July 2: Ventured off early to the grocery store this morning because it was closed yesterday which meant the kids almost starved. Luckily, we had some chicken leftover and salad from the day before. The French fries were a bomb the night before since the convection oven is not self-explanatory. I could have cooked them faster with a hairdryer. With not much in the house, I would try to cook them again. The clothes dryer, our first on the trip, leaves the clothes either damp or smoking around the edges upon removal. I figured if I put the French fries in there we would end up with really crispy fries or mashed potatoes. Decided against it knowing that Todd would freak out if I sent them to the dryer with forks, announcing course two is most likely ready.

 This increased my determination to head out early and forage for food. I left with my keys, cash, card, and grocery bag following a map I had made myself. Found the bakery by accident, I just followed my nose to the smell of fresh baked bread, and loaded up on breakfast breads and pastries. The butcher shop wasn’t as easy to find; probably because it doesn’t smell as good. After wandering in circles for a while, I decided just to go to the little grocery store to find everything else on my list. My maternal clock was ticking and I knew the vultures were most likely already circling the kitchen at home. I’ve tried explaining to Todd before that the kids are bottomless pits, especially Tanner. I think after this trip he finally believes me. Inside the store, I stick to my list, but unconsciously add a few extras to my cart. By the time I get to the checkout, my cart is overloaded and I don’t know if I have brought enough money. I am trying to discreetly figure out how I am going to restock the shelves without Jean Claude seeing me when I see the guy in front of me pull out his credit card. In all my euphoria of food shopping again, (I have a phobia of starving to death which is solved by my need to clear out the shelves when I grocery shop. I have passed this same phobia onto my kids, hence their need to constantly eat I am sure) I neglected to plan on how I was going to get all of this food home. François rung me up, swiped my card, gave me a hearty “merci” while I bagged my groceries. He then proceeded to speak in French to his counterpart as I contemplated my dilemma. I know tonto and stupido so I don’t need to know that that is what he was saying to his buddy in French. I promptly loaded three heavily packed bags on each arm, looking like I do this every day, gave my “au revior, merci  beaucoup…. You little punk”, that last part was under my breath and in English of course. The grocery store is no more than a quarter of a mile from home. I can do this. Every few steps, I thought of something in the bag we really didn’t need. By the time I got to the apartment door, toilet paper was optional. I looked like the bird lady from Mary Poppins trying to pull off the cat walk in Paris. I rode the elevator that day instead of taking the stairs, grateful that our building is only one of two in Old Town that has an elevator because it’s a historic building. The elevator only goes to the third floor so I was forced to climb the past two floors on my own anyway. In a complete sweat and more melted than the mint chip ice cream, I arrived at home. The only translation mistake I made was with one of Tanner’s requests. My kids prefer cream cheese on their toast instead of butter. In my hunt for cream cheese, I saw crème, but not fromage which is cheese. It was something similar, it was early, and I thought what the heck, I’ll pick it up. It was similar, but not exactly similar enough unfortunately. The crème part was right but the other word meant sour. I knew this when I started spreading it on his toast and the consistency was off. My suspicions were confirmed when I tasted it, and sure enough, it was sour cream. Maybe the consistency of cream cheese is the same as sour cream in France. Nope, sour cream in France is the same consistency as sour cream in America. What a coincidence. So what was I to do? The only thing I knew to do, keep spreading and hope he is too asleep to notice the difference. If load it up with enough jelly, maybe he won’t taste the sour in the cream. I could just blame it on the salty sea air. He ate the two I gave him and even asked for two more. I think he was just happy to have some sort of cream, sour or not, on his toast. After dinner last night, he ate ten pieces with just jam and some crackers that looked like Napoleon had sampled them they were so old. We are headed to the beach today, wish us luck. I’ll get that story here soon….