Al's Good Food and BiPolar Waitress

After a week of Cambodian, Indian, Mexican, and Thai food, it was time for a good old all-American breakfast. And so we went to our favorite breakfast place, "Al's Good Food". Except for the spectacular fresh-squeezed orange juice, the food is not anything special (standard diner fare). But the atmosphere is unique, mostly because of one waitress, Bobby. She has blazing red hair and the stereotypical attitude that comes with red heads. She must have worked at Al's for at least 60 years. Probably more. Her sister works at the cash register.

The first time we visited she was downright rude to us. We swore we'd never go back, but somehow found ourselves there a few weeks later (It's a block from our house and there is never ever a wait). The second time she was all "honey" and "sweetie" and "doll" with us while taking our order. We have come to recognize the violently sliding scale of her moods. Martin attributes it to whether or not she has taken her meds on a given morning. Sometimes she will grouch and bark at us and pretend like she has never heard of "sunny side up" eggs. Other times she will bless Peter and give us both a free extra helping of eggs. It's restaurant roulette, and it has become our regular weekend entertainment. The bus boys, who all look like they just got out of prison, call her "ma" and run to do her bidding. This morning was special because "Al" himself graced our table with his presence, to flirt with Jana. It was a sight to see.

In the mean time, I have found a new way to get attention. I have cleverly removed my collar and hidden it somewhere in the house. It is driving Erika crazy because she can't find it anywhere. Heh heh.

Today is a special day because it is Papi George's Birthday! Happy Birthday Dad! He celebrated by eating an incredible lunch at a one-star restaurant. When Erika called to wish him happy birthday, he was taking a break and getting ready for the next meal (aperatifs). Such is life in the south of France...

Summer is Over

Well, things are finally getting back to normal in our little family. Normal, that is, relative to Erika and Peter being in France and Martin enjoying a second bachelorhood in San Francisco. Summer in San Francisco is officially over, which means that we have lovely weather here. I've enjoyed lazing around in the sun on the deck, and I've enjoyed lazing around on my new people-sized bed even more. I have to share it with our new house guest, Martin's mother Jana, but I don't mind. At least I will have someone to nap with during the day now that Erika is going back to work.

Yes, we are making our changes in true Kosina family style, which is to say everything all at once. Erika will celebrate her last thirty-somethingth birthday on Monday by returning to work at her old dream job. Motherhood was such an easy transition, it will be interesting to see how she balances her old responsibilities with her new role. Martin's mother Jana has generously volunteered to watch Peter while Erika and Martin are at work, which is a new role for her as well. Martin will stay in his current role of primary breadwinner and occasional pilot, and I have grudgingly accepted my new position of second fiddle to Mr. Peter. We have even started to interact a bit when I try to share his play mat. Erika is teaching him the word "gentle" so that I can keep both of my ears (Peter is at the grabby stage). And Peter - Peter will be 5 months old on Sunday! Behold:

That's a fancy French outfit you see there. French men are not afraid of color.

Guest Post from Erika: Scorpions and Bats and Cigales, Oh My!

Our hardy in-laws certainly endured their fair share of country creatures during their stay. One night they had a bat making circles over their bed. A day later, a baby scorpion appeared in their bath tub. Peter and I have been fighting off the mosquitos, who have discovered a new delicacy...American Baby Flesh. My mother is mounting her own personal war against the ants. But there is one bug that the French would never want to exterminate - the Cigale. It is a large, striped beetle that makes a distinctive noise. Smart little insect, it only sings when the weather is nice and warm. And so it defines summer for many locals, including my parents. People hang little "Cigale" sculptures on the outside of their houses and it is even is depicted on those quintessential southern French tablecloths. Now how many bugs can brag about that kind of cult adoration?

