Going on the advice of Dr. Nguyen, I made an apt. with my gynecologist. First I walk in and didn't see his usual secretary. I found out later that her husband dumped her and although this woman looks like a Hollywood goddess and is sweet as can be, she's had a mental breakdown and can't work. This jerk probably doesn't deserve two minutes of her time and getting a new guy for her would simply involve stepping out the front door.
She was my hero when I had CVS done for Davina at 10 weeks back in the summer of 2003. I called the lab in Nice to ask about payment (since I was still on my United insurance so wouldn't be billed the same way) and the secretary down there says that they sent the results that day. Unfortunately, they send the results to the Dr. who does the procedure, not the patient's gyenologist. Turns out, it was right before lunch and the guy at the hospital who did my test had gone to lunch...with the information on whether my child was normal or not, in his briefcase.
Now, logically, I immediately deducted, if the results hadn't been normal, I'd like to think that he would have called my gynecologist right away, before going off to eat. Remember, there was no way for him to know that I knew that the tests were in and sent. I just happened to call the lab that day.
Half hysterical, I call Dr. Gikovaty, who is gone but I get Edith who tells me calmly, "I'll take care of it" and boy did she! Edith calls CMCO (the hospital) and got someone to track the doctor down. The simply told him that the patient knows he had the results and he found a fax machine fast.
Edith calls me back within a half hour. "I have it. Everything's fine. The baby is perfectly normal".
Great! but then the next question..."What is it?"
"You want to know?"
"You have it right in front of you. You know and I don't and I want to know too!"
Big sigh. She really doesn't want to unromantically tell me over the phone but too late!
"It's a girl..." she says defeated.
So Edith is my heroine. Meanwhile, for the first time, she's not there. Both Dr. Gikovaty and his wife, a radiologist who shares the same office, are completely lost. They don't know where anything is. They don't know how to do anything. While they have a temporary replacement, that doesn't really cut it when they can't give her adequate instructions.
What a mess.
I'm late. They don't even notice to start with.
So I sit down to have my chat. Well, someone with a Bigger Problem calls. So I sit through that. Then there is a call to find something else...
I tell him what the problem might be, according to Dr. Nguyen. What's his reaction? "Sharon" I hate that he always calls me that, which is freaky in a country allergic to first names. "This is very common".
Let's get this straight. If I'm the only person on the planet with this or if there are 100 million other women, it doesn't change the fact that I'm suffering from it.
"Okay Sharon, it's nothing méchante" (which is a funky word covering both evil and naughty). Sigh. I know that. I'm not worried about how naughty or evil it is. I just want the symptoms to go away.
Can you do anything? Was Dr. Nguyen right? Are all these symptoms connected?
Turns out, he was right. All the symptoms, the premenstrual stuff, the shorter periods, the water retention are all related to a lack of progesterone. Common, not méchante and easily fixed.
Where's my prescription??
He wants to give me a combo pill, with a diuretic, etc. I'm not thrilled with the idea. "Just progesterone?" Well, logic would have it that if all of the above are caused by a lack of progesterone, and if he gives me progesterone, the other symptoms are going to go away with just that? I wont need the other stuff anyway. I have a "thing" against combo drugs for a number of reasons, both practical and philosophical. Even for colds.
So he wants to do a smear test. We had a big old discussion about that at my annual check-up and he decided to do it next year. Now, just a few weeks later, he's ordering me on the table. "but you said..."
Oh why did I open my big trap. I wanted the test and he talked me out of it. Open mouth, insert foot. Too late! He remembers both our discussion and the other poor patients sitting in the waiting room.
Grrrr... I take my prescription and run, consoling them on their Lack of Edith...
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Bill Maher talking about France
A fellow mixed-Jewish American talking about France. I couldn't resist sharing!
Okay, it's a bit edgier than how I would sum it up (and obviously, he's never had to go to a French dentist!)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ic4xgOERgk
Okay, it's a bit edgier than how I would sum it up (and obviously, he's never had to go to a French dentist!)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ic4xgOERgk
Saturday, May 19, 2007
The trash went this morning...
...and yes it was a big deal.
It carted off the Last Diapers. That's right. No more diapers...at least until someone visits or grandchildren...in which the latter case we'll probably be elsewhere anyway... But the seven years, nine months of my diaper-changing life is once and truly over!
I realized later that it was American Mother's Day the morning I removed the last one. I also realized to late to call my own mother but that's not the point. The French "Fête des Mères" (or Mother's Holiday) is next week. It still goes to show, what better present could a mother get from her toddler than that? even if it's celebrated on the other side of the Atlantic??
No reminding, no helping, no discussions. She does it all on her own. Some technique has to be more finely honed (you'll be grateful I'm leaving out the TMI details) but there must have been half the usual trash we normally put out this morning.
I'm sort of paying attention to politics. Lots of women. Lots of people with children. This is supposed to be a Good Thing. I can't give a toss! I want Sunday opening hours!!!
Meanwhile, Armel, my little buddy in Ronnie's class comes up to me. "Now they're going to send all the foreigners back to their home countries and there's a war going on where my parents come from and if they send me back, I'll be KILLED!" Armel's parents are from Rwanda. There are about a million parents standing around so I'm thinking "I have to come up with something Significant and comforting in a foreign language as quick as I can..." so I mumbled something about no one sending anyone anywhere, myself included. I kind of skimmed over the fact that I'm already French and this child...born in France...isn't yet.
So I've not only been giving Armel his banned snacks but denying him exercise by driving him home. I think the only war Armel is likely to be involved in is the one that's going to happen when his parents find out what I've been up to!
We been having a lot of days off lately. There was the end of WWII, some sort of religious holiday, worker's day, etc. It's to the point that the kids are confused. "Okay" Talia asks "Do we have school tomorrow? After tomorrow? and after that??" Two Tuesdays in a row! What luck. In included dance class (Talia), soccor (Ronnie), local garderie (Davina) and French class (me). All gone, twice in a row!
So we actually have Full Week next week. No days off...except that it's a "Free Saturday". No school on Saturday. That's a holiday for me!
It carted off the Last Diapers. That's right. No more diapers...at least until someone visits or grandchildren...in which the latter case we'll probably be elsewhere anyway... But the seven years, nine months of my diaper-changing life is once and truly over!
I realized later that it was American Mother's Day the morning I removed the last one. I also realized to late to call my own mother but that's not the point. The French "Fête des Mères" (or Mother's Holiday) is next week. It still goes to show, what better present could a mother get from her toddler than that? even if it's celebrated on the other side of the Atlantic??
No reminding, no helping, no discussions. She does it all on her own. Some technique has to be more finely honed (you'll be grateful I'm leaving out the TMI details) but there must have been half the usual trash we normally put out this morning.
I'm sort of paying attention to politics. Lots of women. Lots of people with children. This is supposed to be a Good Thing. I can't give a toss! I want Sunday opening hours!!!
Meanwhile, Armel, my little buddy in Ronnie's class comes up to me. "Now they're going to send all the foreigners back to their home countries and there's a war going on where my parents come from and if they send me back, I'll be KILLED!" Armel's parents are from Rwanda. There are about a million parents standing around so I'm thinking "I have to come up with something Significant and comforting in a foreign language as quick as I can..." so I mumbled something about no one sending anyone anywhere, myself included. I kind of skimmed over the fact that I'm already French and this child...born in France...isn't yet.
So I've not only been giving Armel his banned snacks but denying him exercise by driving him home. I think the only war Armel is likely to be involved in is the one that's going to happen when his parents find out what I've been up to!
We been having a lot of days off lately. There was the end of WWII, some sort of religious holiday, worker's day, etc. It's to the point that the kids are confused. "Okay" Talia asks "Do we have school tomorrow? After tomorrow? and after that??" Two Tuesdays in a row! What luck. In included dance class (Talia), soccor (Ronnie), local garderie (Davina) and French class (me). All gone, twice in a row!
So we actually have Full Week next week. No days off...except that it's a "Free Saturday". No school on Saturday. That's a holiday for me!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Oh no! not that subject...
