Hurrah, J is promoted from Premier Enfantine

It has been a long first school year in J's life. Premier Enfantine or the Swiss equivalent of junior kindergarten starts at age 4. J and his great mate Adam Ant started Premier Enfantine together; the only anglophones in a sea of french-speaking kids. As expected, they initially created their own English-only island in said sea. Some strategizing between us parents, the teachers and the school's inspectrice, and the boys were partially separated from one another and gradually integrated. First obstacle overcome.

J started the 2007-08 academic year with his vocabulary limited to answering 'Oui' to every question posed to him from "Vous allez bien?" (how are you?) to "Est-ce que vous voulez de sauce piquante avec votre chocolate?" (do you want hot sauce with your chocolate?). His mastery ended with "Regarde-moi" (look at me) and "Viens" (come). He ended the year speaking full sentences. Second obstacle overcome.

J is also somewhat averse to change. He had his circle of friends (mostly other english-speaking Canadians) and wasn't invested enough in school to make the effort to engage the french-speaking children. Early in the year, it broke my heart to see him playing alone or resisting any attempts by the other kids to include him. All of my Canadian friends urged me to stay the course, having been down this road themselves. By the end of the year, he had weekly playdates with the other kids and was the Pied Piper of Escargots collecting. Third obstacle overcome.

Finally, J is a very spirited child. He is imaginative, active, independant and benefits from a lot of physical and mental challenge. The restraint demanded by school rules, school routine and strict Swiss discipline was difficult for him to adapt to for much of the year. But a reward system at home, praise from his teachers and a slow acceptance of expectations won the day by the end of the year. Fourth obstacle overcome.

This weekend, our village celebrated Promotion where all of the school children are promoted from one grade to the next. They parade though the streets accompanied by village dignitaries, a marching band, and frantically photograph-snapping parents. This cortege is followed by a village dinner of saucisses, frites and glaces, and a full-on carnival atmosphere complete with bungy-jumping, mini roller-coasters, flying boat rides, babarpapa (cotton candy), a live band and dancing. This is the 3rd year we have participated in Promotion and we had a ball. We got home at 10:00 pm.J anticipated Promotion with the same enthusiasm as he did his birthday party. He was so excited, he hardly slept the night before and counted down the hours until the cortege at 4:30. He marched proudly, hand-in-hand with his french-speaking pal Alyssa. The next day, he sadly lamented the end of the school year and asked how long it was until he could start Deuxieme Enfantine.You've come a long way baby, mummy is very proud of you and of us.

Father's Day Redux 2008

Weather: Sunny and 30 degrees

Place: Lake Geneva, Geneva Switzerland

Spectacular spills: Too many to count

Injuries: One waterski to the chin, one nettle sting

Happy Kids: 7

Happy Big Kids: 7

Happy Wet Dogs: 2

Price: 3.50 CHF per minute

Friendship and laughter: priceless

The French Connection

I am a terrible parent. Or at least I did a terrible thing. Last Saturday I completely forgot about a birthday party that J was invited to and looking very forward to attending. Caught up in T-ball, C2's return from a week in Bordeaux and an hour of sunshine, the party never even entered my mind until 6:00 pm when a friend called to ask if J was sick. I felt awful.

Birthday parties are a very big deal at age 5 and fantastic occasions for J to mingle with his french-speaking classmates and further integrate into our community. There are geo-social advances made with every one of these opportunities. So being mature and poised, I immediately e-mailed the classmates' mother with apologies for J's sudden onset of fever. There you go, no feelings hurt, no social slight, no harm done. C2 asked how J would keep to the story. Story? what story? He can't explain himself that well in french yet, so I wasn't worried.

This morning J walked into school with a gift for the classmate who received it with pleasure. As they walked away, I overheard J say "Voici ton cadeau, Marie, ma maman a oublié ton fête d'anniversaire".

The good news is J's french is coming along beautifully.

Rain, Rain Go Away

Have I mentioned that it's been raining here? Actually, that would be an understatement. It has been raining here since February. Months ago , I kept thinking "ok, spring has to come sometime soon". But no, it has been one protracted Geneva winter warmed by maybe a few degrees.

We have had the odd glimpse of sun and then we pale, vitamin-D deprived souls raise our pasty faces to the sky and breathe a fleeting breath of sun-warmed air.

The rain-soaked fans at the Euro 2008 football tournament don't seem bothered. They still parade through downtown streets hooting and hollering, draped proudly in their nation's (damp) flags. J isn't bothered at all. In fact, rain makes for wonderful escargot collecting. 42 escargots in one afternoon is his current record.

But me? My hair is frizzy, my feet are cold and I have yet to water my outdoor plants. I have family arriving in 2 weeks for a beach vacation just south of Geneva.

The forecast for tomorrow? 16 degrees and rain...sigh.

Where I'm At

In case you failed to notice, I have been decidedly silent for the last month or so. It started after a dear friend and the finest blogger I know started being e-stalked and some of the fun faded for those of us putting our day to day life experiences out there. I've debated taking this blog private but my intention had been for this to be an open letter to my family and friends, recounting snippets and soundbites of our European experience. So for the moment I think I will carry on, though I will remove some name and place specifics from future postings.

Then I got robbed - ugh. For the second time in two years. It seriously deflated my enthusiasm for a while. While violent crime in Europe is decidedly lower than in North America, petty crime is definitely higher!

For the last three months, my mum (and J's favorite other grown-up) had been visiting with us. It was wonderful, we toured, day-tripped, and played together. She enthusiastically and with great humour and humility stepped into our busy lives for a short time. She was a welcome fellow traveller who continues to embrace life and her family with the greatest of gusto. We are very blessed. She returned home to Canada a week ago - bummer!

J turned 5 this month and I'm not quite sure how that happened but in spite of my best efforts to keep him small, he keeps growing - double bummer!

Today, however, I got a glaring perspective reminder. I reconnected with my former boss from a long-time client school whose 18-year old son has been serving on active duty in Iraq since January. This month, I fretted over planning a 5-year old's 5th birthday party. My friend JL worried about his son reaching his 19th.

Time to find my voice again.

Heaven is Europe in the Springtime

Geneva, Switzerland May 2008

London, England May 2008

Yvoire, France April 2008

Cap d'Antibes, France April 2008

Barcelona, Spain April 2008

Lugano, Switzerland March 2008

El camarero, más sangría por favor

J, C2, my mum and I returned on Tuesday from four glorious days in sunny Barcelona, Spain. The sun and warmth was particularly welcome after a miserably cold and wet Spring in Geneva.

We packed a lot into those 4 days. Our perfect little hotel was on the carrer de Pelai, just off of the Plaça de Catalunya, the central square of downtown Barcelona, and one block from Barcelona’s famed Las Ramblas street. On our first day, we walked Las Ramblas to the harbour and back again, stopping only for lunch in a tiny charming square on a winding side street, and again for gelato. We had delicious tapas and an outstanding bottle of rioja for dinner at restaurant Sinatra (courtesy of the Millers’ October visit).
We spent most of our second day touring the celebrated Sagrada Familia cathedral; Antoni Gaudi’s enormous roman catholic church, which began construction in 1882, continues to this day and is only scheduled for completion in 2026. It is fantastical, mystical and visually irresistible. We waited in line patiently for 45 minutes to ascend one of its’ magical spires topped unexpectedly with passionfruit, figs, and grapes. Mum took the lift back down but C2, J and I descended the 300ish steps. The first 150 were fine, the last 150 rather terrifying as one misstep would send one tumbling hundreds of feet into a void. I held one hand on the banister, kept my eyes on the wall and muttered to myself as C2 tended to J.

Dinner that night was Paella and an utterly delicious jug of Sangria at restaurant Cullera de Boix. J loved our long late dinners. I don’t get it, he barely lasts 10 minutes at a normal dinner table!

C2 and J headed to the Barcelona Aquarium and Barceloneta beach for our third day, giving mum and I ample time to participate in Barcelona’s famed shoe shopping experience. Halfway down Las Ramblas, we stopped in at Café de l’Opera, a Barcelona institution and well-frequented haunt for a much-needed mid-day shot in the arm of Sangria. Dinner on our final night was again for authentic tapas, double pitchers of sangria and the best flan I’ve ever tasted at restaurant Los Torereros.

We spent our final day at the Barcelona zoo where J watched his first dolphin show. We headed to the airport in the late afternoon and strolled into our front door a couple of hours later– amazing! Coming from a country as immense as Canada, it never fails to astound me how much of Europe I can travel in so short a time.

An Awareness Moment

Do you know that one woman in 68 over the age of 40 will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year and that over a lifetime women have a one in 8 chance of developing the disease. It is also the most common cancer among women[1] Many of us have heard these numbers tossed around, particularly if we know someone who has battled this disease. They are fearsome statistics and every woman must take care to protect herself with all of the tools at our disposal.

The key to surviving breast cancer is early detection and treatment. According to the American Cancer Society, when breast cancer is confined to the breast, the five-year survival rate is close to 100%. The early detection of breast cancer helps reduce the need for therapeutic treatment and minimizes pain and suffering, allowing women to continue leading happy, productive lives.[2]

Beginning at the age of 40, all women should have annual mammograms, receive clinical breast exams each year, and practice breast self-exams every month.

I had my annual mammogram this morning and today I celebrate the fact that my breasts are real and healthy. I urge every woman reading this blog entry to do the same.

[1] American Cancer Society Cancer Incidence, Mortality and Prevalence Worldwide
[2] http://www.imaginis.com/breasthealth/

From the Mouths of Superheroes

J and I spent the day earlier this week in Bournemouth, England with our friends Lisa and Arthur and their kids M and S. The reason for this day-long cross-channel-and-back-again journey?? Lazytown LIVE of course!

Most North Americans are unfamiliar with this popular Icelandic children’s television show. In a nutshell, the main character is a superhero named Sportacus who along with a disturbingly upbeat pre-pubescent girl named Stephanie urge and cajole the normally lazy louts living in Lazytown to eat healthily, exercise regularly and to believe in themselves. They are remarkably positive role models and their acrobatic dancing combined with catchy show tunes have captivated most English-speaking European kids under the age of 8.

So after an enthralling 90-minute live stage show, we took the kids to a park to work off some of the steam built up after a plane ride and the stint in the theatre. Arthur overheard this exchange while the boys were tree-climbing still clad in their Sportacus costumes:

S: “Help, I think I need help climbing this tree”

J: “No you don’t, you’re Sportacus, you’re a superhero and superheros don’t need help climbing trees!”

Classic.

Random thoughts on womanhood and motherhood

There have been many life experiences of which I am justifiably (or not) proud. I ran a successful consulting business for many years. I competed in a triathlon last year. I chased dolphins while sea kayaking off Vancouver Island. I dislocated a shoulder mountain biking in Alberta (that one was high on the oooh…ahhhh scale especially in the physiotherapists’ office). I have travelled from western Europe to western Canada with a pre-schooler numerous times (don't knock it if you've never done it).

However, none elicited the sense of accomplishment and extension beyond my normal comfort zone as that which I did yesterday. I correctly assembled an IKEA bookshelf by myself in under an hour. I am woman. Hear me roar!


When I was 6 months pregnant with J, C2 and I bought a glider chair and ottoman for the nursery. In the last almost 5 years, that chair has rocked J to sleep, quieted his tears, heard thousands of stories read aloud, and witnessed too-many-to-count cuddles and kisses. One of the first words J said while gesturing urgently to it with a book was ‘chair-chair-chair’.

Alas, at nearly 5-years old, chair-chair-chair no longer comfortably fits us together. He squirms, can’t get comfortable and ends up poking me in the ribs. So yesterday, in an effort to convince him that he would be happier with his new Playmobil castle in that corner of his room, he hesitantly agreed to move chair-chair-chair to the guest room being occupied by his grandma for the next 3 months.

His uncertainty at this decision grew as the day wore on. ‘This will be the saddest night ever mummy’, he forlornly told me as he climbed into bed in spite of my promises of new book shelves and a kid-size bean bag chair. I am mother. Feel my guilt!

The Dinner Party

I love food. It’s as simple as that and a good thing that I train for triathlons given my epicurean curiosity and pleasure-seeking palate. God bless the Canadian Prairies but they remain, unfortunately, something of a gastronomical wasteland. Europe on the other hand…ah Europe… The boulangeries, the boucheries, the marchés, the auberges, the vineyards, the endless restaurant opportunities. I could carry on ad infinitum but that is fodder for other blogs. This one is all about the dinner party.

C2 and I love to cook almost as much as we love to eat and thankfully most of our friends are comparable foodies. I adore the whole process - the menu planning, the wine pairings, the table setting, the cooking, and of course, the eating. I could, mind you, probably live without the washing up part. We’ve hosted many, some better than others, last evening’s was superb.

We invited Marc and Nat to meet our great friends, Kirk aka “Le Sommelier” and Melissa aka“Mrs. Jamie Oliver”. It’s always a bit dicey when you invite couples to meet for the first time, but this evening was entertaining from start to finish. It began with C2 and Marc getting tipsy on Trappist beer (given to us by friends living in Belgium) even before the appetizers were served and only got better from there.

The food was great, the company wonderful. Here’s the menu and play list for your viewing and listening pleasure:
On the Table
Flammekuche savoyard pizza
Crudités and dar vida flat breads with herbed goat cheese

MOET & CHANDON CHAMPAGNE
ALFRED ROTHSCHILDE CHAMPAGNE

Teriyaki grilled Salmon
Steamed Asian Vegetables scented with freshly grated ginger
Jasmine Rice

MEURSAULT 2005
CHARDONNAY DE BOURGOGNE 2005

Roquette & Endive Salad with shaved Parmesan, toasted Pinenuts and aged Balsamic Vinegar

Tomme de Savoie, Mellun Brie, Chevre cremier, Gruyère, and Roquefort with baguette

RIOJA GRAN RESERVA 1998

Plum, Raspberry and Almond crumble
Lemon Chocolate cake

Play list
Mark Knofler and Emmylou Harris - “All the Roadrunning”
St. Germain - “Tourist”
Michael Bublé - “It’s Time”
Soundtrack from “High Fidelity”

We did go a little later than usual.

Joyeuse Pâques

Courtesy of my local swiss grocery store. Funny, I don't recall seeing these guys side-by-side in my Safeway Easter flyer.

A Little More on the Subject of Friendship

I know that friendship seems to have become a recurrent theme through my postings but it is one of the great joys in my life. The friendships I have made since arriving in Geneva buoyed our transition and raised this amazing expatriate experience to a new level.

In Canada, I left behind a network of loving and loyal friends who valiantly nurture our long-distance connection. I am incredibly grateful for their effort. My relationship, thankfully, with my immediate family is extraordinary. I would have chosen every one of them as friends even if they weren’t family!

Among the many thrills that living in Europe has given me is the now close proximity to my oldest friend, Sheila, who has lived in London for the better part of 20 years. We met at age 14, grade nine, at Riverdale High School in Montreal.

As best friends, we shared adolescence, high school, braces, university, first loves, first jobs, marriage, children, wanderlust, braces again, and great distances for almost 30 years. After she met and married her lovely English man, we still managed to communicate regularly and visit every couple of years. Now we exchange visits every couple of months!


She was in Geneva this week for a few brief but blissful days. We had a leisurely laughter-filled lunch with Nat on Thursday at Geneva’s elegant Hôtel les Armures. Over cabillaud, crème brûlée, and conversation, we marveled at the forks and turns of life that brought all three of us to that table.

Good Friendship and Good Fortune

We got some great news a few months ago. Two of our oldest friends Marc and Nathalie were moving to Geneva with the Royal Bank of Canada. While living in Calgary, we passed many, many happy hours together walking our beloved retrievers, sharing long dinners, and playing cards. They are Murphy’s other family and the only dog-sitters she had ever known.

Nat is my super-stylish girlie-girlfriend. She’s the one I went clothes shopping with (she’d always tell me if my bum looked too big!), drank frozen bellinis with, and faithfully perused the annual In Style ‘100 Best Products of the Year’ with. In spite of her poise, she was (and is) as crude as a dockworker and made me laugh until I peed…her antics at Calgary’s El Sombrero restaurant remains the stuff of legend.

As native Montrealers, we also shared a similar history. We understood their pining for the Plateau Mont Royal, and they understood our affection for the Monkland Village. We all attended Concordia University at various times in our lives, and could all wax lyrically about les chiens chauds and poutine from La Belle Province.

When we moved to Geneva, leaving friends like Marc and Nat behind was wrenching. Our friendship, however, forged over years of shared experience and much mirth endured. We all had familiarity nurturing long-distance friendships.

Marc and Nat arrived in Geneva about a month ago, and the smile hasn’t left their faces (or ours) yet. From the pleasure of restaurants and shops welcoming separation-anxious Ben (did I mention their 100+ pound Labrador?), to their fabulous new apartment in Geneva’s old town, to our renewed long retriever rambles; their experience so far has been nothing short of fantastic.

Nat and I have lunch together every Thursday in a different part of Geneva and together we toast to good friendship and good fortune.

(No) Sense and Sensibility

I never used to consider myself particularly sentimental. My pragmatic sarcastic side was usually dominant. But sometime around 5 years ago something changed and now without notice, I find myself reduced to a weepy undignified heap on an uncomfortably regular basis.

Films like The Notebook, or An Affair to Remember are lethal. Oh and don’t even get me started on my behaviour during a climactic scene of Grey’s Anatomy Season 2 “I know you’ll be fine…but Denny, what about meeeeeeee?”- wrenching stuff.

I once fled the room shrieking (I’m not kidding) during a Walt Disney movie about a yellow Labrador who fell off a bridge trying to protect his young master (the dog was fine and swam to safety, my bemused husband later informed me).

But nothing quite compares to last night’s mortification. I was aimlessly flicking the television remote control whilst waiting for my toenail polish to dry and happened upon the schmaltzy classic ‘Love Story’. It was the definitive scene. With the music at a crescendo, a dying Jennifer bravely tells her young husband “it doesn’t hurt Ollie, really it doesn’t”. My eyes welled. By the time she called him “her god&!#@ stupid preppie” (a timeless line if ever spoken) and gracefully slipped off into that good night, I was into unprecedented full body convulsions.

I guess motherhood did this to me (damn hormones). I didn’t see it coming but I have to admit “my name is Cxxxxxxx and I am a schmaltz junkie”.

Winter in Geneva

Snowdrops and crocuses February 17, 2008

Do I miss brisk 6-months long Canadian winters with -30 temperatures and frigid winds - uh not so much!

Mr. Clean or is that Monsieur Propre?

Scene: The cleaning products aisle of the grocery store.
Characters: 4-year old J who rarely accompanies 40-something mum to grocery store.

Jack wanders the aisle absently but face suddenly lights up when spies a familiar bottle...

J: "Look mummy, this promises to remove rust and limescale".

Mummy: confused look, mouth drops open

J carries on down the aisle, face lights up again when spots a familiar pink box...

J: "Look mummy, this will leave our washing crystal white".

Morale of the story - reduce number of hours of BBC viewed by 4-year old or pre-register him in marketing program of local university.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

...and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? It was the sound heard around a village. Our lovely village is surrounded by several country paths frequented by joggers, dog walkers and folk out for a stroll. One in particular we use regularly. It is the start of my run, it is Murphy's daily walk, it is J's favorite quick bike ride.

During a fierce wind storm a few months ago, a majestic 200-year old oak tree fell along that path and our village mourned a lost friend. Villagers trooped out to visit the felled giant, letters of poetry were left among its shedding bark. Children swarmed over its exposed gnarly roots and gentle arms. We dubbed it 'the climbing tree' and it became a destination. But what happened next was both unexpected and quite magical.

A local wood sculptor arrived with chainsaws, woodfiles, varnish and an overflowing bucket of talent. Slowly this amazing man transformed that hunk of deadwood into a work of art. He lovingly crafted images of all creatures beholden to an oak tree. A tapping woodpecker, a squirrel eating an acorn, a proud owl, and several oak leaves, acorns and mushrooms adorned the tree trunk. A rabbit shyly peaked through a hole. A frog crouched in a corner. A beetle burrowed into the wood.

Throughout this tiny wooden community, the sculptor fashioned benches and a small winding stairway to a tiny arena of oaken seats for an audience to contemplate the surrounding fields, vineyards and alpen views.

Our 'climbing tree' has become something of a local celebrity. A constant stream of people and cars arrive to marvel at its loveliness. Its majesty once more restored, this proud old chene tree is having a happy ending.

When I grow up, I want to drive a SnowCat

Jack, Will, Maddie, Adam, Mattie, and Evelyn