Personally I am more fond of a different kind of resident of Clermont L'Herault, also recently discovered. The dashing male octogenarian. There are some fabulous role models here for living well after 80. One man hangs out in the local cafe, acting as a sort of social mayor, greeting all who enter. He is always dressed to the nines, carries a beautifully carved wooden walking stick, and charmed me immediately by admiring Peter and calling him a little "poulet" (chicken).

My favorite by far though, is my parents' neighbor. We were recently invited to their house for "aperatifs" (supposedly before-dinner drinks and appetizers, but I seem to have enjoyed a full-blown meal every time I've been invited). He appeared wearing an ascot, and pulling it off *beautifully*. He then proceeded to give us a tour of the garden that he has been tending since 1970. It takes up 4 or 5 terraced plots. You cannot imagine the incredible bounty. Rumor has it he spends four hours every morning working in the garden - in the nude. He and his equally fabulous wife should be an inspiration to any married couple. They sing together as they work, and still hold hands after who knows how many years of being married.

Spending a month here has given me great insight into the French lifestyle and why my parents love it so much. So much, that not even a GRANDSON can convince them to leave! Last night we attended an art opening for one of their English friends. I met so many interesting expatriates from such a wide variety of backgrounds and livelihoods. This morning my father and I rode bicycles through the vineyards and several charming villages. There are a hundred different routes of rolling hills and pleasant scenery to choose from. We cooled off by jumping in the pool, and then visited the neighbors across the street for aperatifs, which consisted of no fewer than FOUR homemade tarts plus other snacks and THREE home made desserts. All created before lunch. The cafe society is lovely - if my parents are ever feeling a bit social, they just walk down to the cafe for a cup of coffee, and run into at least three different friends who all just seem to be wandering by. So there is all this intellectual, physical, and social stimulation, and I haven't even started to describe the food and wine. All this at a nice slow pace. Nothing is rushed. Everything is enjoyed. Why would they ever want to leave?

Guest Post from Erika: Summer Weather

One of the things I miss most about the East Coast is the weather, especially during the summer. Turns out, Clermont L'Herault, where my parents live, has similar weather! We have enjoyed eating out on the terrace during some lovely warm summer evenings, and today we are listening to thunderstorms roll over us. So much for that bike ride... Dad and I did get out on the lake yesterday for a brief row, when the weather was better. It took me several minutes to progress from terrified of flipping the single, to confident enough to take a stroke or two. Unfortunately from there I went directly to over confident, which caused the boat to tip violently towards one side, and immediately sent me back to my original state of terrified.

In other news, Peter George turned 4 months old yesterday!

He is more and more fun every day. He makes all kinds of new noises, smiles whenever anyone smiles at him (including strangers in the market place), and has achieved a new milestone - grabbing his toes, which is now a favorite past time when he is alone on his play mat. We took him into the pool yesterday, and after a period of adjusting to what must be a very strange new sensation, he had a GREAT time flapping his arms and legs and splashing the water. He is an amazingly adaptable little person.

Guest Post from Erika: Dieting in France

Ha! Whose bright idea was it, to try and lose weight in France? Every day seems to be a special occasion here, especially with our recent visitors, Peter's Kosina grandparents. I have not been able to stick to the two glasses of wine per day rule even ONCE! First there is lunch, with all sorts of regional cheeses that beg for a nice rose if the weather is warm, a lovely nuanced red if it is cloudy. And then, in the evening, we have aperatifs before dinner. Usually a nice kir unless dad is making cocktails... And then dinner itself - it would be a crime to skip wine for dinner, especially with what my mom has been cooking up. Blanquette de veau, marinated barbequed pork, grilled dourade...

The other obvious option to skip would be dessert. You must be crazy if you think I'm going to pass up homemade shortcake with peaches macerated in sweet wine or molten chocolate cake with raspberries and creme fraiche. Ok, so maybe the gigantic Belle Helene sundae that my very sweet father in law bought for me yesterday was overkill. I don't eat like this every meal of course. There are days when we have only melon or a few cookies for dessert, or just a tiny dish of chocolate ice cream.