I promised myself that I wouldn't write anything about potty training. Is there a more boring subject? No, it completes with Inflight Scheduling as far as outsider's interest go. It also has about the same impact on the speakers' life, well, instead of the result being something like a trip to South America, it's more like, don't have to buy any more diapers and there will be a lot less trash leaving this house.
Okay, it's even worse than Inflight Scheduling. I will admit it that I was much better at scheduling my trips than I was at potty training my kids. I'm sure my coworkers still hear my ghost saying "Nooooo, much easier to move a trip up in the month than to try to send it back, especially on a weekend..."
No, I never had to resort to chocolate but Davina has now gone about 30 hours without a diaper. Yes, at night too. I'm pinching myself...and kissing her a lot!
Seriously, I'm now on seven years and nine months of nonstop diapers. The second diaper I ever changed was my own son's. (The first is now in college but it was greatly entertaining for my mom, her mom and other assorted female family members since it took 20 minutes). I started on August 11th, 1999 and haven't stopped. We once went on vacation with three sets of diapers. Ronnie was still in them at night, Talia was on the tail end of her adventure (can't talk about PTing without a few puns, right?) and Davina was an infant.
We've been on a single diaper track now for awhile. I do think the fact she hasn't started school yet has some impact. She would have gone with the others but she's been at the garderie with the other diaper-wearers.
We went to Plumy Park for yet-another birthday party. Turns out my beloved Kenza lives down the street from us! I'm more excited than Talia. Anyway, back to the... Plumy Park was just the perfect place for her to forget to go...but she didn't!
I suggested to the ladies there to take her with another child. I nervously arrived to see that they had had to change her clothes. They anticipated the look on my face. "No! Madame Dreyfuss. She slid down the slide outside. It's the OUTSIDE that's wet. She's still wearing the same panties"
So far, so good. Even to go get the other two from school...
Also, tomorrow is my last AIA board meeting. I might have to continue to do Newcomer's until they replace me. Last word is that they hadn't. But I'm not doing it next year. I'll still be a member but not on the board. It's been five years! I liked doing it but need to move on. It's been especially good with the babies but Davina's starting school and I want to take classes, lose weight, etc.
I'm running downstairs to check a little backside right now!
Okay, it's even worse than Inflight Scheduling. I will admit it that I was much better at scheduling my trips than I was at potty training my kids. I'm sure my coworkers still hear my ghost saying "Nooooo, much easier to move a trip up in the month than to try to send it back, especially on a weekend..."
No, I never had to resort to chocolate but Davina has now gone about 30 hours without a diaper. Yes, at night too. I'm pinching myself...and kissing her a lot!
Seriously, I'm now on seven years and nine months of nonstop diapers. The second diaper I ever changed was my own son's. (The first is now in college but it was greatly entertaining for my mom, her mom and other assorted female family members since it took 20 minutes). I started on August 11th, 1999 and haven't stopped. We once went on vacation with three sets of diapers. Ronnie was still in them at night, Talia was on the tail end of her adventure (can't talk about PTing without a few puns, right?) and Davina was an infant.
We've been on a single diaper track now for awhile. I do think the fact she hasn't started school yet has some impact. She would have gone with the others but she's been at the garderie with the other diaper-wearers.
We went to Plumy Park for yet-another birthday party. Turns out my beloved Kenza lives down the street from us! I'm more excited than Talia. Anyway, back to the... Plumy Park was just the perfect place for her to forget to go...but she didn't!
I suggested to the ladies there to take her with another child. I nervously arrived to see that they had had to change her clothes. They anticipated the look on my face. "No! Madame Dreyfuss. She slid down the slide outside. It's the OUTSIDE that's wet. She's still wearing the same panties"
So far, so good. Even to go get the other two from school...
Also, tomorrow is my last AIA board meeting. I might have to continue to do Newcomer's until they replace me. Last word is that they hadn't. But I'm not doing it next year. I'll still be a member but not on the board. It's been five years! I liked doing it but need to move on. It's been especially good with the babies but Davina's starting school and I want to take classes, lose weight, etc.
