haven’t really tried to connect with people yet. I am not even sure how to begin.

I feel much less foreign this time around, thankfully. When we moved to Paris in 2007 for a few years it was full system shock for me. It took a couple of years to feel like I could surface and just sort of breathe normally. This time I benefit from 10 years of being with Xavier and his family/our friends, lots of French media consumption, books, movies, culture - quoi - and ease in the language. I haven’t felt a lot of cultural strain.

I have re-remarked with admiration some things about the French. Food. It is trite, but it is so true. The French understand the importance of good ingredients (oh the markets!). Of sitting to eat a meal. Of enjoyment. They admire and congratulate their fellow-citizens who know how to do these things well. One of Xavier’s cousins was telling a story about a person she doesn't admire. Her chief complaint: “Elle ne sait pas profiter.” ('She doesn’t know how to enjoy things,' although the notion of ‘profiter’ is truly cultural). She couldn't sit and drink her coffee purposefully, for instance.

Here’s to learning to be a master of ‘profiter.'


Walks with the girls behind our house


Out the front door


Key to our front door! Foot for scale


Local landcape


Sky out the girls' bedroom window at dusk

All at once

I have a long list of things I want to see and places I want to go - all within an hour’s drive of our house near Aix-en-Provence. I’m putting most explorations on hold. Our house and getting settled in is proving to be a true feat. We have 45 projects going all at once: painting the house, unpacking boxes, new furniture to sand and restore/move into proper place, power washing/staining the outdoor furniture, ripping out old closet structures/setting up the new, installing a watering system for the yard, new kitchen cabinets, removing parts of the walls in our bedroom (our bed won’t fit into the ‘bed alcove’ - common feature of 17th c. design), ripping out carpet in one small section of the house - refinishing the floors (we will eventually put the customary tiles of this region there), installing a fence around the pool (Romy!), repainting the shutters on the house, preventing Romy from squeezing the kittens too hard, working with an architect (Xavier’s fantastic cousin who lives 15 min from us - we love him and his family) on finishing a back portion of our house for airbnb and guests, deciding what goes where (!), working with the mayor of the town to get a number on our house, the list goes on and on. I don’t believe I have ever felt quite so inundated with things to accomplish. I also feel really excited about the prospect of seeing these projects completed. Xavier remains dauntless. Not an ounce of hesitation. He wakes up and announces what he will begin - dives in and doesn’t come back up for air until about midnight.


The view out one of the windows on the top floor of the house. A field of Provence sunflowers.


Appreciating the details in the house while unpacking boxes this morning.


Fabrizio, the Italian painter, hard at work. Admired by two little ones.


I have stopped to admire the sky. Over and over. When the stars come out at night, we see the whole thing. Like a huge dark bowl above our heads, glazed with stars. After putting the girls to bed, sometimes I float in the pool with my ears under the water, rim of water just around my face, gazing up. Sensory therapy.



Colette and Romy feel as intense as everything else. Colette - daunted by the whole thing. We were driving to a little farm the other day and she told me, “Mom, I really like New York better than this place - even if we didn’t have a pool.” I was tempted to push back and list the reasons Provence is so great. Instead, I just gulped and said, “I understand, Colette. I miss New York too. What do you miss most?” She had a good list (Claire was at the top).

She is still feeling the influence of Our Lady Of Lourdes catholic school. She was pensive this morning and said, “Jesus and God are in our heart. I really want Jesus to come out. I want to see him. Maybe he is stuck in my heart forever.”

Colette thinks about safety quite a bit (thankfully, since the topic never seems to cross her little sister’s mind). “How many numbers strong is this house?” and “What is kidnapping?” (almost in the same breath). Oh, Colette.



Romy wants to be helpful. In fact, if you let her ‘help’ she will happily do your job for an hour or more. The trick is your work is unraveling in the process. She looks up and says, “I good jobbing. See?” Indeed.

