Sunday DIY-ers

We have an expression in French: "les bricoleurs du dimanche".
Literally, it means "Sunday DIY-ers", and refers - somewhat teasingly - to those male DIY enthusiasts who spend considerably more time and energy talking about the work than actually doing it...

All talk and not much action, if you like...

In our household, we now have not one but TWO Sunday DIY-ers!
This weekend, as FH huffed and puffed his way through a few home improvement tasks, BB discovered a budding passion for DIY...

He was soon perspiring happily under the pressure of it all.
Just like his Dad.

Their mission was to attach new door knobs to the kitchen cupboards.
The job required an impressive range of tools.
Manpower required: Two male DIY-ers.
Time taken: Lots.

Just think, if New Baby is also a DIY-er... I may soon have enough "bricoleurs du dimanche" to make a whole week! Lucky me...

And speaking of clear, effective communication…

... here is an extract of an email I received this week from an American colleague. A highly qualified linguist (in case there was any doubt).

"Basically, the compound stress rule states that the first word in a compound noun carries primary
stress. So "HARD hat" is a special type of hat, whereas "hard HAT" is just a hat that is hard. The problem is that compound words are recursive constructions. That is, they can contain compound words. So
"Left wing leading edge perforated piccolo tube" contains compounds such as "leading edge", "left wing leading edge", "piccolo tube", etc. That makes the stress rule less reliable. Also, the compound noun "leading
EDGE" does not follow the compound stress rule. In many cases, compound nouns are conventionalized adjective-noun pairs that retain their original primary stress on the last word. That is, they are idioms."

Mmm. I think I am expected to provide an intelligent counter-response within the next few days.
Anyone got any helpful hints?

How to Win Friends and Influence People?

For the past two days, I have been on a training course entitled "How to Argue Effectively."
Actually, I'm deliberately giving you a fairly loose translation of the French course name: "argumenter" in French really means "how to be convincing and structure your speech", rather than simply having a good old rant. But I like the idea that the Firm is paying for me to learn how to argue ;-)
(When he heard I was taking the course, my boss actually grimaced and muttered something sarcastic along the lines of: "are you taking part in the course or giving it?". I took this as a compliment...).

It has all been very interesting and informative, not least because our trainer is an ex-car salesman for Peugeot, extremely dynamic and very much into the "killer sales" jargon. None of it seems especially relevant to my job, in which the most meaningful relationship is between me and my computer (we get along just fine most of the time), but in the wider context of human interaction in general, it's bound to be helpful.
There are things I already suspected but which have been confirmed: did you know, for example, that 93% (93%!!) of our impact on others is down to our body language and the way we say something (as opposed to the actual content of what we have to say).
Amazing if you think about it.

But as the course has been going on, I've been thinking more and more that there's only so much you can learn. Not to be cynical or anything, but I can't help feeling that "you either got it or you ain't". Some people have that natural charisma (or whatever you want to call it) that means you can listen to them talk for an hour about sheep-farming in the Shetlands (or whatever), whereas others are just... well... boring. And uninspiring.
It's not fair, of course, but charisma and good communication skills seem to me to be a "gift" bestowed on some and not others.

Well, I hope this wasn't too much of an unstructured ramble.
If you didn't enjoy the content of this post, take heart in the fact that, had you heard me tell you the same stuff out loud, you'd have been won over immediately by my charm and charisma ;-)

A Day in the Country

... or, "101 ways to keep a little boy entertained at the weekend."
Strategy 1: huge amounts of fresh air.

Warning: Humourless Rant Below

I don’t often use this blog to moan (do I??), but today I need to let off steam about something, and this seems as good a place as any.
It’s about childcare. Not a thrilling subject, I agree, but of great importance to those of us with children.
Childcare: why is there not more of it? Why, even in a country like France, which likes to boast of its high birth rate (2 kids per woman on average, the baby-boomer of Europe), does the state not provide anywhere near the number of nursery places to satisfy everyone?

Yesterday I spent a very uncomfortable 10 minutes on the phone to the director of BB’s crèche, begging and pleading and trying really hard not to get over emotional… just to try and secure a place for BB’s little brother.
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t blame the director in any way: she has a limited number of places, and probably half the mothers in Toulouse trying to get their offspring into her crèche. I know: I did the same for BB. We told her I was pregnant way back in January (in bigger cities like Paris, you practically have to apply for places a year before you plan to conceive!) and yet the “battle” still rages, because other mums are pregnant too and, well, it seems that childcare is a cut-throat marketplace like any other.

The story will almost certainly have a happy ending for us, because the lovely director has promised to do her absolute best for us, and BB’s brother will probably be able to start crèche in November (sooner than I really wanted, but beggars most certainly cannot be choosers).
But what about the unlucky ones?

Is it even right that we only secured a place for BB in the beginning thanks to a “friend who has a friend who…” (a process known in French as “se faire pistonner”, something that happens a lot here, and in other cultures too, I suppose)?

And there’s something not very pleasant about the whole process, I feel. My poor baby is still floating around in my belly, slurping a bit of amniotic fluid and learning how to open his eyes… and I am already battling to find someone who will take care of him while his mum goes out to work.
And yet this is the reality for many of us who simply cannot afford to take more time off work.

Surely more should be done to provide decent, affordable childcare?
ALL “working mums” (the quotation marks are ironic because all mums are by definition “working”) should have the right to CHOOSE a nice, safe environment for their child, so that they can go off to do their office job, or whatever it is they have to do to pay the bills, secure in the knowledge that their child is safe and happy.

Surely it’s not too much to ask?