I'm running downstairs to check a little backside right now!
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Are their troubles really over??
I watch the TV in disbelief, memories flooding back from London over a decade ago.
Is it really true? Is it really over? Thirty years and how many deaths later? No more gruesome pictures of gunshots at funerals? No more evacuations and blocked entries?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/northern_ireland/6634373.stm
Ironically, the only terrorist victims I've known were killed by Libyans and local British Muslims. I didn't actually know anyone who died in an IRA attack. There was a lot of back-and-forth killing in N. Ireland but it was the IRA who attacked the British outside.
We were calmly doing our trip trades at the computers when Tony announced, no leaving. Coded warning. Everything's blocked...
You know no one lifted an eye, even when we heard they were hurling missiles on to the runway. Would you believe they didn't go off anyway, but it was almost an attitude of "We wont let them panic us. We're keeping our cool..."
Coded warning. They never said "IRA" as if it were a nasty word. When the Underground announced that there was a "coded warning", everyone knew it meant business and to get out of there...keeping your cool the whole time.
You can imagine how confusing it was for my mother. All of a sudden, I tell her we have to go. "Why?" So I give the obvious answer "It's a coded warning so it's for real...oh, yeah, coded means it's really the IRA" I felt disloyal actually saying those letters in the middle of an evacuating crowd. Not that I would have caused panic but that I was breaking the unmentioned rule. Don't even give them the dignity of saying their name. Let the tourists be confused. They have to scram anyway.
Mother looks at me and says "You really do live under this threat, don't you??"
I was just grateful we only had to evacuate *once* that day. I did have to evacuate twice in one day.
Once we were simply shoved on a train and I had no idea where we were going. All the Underground workers would say was "Coded warning, you need to leave..." I realized that I was headed the wrong direction and managed to reroute myself west via another line.
The TV wasn't allowed to broadcast the IRA's direct voices. The BBC would voice over with another N. Irish-accented actor. When they lifted the ban, it was so funny to see that Jerry Adams voice sounded the same, and his lips did move at the same time!
But what really shocked me was that they put Iain Paisley in charge. I'm thinking "What-the-" and then he starts talking about putting the past behind them, etc...Oh my G-D! What happened? How did they do that?!? Did they DRUG him? Brianwashed him back to normalicy? What brought about the change?? How did they crack his thick skull??
Then I knew it was for real. Miracles are possible...
Is it really true? Is it really over? Thirty years and how many deaths later? No more gruesome pictures of gunshots at funerals? No more evacuations and blocked entries?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/northern_ireland/6634373.stm
Ironically, the only terrorist victims I've known were killed by Libyans and local British Muslims. I didn't actually know anyone who died in an IRA attack. There was a lot of back-and-forth killing in N. Ireland but it was the IRA who attacked the British outside.
We were calmly doing our trip trades at the computers when Tony announced, no leaving. Coded warning. Everything's blocked...
You know no one lifted an eye, even when we heard they were hurling missiles on to the runway. Would you believe they didn't go off anyway, but it was almost an attitude of "We wont let them panic us. We're keeping our cool..."
Coded warning. They never said "IRA" as if it were a nasty word. When the Underground announced that there was a "coded warning", everyone knew it meant business and to get out of there...keeping your cool the whole time.
You can imagine how confusing it was for my mother. All of a sudden, I tell her we have to go. "Why?" So I give the obvious answer "It's a coded warning so it's for real...oh, yeah, coded means it's really the IRA" I felt disloyal actually saying those letters in the middle of an evacuating crowd. Not that I would have caused panic but that I was breaking the unmentioned rule. Don't even give them the dignity of saying their name. Let the tourists be confused. They have to scram anyway.
Mother looks at me and says "You really do live under this threat, don't you??"
I was just grateful we only had to evacuate *once* that day. I did have to evacuate twice in one day.
Once we were simply shoved on a train and I had no idea where we were going. All the Underground workers would say was "Coded warning, you need to leave..." I realized that I was headed the wrong direction and managed to reroute myself west via another line.