We have lots of little lizards around - Romy is very impressed. She gets as close as she can and says, “I want to hold him. So sweet!” Moving her shoulders and arms in a cradling motion. They inevitably scurry away. “I miss him. He is gone.” The lizards are lucky she can’t get a hold of them. The kittens have a different story. She pulls their tails and squeezes much too hard. We are constantly steering her to be gentle…they protect themselves - they scratch and bite her. She is undeterred. There are moments she is overcome by their cuteness. She is shaking while petting them, placing her head on their body to ‘caress’ their fur. They paw at her wild hair, thinking it is a little creature itself.

We miss Marguerite terribly. Excited that she will come every other weekend and lots of her vacation time - more time with her is a total treat for everyone.

All in all, this feels like a mammoth affair. Mustering all the grit I have to keep up.






Xavier, a great papa (the candy bracelets are a nice touch). He pauses to play with the girls and the kittens - that is about it.


Art study in the front yard.


Meeting new friends at our house.


Even Colette's shadow is getting accustomed to the new place.




Trips to the market - lots of fun. This pic sums up each of the girls personalities.


Provence bounty - feels like such a luxury to have all of this at a market just down the street.

Moving in

Yesterday our things arrived from New York. We were all crazed to receive this delivery. We've been camping in the house for about two weeks now and living out of bags for six. The girls especially are very excited about seeing their toys and beds again.



The container - because that is what we were waiting for, a shipping container - was placed on a truck and driven up to Aix from Marseille. The crew arrived in the area and couldn't find our little street (persistent issue - Xavier has befriended the mailman to grease the wheels of the pony express a bit already - old fashioned problem solving). Once they managed to locate a street that doesn't register on a GPS, they attempted to turn and maneuver through the sycamore trees lining the connecting street. Impossible. After a few failed attempts, they gave up. They brought in a smaller "navette" truck to do trips back and forth with all the furniture and boxes.

At the same time, we had two masons out back working on some tiling around the pool, which needs repair. Aly, the principal mason, is a jolly sort of French guy. In good humor despite the heat or other circumstances. Calls me Madame and bows his head slightly - makes me a bit embarrassed. Brings his own umbrella with him to create shade wherever he is stationed. He started earlier this week and from the very first morning, we've found a bag of croissants "pour les filles" (for the girls) sitting on the table - waiting for us when we wake up. The girls and I always walk over to the pool after we've had our morning treat to thank him. His thick southern accent makes his warm gesture - his insistence that the girls start their day with a good croissant - even warmer.

Another character in this cast is the Italian painter, Fabrizio. We are revamping the paint on the main level of the house, which was trimmed with green and red - the moldings and doors and some built-in furniture. We want a fresh start with white and a bit of gray/blue. Simple and beautiful, we hope. The house is replete with some flourishes. We want to tone it down a bit. Fabrizio is an artist. Paintbrush behind one ear, he stands gazing at the color swatch he has placed along the base of the walls - wondering. He whistles the same few stanzas of a Bach Minuet repeatedly. He has opened all the cracks and fissures in the ceilings - gotten into to their depths. I didn't even know there were cracks in the ceiling before he did that. Now they are filled with a bonding substance and have been patched. He is almost ready to actually begin painting...he is meticulous (maybe to a fault - we shall see).



So there was Fabrizio and Aly and the five movers - scurrying around improbably with heavy loads. And all of our stuff. The girls have been opening boxes wearing Christmas-morning-expressions. Every toy like new again - Mr. Potato Head, dress-up gowns, winter boots. Hilarious concoctions. We are about up to our noses in cardboard and wishing we had fewer things. In general. Feels like endless chaos. If I know Xavier though, he is going to be tearing through this and we will be "established" within a week. The girls are also delighted by the piles of paper and boxes - they have created a paper pit for jumping.



A good example of Xavier’s efficiency while managing all of this at once: while unpacking boxes of tools yesterday, he realized that he will need a proper tool table - a big one. He pulled out his phone and did a quick search for such a table on the equivalent of a local French ebay. I heard him on the phone shortly thereafter negotiating. An hour later I heard another truck pulling up, then Xavier was helping a guy unload the exact table he was looking for. Paid the guy in cash and chatted amiably about the merits of the region and the best brocantes (antique sellers). He is incredible. Never overwhelmed.


The girls strolling down the little lane that leads to our house.


A summer read (The Life of Helen Keller - so sweet) - her senses full in the olive trees.