So, you say, I must be exercising every day to counteract this kind of diet! Does watching the Olympics count? :-)

Despite all of this, I seem to have lost SEVEN pounds. Which makes me think that the scale here, even when translated from kilos, is a bit off. The only thing is...Peter has GAINED two pounds. The scale can't be off both ways. And so, I will continue my French "diet"...Profitez!, say the French. Enjoy life while you can.

Guest Post from Erika: Flying with a Baby vs. a Cat

We finally arrived in France on Thursday afternoon after a VERY long flight. I couldn't help but reflect on flying with Peter vs. flying with Pawlene. The verdict: Flying with a baby is MUCH harder. Although it's hard to compare apples to apples as there were several differences in the two flights. A 5-hour flight from NYC to SFO vs. a 15-hour journey from SFO to Frankfurt to Marseilles. Lounging next to the window in First class vs. languishing in a middle seat in Economy Plus. So maybe it's not fair to compare, but my concerns were almost exactly the same:

1. What if the cat/baby is too cold?
   
2. What if the cat/baby is too hungry?
   
3. What if the cat/baby needs to...err...void her/his bowels?
   
4. How the heck are we supposed to get through airport security?
   

When Pawlene got too cold, I could heft the entire carrier onto my lap for a while, and slide one hand inside to pet her, hoping that she would not escape and that neither my seat mate nor the flight attendant would chastise me. Peter also got a "carrier". A horrid, plastic suitcase-like thing that no doubt harbored all kinds of diseases from all the other miserable children it had held. However, it kept him very warm, especially after I lined it with with my very generous neighbor's airplane blanket (also probably disease-ridden) and a few of Peter's own blankets. The only problems were a plastic flap that kept falling into his face and waking him up and the unfortunate lack of room for such an object in the space below my seat. I ended up straddling the carrier with a foot in each (again, very understanding and generous neighbor's) space. No, I did not sleep a wink.

If Pawlene was hungry, too bad. She had to wait until we landed in San Francisco. I couldn't feed her anything, for fear of worry #3 becoming a problem. When Peter got hungry, I simply wedged myself sideways in my seat and put him to my breast. It was uncomfortable, but it worked.

The potential for bowel-voiding was definitely my biggest concern with Pawlene. Luckily, it was not an issue. We did make one uneventful trip to the bathroom together, just to make sure. It wasn't an issue with Peter either, but if it had been, it would have been infinitely more complicated to fix. YOU try climbing out of a middle seat while holding a wiggly/stinky baby and then attempting to open the overhead compartment, retrieving a heavy laptop/diaper bag with only one hand, and then walking all the way down the aisle to the bathroom without whacking any of the other passengers in the head.

Airport security was definitely the hardest part of both trips. It tied with #3 for being nerve-wracking. Pawlene clung to me with every last claw as we passed through the metal detector, which was preferable to the alternative (her making a break for it). Peter also clung to me, but after we passed through the metal detector, I couldn't just put him back in his carrier. I had to retrieve my shoes, laptop, diaper bag, purse, car seat, and stroller. Then I had to open the stroller and re-attach the car seat before I could put him down. All with ONE hand!!! I actually used my foot to open the stroller and got kudos from the security guard, who STILL didn't actually help me. We had a completely different experience going through security in Frankfurt, where we got our own personal line, metal detector and security crew! One kindly old security guard offered to hold Peter and spent the whole time bouncing and talking to him, and even correctly guessed his age! The others helped me put everything back together and wished me a pleasant day. Wow.

Did I mention it was all worth it? It is beautiful and warm here and my parents are loving and helpful and wonderful. Peter is perfectly happy. I am on my mother's patented French diet, which allows me only two glasses of wine per day, except on Fridays and other special occasions when it is okay to drink five glasses AND have a chocolate ice cream bar for dessert. Ah, France...

Edit to Last Post

Sources tell me that my picture is no longer showing up at the link in the last post. Here is what it looked like: