..endeavour to find some PPE

Feels like I'm rather late to the party on this score but c'est la vie such is me. Been meaning to have a virtual moan on this one for some time now but when there's such a lot else not to do avoidence  remarkably still seems to sit there top of the pile on my skill set. Needs must however and circumstances have forced me to spill forth my frustrations.

So PPE where does one start. A little while ago our overly large household sucumbed to the dreaded diarrhoea, was going to use stars but having amazed myself that I can actually spell the word you will now be forced to read it. It was brought to the house by son 2, son 1 escaped, being in Wales has its advantages.  Next  OH got it, then son 3 and finally son 4 and yours truly. There's the rub, son 4 and yours truly got it at the end of the week, the day before the shop was due to arrive. Our bountiful supply of toilet rolls (pre-covid obviously) was down to one, now hidden in my bathroom, of course. Thankfully as the last precious sheets were flushed down the loo there was the much heralded sound of heavy wheeled vehicle crunching across the chippings.  Shopping had arrived, phew!

Never again would such occurance take place on my watch. We must have been the only household that could have supplied supermarkets with loo roll during that now forgotten panic. And there's the rub, once bitten twice shy.  Government had its warning, Cygnus report, other countries running out blah de blah, old news I know and it's all about the tests now, not prepared there either it seems.

So why the moan and why now? Well there are still issues with the above, unsurprisingly most of the world has them but for some crazy reason our PM sees fit to send moi back to work with 28 small children who won't have an ef***in' clue how to socially distance themselves.  Guess coming from Eton he's used to classes of 15 or less.  I was in with just 4 yesterday and they just don't get it. Plus that's the least of our problems! Hygiene hah, we've tried for years, snuffle stations to stop snotty tissues littering carpets, sandpits, snack tables....just doesn't happen. TA got jet sprayed by snot yesterday during socially distanced reading session.

Then there's the issue of  son 3 almost dying of an asthma attack when he was 8. Son 2 said it was the worse birthday he'd ever had, waking up without his brother and then having to spend it celebrating in hospital. S3 is not high risk, it was thankfully a one off but one offs do happen and they are not always one off and without adequate PPE and testing then there's a strong possibility that one of those snotty sneezes or carelessly discarded tissues will infect moi and as with the diarrhoea it will spread through all of us and running out of loo roll will be the least of our problems.

And there endith my moan on PPE.

...celebrate the little things.

Oh joy, after a morning spent visiting one of my favourite blogs that has brought much needed humour to a rather sorrowful time I have the added pleasure of realising I can once again access my blog. 'Mine's not to reason why but' to just think thank f*** for that and try to write/type again.

It's been an eventful year thus far and Covid has taken a back seat to redundancies, school rejections, deaths and funerals. Ain't life a ball!  Thankfully all virus free and grateful that eldest is isolating himself in our house in Wales. We offered to bring him back after the funeral. He graciously declined so we left him a cat for company, breathed a sigh of relief and jumped in the car before he changed his mind. His girlfriend has bravely opted to do what we hoped not to and frankly if their relationship survives this then it is a 'made in heaven' and she'll definitely be one worth keeping. Much as we love him dearly he was the first to agree that endless weeks of forced close contact 24/7 would have resulted in a homocide. So 6 become 5 and one less portion of pasta needed, thanks be, 3 bags go nowhere when your locking down with 4 full grown males! Tried to sneak my gluten free packet in as  an extra but foiled at the till.

Anyway, yesterday we finally had some good news in amongst all the gloom. No 3 son has been offered a place on a Foundation degree ballet course and all is well again for him and for me, who loves to watch him dance.  The funeral was for my mother who died in March on Friday 13th, no 1 son's favourite film, she always did have a soft spot for him. Grateful for the little things in current times, we got to be with her at the end and were allowed a small private funeral. My mother loved to dance, as did my dad, and, although I cry everytime I watch no 3 perform because they won't get to see him, I know their love of dance lives on in him.

The Nutcracker -2019

.. endeavour to understand democracy?

Okay another thought.  We are leaving Europe because we are a democracy and circa 52% of the U.K want to leave.  Fair point however 48% want to stay because they accept the status quo.

If we look at the 52% they do not all want the same thing.  Some want to remain in the single market but have control over all their laws, okay but that means free movement of people.  Ah! but I don't want that say others of the 52% . I want to stop immigration.

It is fairly bloody obvious that had there been a manifesto which properly speltout what the agenda was to be on leaving that the leave vote would have been split and the remains would have had an easy majority.

Ultimately if we do leave the EU it will be a minority who get what they want, the new leader of the conservative being one of them.  So that is what we call democracy in this country durhhh.

ask for people to be allowed to change their mind.

Okay here we go.  I know many people say the people have spoken and a decision has been made and we should abide by that decision.  However do we truly all believe that and live our lives that way.  When I give my children the freedom to make their own decisions and they realise they have made a mistake because they didn't quite understand the facts or believe what they were told or were infact lied to, then I allow them to change their mind.  As a good parent I do try to save them from certain decisions which I know they are not ready to make due to their youth and inexperience but that is not always possible.   

I know I sound condescending but needs to be said that whilst there are many vociferous Brexit supporters out there who are fully convinced we should be moving ahead with this decision to leave the EU, there also appears to be plenty of people having serious regrets now the reality of the situation has kicked in and the lies they were told uncovered.

I personally feel David Cameron let us down badly by giving us this opportunity, he was not a good parent as the ramifications of this decision were way to complicated for us to understand and I say that as someone who studied EU law as part of my diploma.

However the irresponsible politicians kept pushing for it and let's be honest Cameron really didn't think it would pan out this way and, it appears, some of the Brexit leaders didn't either, hence no plan.

So now knowing that immigration is to remain pretty much the same, the NHS money promised will not be happening, many local councils are now desperately trying to work out how to replace the EU funding they will be losing and our pound is in free fall and in Nigel Farage's own words another recession is on the cards.  Knowing the only change Boris wants is to tinker with the laws, beware if you are a woman and planning on maternity leave soon, or perhaps a part time worker who pays into a work pension, a disabled person like my mother who would like to be able to have access to a loo when out and about .......these are the sort of rights we got from EU law.  Hand on heart can you all say you wouldn't mind having a little bit more honest and open information given to you and maybe the opportunity to change your mind.

..... take my mother to a coffee morning.

It is a sad fact of life that as your children grow older and with growing independence forge their own way in life, your parents go into decline.  Many of my generation chose to start families later and in my case, whilst still having two relatively young children to care for I have the added sadness and burden of caring for my parents, in particular my mother.  To be fair most of it falls on my brother and his wife due to their close proximity but part of the reason for buying our holiday home in Wales was to enable me to share the load. The added joy of being a teacher again means I can renew my career and still spend many weeks here in the village where I grew up and where my parents still reside.

My mother was a big church woman, attended services religiously (excuse the pun), however due to her lack of mobility she now only attends when I am here to take her.  Most of her days are spent sat in her red chair watching the many quiz shows that make up day time viewing.  My father, although still fairly mobile and leading an active life in the community with his volunteering, struggles to take mother out as his emphysema worsens.

Therefore she was terribly excited to be told in church last Sunday that they would be holding a coffee morning today and so once this is posted I will drive up to their place, shower her, dress her and push her wheel chair down to the village Yacht club to enjoy a cup of coffee there. Just as 17 years ago I washed, dressed and pushed my eldest children to that very same venue for toddlers sessions.

How life does change.

   

                    Mother and father enjoying a cup of tea and a pimms on our balcony.

... hit the beach with the not so little guys.

Technology sorted and life getting that way too.  Lots has happened since last post but now is not the time to go into all that.  Let's just say another renovation awaits, not the one I'd hoped to be doing but am now happily resigned to the situation and life, as they say, moves on.  It has been a glorious half-term week and amazingly, this is Wales after all, the sun doth shine. So picnic packed, still sandy shorts and beach shoes  retrieved from rapid wash cycle and " hei ho, hei ho it's off to Cwmtiddy we go."  Been a while actually, a thirty odd years while, when I was barely much older than no 3 son is now.

Pictures to follow :) but knew if I didn't bite the bullet and get writing again this minute, I never would.

As promised and just to prove that yes the sun does sometimes shine in wet old Wales.

                                     ... and this final picture was taken by no. 4 son.

.. connection issues with blogger

Hi, sorry for the delay.  Technical post this so short.  I have now and in the past had constant problems connecting to my blogger account.  My original blog had to be deserted in the end and due to the privacy setting I used I am not even able to read it let alone copy and save any of the posts I wrote.

It is happening again.  I know my gmail user address and I know my password or did, today I changed it three times and yet when I sign in it refuses to acknowledge me unless as now I use the same browser and have come on here directly via the email they sent, which limits me to safari not my usual chrome.

So unless some genius out there has the answer, or can direct me to a more straightforward hosting site then I am afraid I will have to discontinue this one aswell. It is just too time consuming plus now my laptop is thankfully up and running again I need to be able to access it from there.

Aurevoir for now or goodbye for ever if I can't get back again,

Rachelxx

.. tell about our 3rd renovation and introduce our 4th.

Our third house had been part of my life always.  It started life as the village police house, no cells but office attached and accessed via glazed corridor, which we turned into a large and rather beautiful wooden conservatory.  The office became a spacious sitting room.  One of my first friends, Meirwen and her brother Robert lived there, their dad the village bobby.  In time it became a private house and I spent many a Saturday night babysitting for the two young children in residence, both now scarily with children of their own some not much younger than my littlies.

Family life and as ever a lack of funds mean't we spent five years renovating whilst adding two more boys to our chaotic household - who else has hubbie and father fitting windows on Christmas eve whilst they are out doing their Christmas shopping I ask.   Sam, no 3, arrived the same week as our kitchen.  I remember well answering the door to our range cooker delivery guy to be met with a look of horror when he clocked my extended belly and realised he was on his own getting this one into place.  He finally left me with it wedged in the hallway blocking off access to half of my house till dearest hubbie returned from work and shifted it.  I was not impressed. I was impressed however by the efficient arrival of dishwasher next day which was promptly plumbed in by my dad in time for my return from hospital after the new arrival.  Unfortunately his fitting of the bath previously had been less prompt and a mess up by B&Q led to 3 months of being bathless at the beginning of that pregnancy.  Another lesson learn't, do not remove sole bath in house unless in full possession of replacement!   It was a lovely house but with the addition of no 4, Elliot, the upstairs proved too small, the third bedroom 7x7, a tad snug to fit two growing boys.  I still miss the spacious lower floor, with its vast kitchen,once sitting room, and its spacious reception rooms and entrance hall, the perfect place for our much travelled and battered but well loved family heirloom piano. We even managed to squeeze in a snug guest room with ensuite shower in part of the old kitchen.

This house took a year to sell.  Fortuitous because Mike changed jobs and the planned move within the village turned into a necessary move to Gloucestershire.  Timing is all and within two weeks of him getting the job we got and offer on the house.  Allowing us to buy .....

The house I loved,

Ivy Cottage,

Blakeney.

..continue with our 3rd renovation.

Seven months of wasted journeys and trawling estate agents, oh how I longed for a rightmove or equivalent, came to a thankful end one weekend on opening the property section of a local newspaper to find a 3 bed remarkably cheap detached property for sale in a rather nice suburb of Wolverhampton.  Untouched for 20 years maybe but with sound roof and interior bathroom, sheer luxury compared to our first buy.  I viewed it with my mother, babe in arms and 3 months shy of giving birth a second time.  Puppies all sold and re-homed things were looking good.  We immediately put in an offer and Mike was fine about it even after he had seen what we were taking on.

The rub came when the survey threw up subsidence.  Hopes of getting in before the birth of no 2 son went out window as it took nearly a year to complete.  But complete we did and for a year with a toddler, a baby and an incredibly hardworking and super supportive mother and father ( no more builders for us, once bitten ..) we worked solidly on turning this dated wreck into a modern family home.  A year of washing nappies by hand in the bath, stripping, sanding, oh the curse of artex, and painting walls, fitting kitchen and bathroom, replacing some but not all windows ( hate PVC and will always repair where possible), laying floors and cutting back a forest of brambles and weeds to reveal a once beautiful garden.

