With the dollar so pathetically low I seriously considered not taking the kids to France this year. That was one of the very nice things about Ethiopia, it’s still a place where a dollar goes a long way. Here in Europe a dollar’s more an historical artifact than currency. But still, since I was flying us three over on miles and staying with friends I figured it was actually cheaper to go than to put the kids in some sort of day camp for a few hours each day so I could work. The day camp here on the beach in St. Tropez is surprisingly reasonably, about 15 euros a kid for a half day. That’s about $20. Manhattan child care is a heckuva lot more pricey. And the kids get to play soccer and ping pong and trampoline right on one of the world’s prettiest beaches.
Try as I might, they still don’t speak much French. They know how badly I want it for them and that’s exactly why they are so reluctant to try and speak. Ava, especially, has a pretty great vocabulary and a super ear but she’s soft-spoken even in English. In French she is absolutely inaudible. Despite all that I’ve drilled them with, “Je m’appele Ava et J’ai dix ans. Tu veut jouer avec moi?” (“I’m Ava and I’m ten years old. Would you like to play with me?”) We’ll see if she or her brother have the guts to ever say it.
Chet knows me too well. He was getting on my nerves, over stimulated and leaping over every and any obstacle that came our way even the ones in the middle of village traffic. I was just about to punish him when he said, “Papa?” like a proper little French boy. “Papa, I love you.” I shut my mouth and just let the warm feeling wash over me.
I’m such a cheap date.
And I promise to send photos but I've forgotten to bring the cable to upload from my camera. I'm working on it though.
