Multilingual babies #bigcityadvantages

One day per week, Small Fry goes to Violetta's house and speaks Spanish with her and her mum. And then another day per week Violetta comes to us and 'learns' English. 

Small Fry's Spanish is coming along pretty well (he can count to 15 now, as can his little sister who is a right copycat and seems to have an aptitude for being able to do what her brother can do already) but Violetta's English is pretty much non-existent.

I've tried full immersion where I speak no French at all, I've tried nursery rhymes on tv, English cartoons, playing English games at home with her, but she essentially refuses to speak. She does seem to understand but I wonder if it's as much context and tone as actually understanding English. 

At least he has company for the walk home.

Another side of Paris #perkofthejob #meetingsincentralparis

Warmer weather #madeittothepark #ponytrek #thatisall

Grande Roue de Paris #roundandround

So we wanted to go and see La La Land. But it was full. Or rather, we arrived there just on time and it was already full. So we dashed across Paris to the larger cinema on the Champs-Élysées, and that had one seat left. So we gave up, and wandered along the Champs instead. And saw in front of us The Big Wheel.

And voilà. Date night saved.

Cost as much as the cinema too. Since when did sitting in the dark watching a big screen get so expensive? Ah, maybe in those 5 years that I haven't been...

Oma hard at work #YouknowwhenOmaisintown #Weekoffformama

Making quiche and crumble

Oma sacrificed her own pearl buttons from her pretty lace top for Dougie's cardie

Before and after #Fromhippytoyippee

That's 5 months since the last cut

I reckon this one can go another 5 months too

Telling it like it is #DrSeuss #Love

Nine lives #Jack

Chesha was the first one that I really remember and loved. In my early adolescent years, she kind of chose us. She was our Dunblane cat: so easy going and tolerated being played with by scores of little hands. Her defining feature was her lovely carrot-orange long fur, but she was also kind and cuddly. She eventually passed away in her favourite place: on Oma's lap while being caressed gently.

Julie joined us in 1994 - she's the only cat whose birthday we are sure of and arrived as a tiny kitten who could fit in the palm of an adult hand. She marked my early adult years and was a beautiful little tortoiseshell tabby with delicate features and unstated elegance when she walked. She marked our life transitions with us, but eventually had to be put down after she succumbed to tongue cancer.

This was how Jack looked the first time I ever saw him: 

He was already an adult and was thought to be around 18 months old but they weren't too sure. He'd been rescued after running away from home (as many unspayed Tom cats do) and falling victim to a dog or a fox who had bit him on the face. He'd appeared in someone's garden and they had managed to get him to a vet, where they fixed him up and found him a home. I was looking for a kitten but decided to look after him until his stitches healed as they had nowhere else for him to go. Well, he never left. Well, he did actually, because he moved to Scotland, but you know what I mean. 

They had named him Cyrano on account of his nose being the opposite of Cyrano's) but I named him Jack, although lots of people called him Fred because he looked like my aunt's old cat. I thought I would be more stable in Paris than I ended up being, but when it would be clear that my PhD would take me all over the place, it made sense for him to be Oma's cat. And that's the cat of my recent adult years.

A cat for every decade. 

My first cat, but loved by so many, and an inspiration to at least 2 others to get cats of their own. 

Jack got up on Saturday as usual, had his breakfast and went back to bed for a nap, and passed away peacefully in his sleep. A lovely way to go, but very much missed. He had an adventurous life - apart from the nose biting, cat passport and international move, he also twice had kidney stones that required emergency treatment. Both times I wasn't there: the first time my lovely flatmate Sabrina handled all the resulting blood and wee while the second time Oma got it sorted. I reckon he lived 9 lives in just over 12 years.

Wherever he is, I'm sure he's chasing shadows and gobbling as much food as he wants.

On the rocks #StJeanD'Arves #skiseason

And I got back from Japan just* in time to join the family on our now-annual skiing holiday. This time we went to Saint-Jean-D'Arves which is really close to where we went last year, but the other side of the mountain. It's another small station, which really works for us, but it easily accesses a very large skiable domain. Which is all a bit useless for me as I'm so rubbish.

I snowboarded for about 15 years and got good enough to keep up with the 3 Gonzales boys on boards. I didn't do their stunts or take their crazy risks or even go as fast, but fast enough that we could pretty much travel as a group, and it was a lot of fun.

And then last year I lost my nerve. I'm not sure why as one of my best holidays boarding was 2 years previously when I was pregnant with Fingerling. But I lost it anyway and only did half a day (with a nasty fall) before giving it up and switching to skis.

And despite learning on the Tilicoultry dry ski slope for a good, what, 3? 5? years, I just haven't been able to pick it up as quickly and I am definitely very, very far away from skiing with the G-boys. So last year I took an individual lesson and this year I joined an adult group, skiing every morning together. And that is really my level and I am learning a lot, so I feel a lot more comfortable.

Hopefully by the end of week I can go out for a day with El Puma (if he waits for me) but at least I know I am getting the basics right now and hopefully should be able to improve each year. Of course Small Fry will probably zip past me within another 2-3 years judging at the speed he's learning, but at least we'll all be able to go out together, which I felt would have been much harder with my boarding.

So this is where we are:

And this is what it looks like:

St Jean d'Arves is a family-friendly resort and every evening there would be an 'activity'. One evening we got to meet an avalanche rescue dog and learned about their training and what to do should we ever get too close to an avalanche.

One evening we got to meet a driver of a snow plough that smooths the pistes (do they have a name?) and Small Fry got to sit inside. He almost weed himself with excitement.

We also watched all the teachers ski down the bunny slope with torches - a well-known skiing tradition. 

And Moon tried her luck with the local ski mascot.

And of course there was TontonleDruz to remind daddy who's Da Boss.

And a few other things we got up to: 

But you know what they say, getting up the proverbial mountain is only half the battle. The summit is the half way point and you're only home safe when you're back down. And so it is with ski holidays.

Because this happened:

 

Waiting on the side of the motorway in the falling snow for the tow truck

But every cloud has a silver lining and Small Fry was SUPER excited to be riding in an actual tow truck with the car strapped on the back of it.

 It took us 12 hours to get home, but thanks to Moon and Abuelo's great insurance and a courtesy car, we made it safe and sound.

And then I had my own mountain to face:

*Got home at 6am, departed again at 8am.

Japan #gettingmorethanIbargainedfor

So you know how I'd said that I hope nothing goes wrong on this trip, well I'd barely made it through security before the first thing did go wrong. 

I realised I didn't have my scarf. And as I had a bit of a sore throat, I knew I would need my bright, fat, thick scarf.

So I got some security people to have a look around that area and also up near passport control, when in a flashback I'd realised I'd let it at check-in*. I was told by some and that was disagreed with by others that I could go back to check-in to get it. In the end I could, if I went down to arrivals, waited in the arrivals queue, walked through baggage claim, exited, re-entered at the departures level, got the scarf and did the whole exiting-the-country and security check again.

But I got it, and that's what counts. 

But it didn't save me from strep-throat, which seemed to develop on the plane, and by the time I got to the develop had developed into a severely sore throat. Couldn't find alcohol to gargle with, so went to bed wrapped in my scarf...and of course didn't sleep a wink. I think it was probably the jet lag but I also felt like I had the chills and the sweats at some point.

So this morning I found an English-speaking medical clinic and got a multiple-hundred euro appointment and a 10-day course of antibiotics.

I'm not feeling much better yet but at least I'm only presenting tomorrow, and I got a chance to see some sights of Tokyo that I probably wouldn't have otherwise.

And then of course there was all the fun I was having in my room with the onsen-style bath in my room and pre-heated toilet seat (lovely!!!).

And the whole reason I'm here: to speak at a symposium on ecolabelling. I presented and then featured on the panel discussion that followed. Sometimes it's twice as hard to be a woman on these things - you need to fight to be heard and every point has to be good, especially when I'm on a panel with much older and much more experienced experts. Or to be put it another way: http://ipnlf.org/news/small-is-beautiful-the-use-of-ecolabels-in-small-scale-fisheries. 

And in case you haven't seen them yet (I hadn't), the logos for the 2020 olympics and paralympic games:

*Check-in with Air France these days is done all by yourself. You have to check in yourself, print your boarding pass, choose your seat, print your luggage tag, attach it yourself, and then take it to the drop off spot, all without seeing anyone from Air France. No chance of an upgrade then.