The TV wasn't allowed to broadcast the IRA's direct voices. The BBC would voice over with another N. Irish-accented actor. When they lifted the ban, it was so funny to see that Jerry Adams voice sounded the same, and his lips did move at the same time!
But what really shocked me was that they put Iain Paisley in charge. I'm thinking "What-the-" and then he starts talking about putting the past behind them, etc...Oh my G-D! What happened? How did they do that?!? Did they DRUG him? Brianwashed him back to normalicy? What brought about the change?? How did they crack his thick skull??
Then I knew it was for real. Miracles are possible...
Monday, May 7, 2007
No, I'm not that bummed...
The dentist tore into me for voting for Sègo during my teeth cleaning. Can you tell I'm on a roll with these medical apointments? Summer will be tricky so we're getting them out of the way now!
She asks me who I voted for, I didn't answer so she says "You didn't! It's because you're a poor, uncomprehending foreigner who may have watched the debate but didn't understand a word of it..."
I'm trying to think that I've been here long enough, and that my French is good enough, that they can joke like this. Plus the fact that I'm technically no longer a foreigner, since obviously I voted, and obviously foreigners can't vote, right??
The kids at school are making fun of Ronnie saying that he's "really American". Now, this is a school that's about half white with children of over 20 nationalities. Let's make fun of the little white boy with the obviously Alsatian name. I told him, listen, you're more French than, for example Armel, who's still Rwandan. What about Lucas? His mom is Austrian. She isn't even French (Austrians can't have both) but I am so how can they say you're "really American" if you have two French parents? They would have to make fun of Lucas for being "really Austrian". No Mommy, he tells me. They already make fun of Lucas because he's small.
I guess they've assigned each child something to rib and they had to dig a bit to get one on Ronnie.
Armel's parents came to French while his mom was pregnant with him. It isn't incurred automatically like in the States and for 7 years, they've been here as refugees. Armel's bigger problem is his weight and I am still giving him snacks after school because his parents wont. Am I bad? Now, I'm worse. I drove him home today. He was "tired" and his foot "hurt" (although he walked just fine to the car). So he's now not getting the exercise he needs walking home (alone, mind you, about three streets away).
Getting back to the election, I'm happy to report that I'm in the minority. Alsace was the biggest Sarko supporting province in French. A whooping 67% went for him. Much less in Strasbourg itself. The mayor of Strasbourg, a woman Fabian Keller is UMP (Sarko) while Mulhouse, the other big city in Alsace, has a Socialist Mayor.
If I'm going to lose, there is one election promise that Sarko made that he better keep.
OPENING ON SUNDAYS!!!!
Well, he says "freedom to choose" but I'm fed up with this silly rule and it's got to go. Saturdays are completely insane here. People go mad with shopping only to see empty parking lots all day on Sunday. I don't even work and I'm complaining. What do my working mom friends do? It's grim. I went to buy two birthday gifts for two little girls on Saturday and the traffic was insane! Although I was really pleased with Kenza's gift. It's a "California Girl" Barbie of undetermined ethnic origin with long black hair like she has. But for that and a horsey Polly Pocket (for Romane who does riding lessons) it took an hour.
Oh, and I looked at Peugoets today.
http://www.peugeot.com/produits/modeles/307/en/default.htm
or
http://www.peugeot.com/produits/modeles/206sw/en/default.htm
Only four doors, or five as they call hatchbacks, are in the running.
Daniel thinks it's outside the budget. Hard to argue when he's sitting in a Landrover!!
She asks me who I voted for, I didn't answer so she says "You didn't! It's because you're a poor, uncomprehending foreigner who may have watched the debate but didn't understand a word of it..."
I'm trying to think that I've been here long enough, and that my French is good enough, that they can joke like this. Plus the fact that I'm technically no longer a foreigner, since obviously I voted, and obviously foreigners can't vote, right??