Rant over. Thank you for listening.

The Godparents

Ah, here they are at last: the most devoted godparents a little blonde-haired boy could hope for...

(against a backdrop of some classy British retail establishments ;-)

PS

Gorgeous Aunty Carol and Fun Uncle Adam are strikingly absent from the photo-story below! Please: stop hiding all the pictures of yourselves and agree to go public!!

Intrepid Adventures (2)

Looking over the photos of our trip, I see that at least half of our time was spent eating and drinking in various local eateries... And the other 50% was devoted to long, lazy afternoons and evenings with close friends and family. The two activities are not mutually exclusive, of course.

BB samples local delicacies in a café...

And in a pub...

And, um, in another café...
(did anyone notice the initials on the mug I'm holding? Turns out we unwittingly found THE café named after my little boy!).

BB soon deduced that the way to an English girl's heart appears to be through... music!
Here he is wooing various charming ladies with his musical exploits...



And speaking of charming suitors, here are a selection

The exquisite Nina V. and her mum Caro, one of my best friends for the past 24 years...


The members of the beautiful hair brigade: Lani, Kiki and their mum Gee (mum or older sister?!).

And in the interests of fairness, here are the long-suffering dads/husbands, IOD and Neil A.

Guess which one was at the front of the queue when the hair was being handed out? And who got pushed to the back?
(and no, I did not manage to get all four heads into the picture, unfortunately.)

And lastly, a couple of random shots to prove that we managed to do a little outdoor activity, too.

The start of a new vocation? Or a sign that it's time to embark on the long journey home...?

Intrepid Adventures

Here we are back safely in Toulouse!

What can I tell you about our holiday in England??
Well, to be honest, having just read about my lovely friend Ingrid's intrepid adventures in Borneo (on her blog)... I feel rather at a loss to offer anything quite so exotic and impressive. So, dear readers, I have decided instead to start by telling you about our culinary exploits...

In the course of just one week, I managed to ingest all of the following (and BB bravely tasted most of them too...).
But sshh... better not mention all this to FH. I think that he is rather under the impression that as a semi-French person, I am now too "sophisticated" to succumb to these dubious (according to the French) culinary pleasures...

The truth, however, is that whenever I set foot on British soil, for some strange reason, I get the urge to indulge...

(Captions are included for the benefit of our bewildered French readers).

Beans on toast

Toasted teacakes with butter

Mint chocolate Aeros... mmmmm

Fish, chips and mushy peas!


So, no, we did not do much mountain climbing, rambling or swimming with exotic fish. But we most certainly did not shy away from the local customs!

More about our trip later.

We Made It!

For anyone who might have doubted (i.e. me!), we made it safely to England. The journey was a success, if one may stretch the meaning of the word "success" to include an irate and anxious mother and an over-excited toddler with a passion for throwing objects onto the heads of fellow passengers. In true English style, we'll conclude that "it could have been worse"...

So after my first solo-with-child flying experience, I can make the following initial conclusions:

Advantages of flying alone with a small child:

- Other people tend to smile indulgently / sympathetically / encouragingly
- Fellow passengers (especially those with small children) feel free to engage in conversation (I have never in my life had so much conversation whilst waiting to board a plane)
- You can boldly walk to the front of the boarding queue, muttering "I'm really sorry, but would it be alright if...." and no-one so much as tuts or frowns! Queue jumping is considered acceptable practice!
- You are so busy trying to control a hyper-active child that you have considerably less time to listen anxiously for signs of engine failure / wing becoming detached, etc, etc...
- When aforemetioned child FINALLY goes to sleep on your lap, the act of stroking his head and listening to his quiet breathing is almost as therapeutic as Valium.
- Rules are bent. Example: "It is not airline policy to remove prams at the foot of the aircraft for the benefit of pasengers," I was snootily informed by the FEMALE ground attendant on arrival in Manchester. But before I even had a chance to respond, indicate my pregnant state or look in any way miffed, the MALE ground attendant jumped forward and assured me "You just wait there, love, I'll go and get your pram for you. Don't want you struggling on your own with the little 'un."
Ha. I had the good grace not to look smug as female ground attendant pursed her lips...


Drawbacks of flying alone with a small child:

- Sheer exhaustion.

And only a few days to go until we do it all again!

Flying Visit

Tomorrow afternoon, BB, the Bump and I are heading off to England for a week.
The trip will be great, I’m sure, once we’ve made it through the ordeal of the journey and – more specifically – the flight.
I fear there may be tears, panic and extremely childish behaviour. And – er – no, I’m not talking about BB: all of the above refers to me!

See, I am not a fan of flying (all those close friends and family members who have had their hand squeezed at bone-cracking intensity by me during turbulent zones… feel free to smile indulgently at this point).
And tomorrow I will have to fly without my two trusty travel companions: Alcohol and Valium. Ah… how I love those two! Sadly though, the presence of BB and Bump effectively eliminate my usual companions, so I will have only my Inner Strength and Calm to help me through.
Lord help us…

Last year I had 8 therapy sessions to overcome this “difficulty”, so you would think they would have some kind of positive effect… We’ll see.
Today I am studiously going over my therapy notes, in an attempt to recover that “positive attitude” I had at the time. Thus, I am being reminded that “thoughts are NOT facts” (simple but true) and “it is better to embrace your fears and give them room to breathe rather than trying to push them aside (don’t worry: me fears usually have PLENTY of room to breathe!!).

Anyway, I will blog next week if I have time (the itinerary for my trip rivals that of President Obama!); if not, you will have to wait a while for the report of our mini-adventure.

Wish us luck!