The kids at school are making fun of Ronnie saying that he's "really American". Now, this is a school that's about half white with children of over 20 nationalities. Let's make fun of the little white boy with the obviously Alsatian name. I told him, listen, you're more French than, for example Armel, who's still Rwandan. What about Lucas? His mom is Austrian. She isn't even French (Austrians can't have both) but I am so how can they say you're "really American" if you have two French parents? They would have to make fun of Lucas for being "really Austrian". No Mommy, he tells me. They already make fun of Lucas because he's small.
I guess they've assigned each child something to rib and they had to dig a bit to get one on Ronnie.
Armel's parents came to French while his mom was pregnant with him. It isn't incurred automatically like in the States and for 7 years, they've been here as refugees. Armel's bigger problem is his weight and I am still giving him snacks after school because his parents wont. Am I bad? Now, I'm worse. I drove him home today. He was "tired" and his foot "hurt" (although he walked just fine to the car). So he's now not getting the exercise he needs walking home (alone, mind you, about three streets away).
Getting back to the election, I'm happy to report that I'm in the minority. Alsace was the biggest Sarko supporting province in French. A whooping 67% went for him. Much less in Strasbourg itself. The mayor of Strasbourg, a woman Fabian Keller is UMP (Sarko) while Mulhouse, the other big city in Alsace, has a Socialist Mayor.
If I'm going to lose, there is one election promise that Sarko made that he better keep.
OPENING ON SUNDAYS!!!!
Well, he says "freedom to choose" but I'm fed up with this silly rule and it's got to go. Saturdays are completely insane here. People go mad with shopping only to see empty parking lots all day on Sunday. I don't even work and I'm complaining. What do my working mom friends do? It's grim. I went to buy two birthday gifts for two little girls on Saturday and the traffic was insane! Although I was really pleased with Kenza's gift. It's a "California Girl" Barbie of undetermined ethnic origin with long black hair like she has. But for that and a horsey Polly Pocket (for Romane who does riding lessons) it took an hour.
Oh, and I looked at Peugoets today.
http://www.peugeot.com/produits/modeles/307/en/default.htm
or
http://www.peugeot.com/produits/modeles/206sw/en/default.htm
Only four doors, or five as they call hatchbacks, are in the running.
Daniel thinks it's outside the budget. Hard to argue when he's sitting in a Landrover!!
Sunday, May 6, 2007
Ronnie's gap toothed smile!
Ronnie lost his first top tooth today. I'll post a picture when I get around to it. He already lost the bottom two teeth. He's been complaining that three teeth have been wiggling for awhile.
Off to vote today. My first presidential election in France! I'm still vacillating between Sego and Sarko. Everyone at school is pro-Sego and Daniel and all his buddies are voting Sarko.
I accompaigned Talia's class on their excursions to the pool. This has made me very popular with them, as well as the oragami crane-folding (and who thought that was a useless skill?) I actually now answer to the name "Maman de Talia".
The kids were chanting "Segolène! Segolène!" marching down the street. The teacher scolds them "Quiet children, there are people around who-" then I interrupted "...are voting for Sarkozy!" which got its fair share of giggles.
I think I've written about my buddie Kenza. The first time she saw me, when she and Talia had just started school, she turns to me and says "Hey you! You're not speaking French like you're supposed to! Why not??" I had to explain, in front of her red-faced mom how I was from a foreign country. Kenza's parents are originally from Morocco so it was a bit amusing having this white blond woman justifying to this non-white child why she lives in France...
Kenza is just a fountain of cute comments. She calls me her "pote", very slang. So she comes up to me and says "Salut mon pote!" and the teacher scolds her "You don't talk to adults like that!" I had to explain...
Last Monday, we went to a friends' child's Bat Mitzvah. We thought we'd bring our offspring but then the mom said that there wouldn't be any children, just kids Sarah's age. I had a babysitter lined up before we left for Spain, only to cancel 48 hours previously (for a new boyfriend's birthday, an even definitely anticipated). So luckily the mom came up with a couple of names. Hate leaving the kids with a brand new babysitter for a long evening do but it went great. The kids loved her and the house was clean when I got back.
I've decided I'm not a Bar and Bat Mitzvah loving person. I just find them so long. We got to hear Sarah playing violin and watch a montage of her baby pictures...The food was heavy and the meal long. It's great to have kosher because my Lactose Intollerant feelers can take a night off, but still...
We went ahead and "booked" her for Saturday, to go car shopping.
Yes, I'm getting rid of my Polo! So sad. My first car. I would keep a Polo but I need something a bit more powerful. No, I will not be doing 200km on the Autoroute at 2am but I'd like to be able to do curves without downgrading to 3rd.
http://www.volkswagen.co.uk/new_cars/polo
I tried this, but not thrilled, although it drives nicely;
http://www.skoda.co.uk/skoda3g/content/showroom/newfabia/fabiang_intro.aspx
Here are the finalists;
http://www.citroen.co.uk/level3/modelpage.asp?pagetype=c3
Daniel likes it. I'm not so sure.
Here's what I have my heart set on;
http://www.toyota.com/yaris/
A lot are U.K. sites and yes, they're called "super minis". These are high end, small cars popular with us city folk who are cursed with never-ending parallel parking.
Off to vote today. My first presidential election in France! I'm still vacillating between Sego and Sarko. Everyone at school is pro-Sego and Daniel and all his buddies are voting Sarko.
I accompaigned Talia's class on their excursions to the pool. This has made me very popular with them, as well as the oragami crane-folding (and who thought that was a useless skill?) I actually now answer to the name "Maman de Talia".
The kids were chanting "Segolène! Segolène!" marching down the street. The teacher scolds them "Quiet children, there are people around who-" then I interrupted "...are voting for Sarkozy!" which got its fair share of giggles.
I think I've written about my buddie Kenza. The first time she saw me, when she and Talia had just started school, she turns to me and says "Hey you! You're not speaking French like you're supposed to! Why not??" I had to explain, in front of her red-faced mom how I was from a foreign country. Kenza's parents are originally from Morocco so it was a bit amusing having this white blond woman justifying to this non-white child why she lives in France...
Kenza is just a fountain of cute comments. She calls me her "pote", very slang. So she comes up to me and says "Salut mon pote!" and the teacher scolds her "You don't talk to adults like that!" I had to explain...
Last Monday, we went to a friends' child's Bat Mitzvah. We thought we'd bring our offspring but then the mom said that there wouldn't be any children, just kids Sarah's age. I had a babysitter lined up before we left for Spain, only to cancel 48 hours previously (for a new boyfriend's birthday, an even definitely anticipated). So luckily the mom came up with a couple of names. Hate leaving the kids with a brand new babysitter for a long evening do but it went great. The kids loved her and the house was clean when I got back.
I've decided I'm not a Bar and Bat Mitzvah loving person. I just find them so long. We got to hear Sarah playing violin and watch a montage of her baby pictures...The food was heavy and the meal long. It's great to have kosher because my Lactose Intollerant feelers can take a night off, but still...
We went ahead and "booked" her for Saturday, to go car shopping.
Yes, I'm getting rid of my Polo! So sad. My first car. I would keep a Polo but I need something a bit more powerful. No, I will not be doing 200km on the Autoroute at 2am but I'd like to be able to do curves without downgrading to 3rd.
http://www.volkswagen.co.uk/new_cars/polo
I tried this, but not thrilled, although it drives nicely;
http://www.skoda.co.uk/skoda3g/content/showroom/newfabia/fabiang_intro.aspx
Here are the finalists;
http://www.citroen.co.uk/level3/modelpage.asp?pagetype=c3
Daniel likes it. I'm not so sure.
Here's what I have my heart set on;
http://www.toyota.com/yaris/
A lot are U.K. sites and yes, they're called "super minis". These are high end, small cars popular with us city folk who are cursed with never-ending parallel parking.
Thursday, May 3, 2007
In love with my Radiologist
I don't take this for granted because a friend is starting chemo tomorrow. It's not breast cancer but still, this menace has come toooo close tooooo many times.
The nurse says she doesn't see that many women "my age". I was surprised. "Well, when do you recommend they start having these?" "Oh, not till after age 30..."
This chick has just made my day.
"Um, I'm 43..."
"Okay, you're starting now..."
I hated to tell her that I've been having these boob-squeezing jobs for awhile now but who needs my life history??
So the doctor calls me in. I think he recognizes me. I remind him "You're the reason why I had my daughter here at Adassa" and then launch into the recount of how they were going to send me to the main hospital here (Hautepierre) which would have been fine if there were something wrong. There was nothing wrong with her. They just couldn't count. Adassa wont deliver before 36 weeks. I had her one day short, they had her at 35 weeks. I was ready to set up camp and our compromise was...Dr. Nguyen! (whom I knew because of a previous mamogram).
Over the years, I see his daughers' pictures getting older and older. I also like checking out his travel shots in the hallway. Once I pointed out Ankor Wat. Too bad I never visited...He laughed, "well finally, at least someone recognizes it..."
So I arrived in his office in early December 2001 and in between sobs I'm all "...they...want...to...send...me..." He's all calm. "Let's look at this baby". Then I told him today "You said she was going to be three kilos"
"And what was she??"
"Two...point...ninty-five!!" He laughed. Pretty good weight guessing. Not a skill that would make him so popular with other women but in this case...
So I we were chatting. He got me all interested in this story about his brother at Mayo Clinic in Arizona, which I didn't realize existed, so he had to explain that... Big love story about his brother and this girl being sent to different countries, staying in contact for 10 years, finally he moves out there, redoes all his exams in yet-another language (this guy also went to med school in France). I was so into it, I didn't pay attention to the ultrasound he's doing on my boobs...
So finally, after my Clean Bill of Health, we get down to the "how often" question. I don't have a history. A cousin died in the 1970's but that's no longer considered a risk. My fibrous breasts aren't either (both in doubt twenty years ago but cleared now). I explained the high rate of breast cancer where I'm from (not making this up, SF Bay Area is!) and he said, okay, we can do it every two, instead of three years. If you're worried...Worried? I just wanted to hear more of his stories!
The nurse says she doesn't see that many women "my age". I was surprised. "Well, when do you recommend they start having these?" "Oh, not till after age 30..."
This chick has just made my day.
"Um, I'm 43..."
"Okay, you're starting now..."
I hated to tell her that I've been having these boob-squeezing jobs for awhile now but who needs my life history??
So the doctor calls me in. I think he recognizes me. I remind him "You're the reason why I had my daughter here at Adassa" and then launch into the recount of how they were going to send me to the main hospital here (Hautepierre) which would have been fine if there were something wrong. There was nothing wrong with her. They just couldn't count. Adassa wont deliver before 36 weeks. I had her one day short, they had her at 35 weeks. I was ready to set up camp and our compromise was...Dr. Nguyen! (whom I knew because of a previous mamogram).
Over the years, I see his daughers' pictures getting older and older. I also like checking out his travel shots in the hallway. Once I pointed out Ankor Wat. Too bad I never visited...He laughed, "well finally, at least someone recognizes it..."
So I arrived in his office in early December 2001 and in between sobs I'm all "...they...want...to...send...me..." He's all calm. "Let's look at this baby". Then I told him today "You said she was going to be three kilos"
"And what was she??"
"Two...point...ninty-five!!" He laughed. Pretty good weight guessing. Not a skill that would make him so popular with other women but in this case...
So I we were chatting. He got me all interested in this story about his brother at Mayo Clinic in Arizona, which I didn't realize existed, so he had to explain that... Big love story about his brother and this girl being sent to different countries, staying in contact for 10 years, finally he moves out there, redoes all his exams in yet-another language (this guy also went to med school in France). I was so into it, I didn't pay attention to the ultrasound he's doing on my boobs...
So finally, after my Clean Bill of Health, we get down to the "how often" question. I don't have a history. A cousin died in the 1970's but that's no longer considered a risk. My fibrous breasts aren't either (both in doubt twenty years ago but cleared now). I explained the high rate of breast cancer where I'm from (not making this up, SF Bay Area is!) and he said, okay, we can do it every two, instead of three years. If you're worried...Worried? I just wanted to hear more of his stories!
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