A year of hard work and doing without but suburbia wasn't for me, I longed for the country, village life.  We trawled again but Midland village houses don't come cheap and I felt a yearning to return from whence I'd came. A bargain for sale in a village near my family got us thinking and so one year on after much hard work the for sale board went up and offers were made.

This next sale was long and arduous as only the British system can be.  We lost buyers we lost sellers and once again we ended up camping out in my thankfully selfless parents abode.  This time myself husband, two toddlers, one cat and a thankfully not pregnant dog but 9 months later we moved rather conveniently next door to this our 3rd renovation.

Google again and not our renovations this time.

The new buyers extended over the garage,

continue the story, our second renovation.

Hirwaun Road in physical terms was an easy renovation.  A builder did most of the work and we were sans children. I painted walls, made curtains, aquired some modest second hand furniture to bulk up our wedding monies brass bed purchase and one good sofa bought on interest free credit over the two years it took to get plans approved and building work completed. The garden though neglected and filled with builders detritus was small and easily tamed.  Emotionally and financially it was draining, we made little capital on it as the builder was a cheat and a lier, our fingers well and truly burnt.

So three years on Mike left behind his PHd and research and embarked on a job in I.T.  I set aside my teaching career and a newly acquired law diploma and embarked on motherhood. Rather too quickly we sold the house so I decamped to my parents rather snug three bedroom semi, pregnant again plus the baby, a cat and a pregnant dog.  Mike lodged in Wolverhampton returning to West Wales for weekends.  I was in my early thirties many of my friends were already settled into comfortable family homes but I had chosen to fall in love with a younger man just starting out on his career.  Wait I would have to and wait we did.

For this our next house took longer to purchase than we could ever have planned for.

Canterbury Road,

Wolverhampton.

... tell you about luck.

Well you have seen the house and there is no denying it, beautiful it is.  Big also with everything I have ever dreamed of in a home, bar the proximity of the road.  Compromises something we all have to make and that is ours.

When we showed it to my MiL she said, ' did you ever imagine living in something like this? How lucky you are.'

I disagree.

I always imagined it. Don't we all have dreams of some sort or other.  Mine was always to have four children and live in a beautiful house.

Secondly I am not or ever have been lucky.  Even at this moment there are things going on my life that cause me pain and unhappiness.  The same for everyone I imagine, life is about ups and downs a much used phrase precisely because it is so very true.

But back to my ' old house' getting it has been a culmination of hard work and sacrifice.  Starting here

52, Hirwaun Road,

Aberdare.

This was our first home, our first project.  With my post office savings and a lone from Mike's dad we bought this cottage that cost less than our first car.  Property was cheap for the price of this one particular cottage whole rows could be picked up in derelict state. Why this one?  Because I loved it, so much prettier from the front but unfortunately google can't take us down that path and allow us to knock the door.  My maternal grandmother was born here much visited throughout my childhood with it's town park and boating lake at the end of the road.  When we  took it on there was a hole in the roof and the toilet was at the end of the garden, no bathroom of course, no heating, no kitchen to speak of.  All that we did and it was here we brought home the first of our sons.  Sadly too small, after three happy years we had to move on.

To be continued ...

.... go to lunch and sign a compromis de vente

Off to Grenoble again for today we shall meet with a notaire, sign a form, hand over a deposit and start the official process of buying an old house .  First though we meet at that old place to confirm what old brown stuff  will go, what will stay, future projects planned.  Rather scarily for moi, socialiser not,

 the seller has invited us to lunch.

So today is a blog of photos. 

Welcome to my future.... peutêtre?

8000 sqm of blank canvas

The back aspect,

The boys love and reason why,

they call it,

The Castle

The front and oldest part,

And why I love it.

The grand salon,

A 20 century addition,

Not bad as extensions go!

The fireplace in the extension,

Salvaged from an Old Chateau,

As you do.

Inner hall,
Complete with stain glassed doors.

... wave my son off on his Classe Verte trip

Short one today, going to be a quiet few days.  My 10 year old is off to the Loire.  Fifty three CM2s with bikes, accompanying teachers and brave parents all embarking on 3 days of circa 70km biking. From Chateau to Chateau, exposition to exposition, picnic to picnic and even a disco, though dancing after a 38km bike ride will be a big ask.  A wonderful experience he will have but boy will I miss him.

Thank goodness we got this one back

.. tell you my fears.

Been a little too long between posts I fear, the procrastinator in me rears it's none too attractive head.

One of the problems with moving alot is the waiting alot. That stagnant period when you are leaving behind your old life again but excited to start your new and playing the waiting game.  I am not very good at it, patience, not my strong point, loyalty and continuity unfortunately yes.

Also this time I keep feeling scared.  It is a new emotion for me.  Not that I have  never been frightened.  Yes put a spider in front of me and I run.  See my children at a cliff edge and panic kicks in, adrenalin flares, voice cranks up a notch, I stand paralysed trying with depesperate restraint not to impose my irrational fears on them.

This scared differs though, some would call it anxiety but it is too quiet an emotion to be thus.

Age, death, fear of not having lived well.  Less choices left to make and less time to correct mistakes made.

This house we buy is not the one I have fixated on, a big choice, yes an old house as always but a big house, 500msq plus attics big, can only be that.

Maybe I must remember it is just that, bricks and mortar.  Houses sometimes workout.  When they don't you move on, buy another, use it as a base for a life not actually make 'it' a life.  Alas! maybe that is what I am scared of ?

A big fireplace in a big house,
I try to imagine Christmas,
It helps with the doubts.

.. take my son to the Orthophonist

Half an hour he spends.  Just once a week, all in French but what a difference it is making.

Two of my boys we placed straight into the french schooling system on arrival.  At the time I thought nothing of it.  They were 7 and 9 therefore time enough to acquire the language  before having to sit any formal examinations.  Yes it would be tough initially, their french consisted of merci, bonjour, counting from 1 to 10 and having spent many holidays here they could order some baguettes if pushed so no chance of starving.  It has been a success.  A year and a half later they both speak French and despite a reluctance to complete homework tasks are pretty much on parr with their french class mates academically.

Socially we mix with expats.  This was not our intention but our older boys attend an International School and because both husband and I do not speak french it has evolved this way.  In time this will change, our expat friends will move on, we will not and as our French improves we will be able to integrate into the local community.

Is that relevant to this post, possibly yes? the heading, where am I going here.  Well parents complain that the french system is too rigid, to geared around achievement, possibly it is.  However they seem to live under the illusion that this is all so different in the U.K.  There they say is an individual approach, special needs budgets geared towards ensuring those atypically academic children meet their full potential.

Well I say bollocks! My eldest had dyslexia, it was ignored.  Why? because he is so damn bright he managed to read in spite of it.  If you are ticking the boxes the British system doesn't care if you are reaching your full potential or not.  Where is the problem then you might think? Well the problem is when you find yourself in  secondary school, in english, history any wordy subject amongst your academic peers but due to the support you never got you are no longer one of them.  Your grammar, your spelling it just isn't up to the challenge and you lose confidence in your own ability.  A downward spiral ensues, why learn, why do your homework, why not be the clown of the class, put up a front, tactics all of them because the system failed you despite having a parent who constantly raised the issue and asked for help.

My third son also has dyslexia and dysgraphia like his brother.  Like his brother support was not forthcoming in the U.K despite my constantly alerting teachers to a problem with his reading at home.  In school he was rarely listened to, good grief no, where was the need the boy could read, a job for his parents, better spend time on those who could not or whose parents would not.  Not until his last year there, when reading tests were administered by a professional, moi, as opposed to a volunteer reading coach and it transpired that he was in the bottom third percentile for reading did he finally bet some extra support. Too little, too late and probably because being a teacher myself I had raised his head above the parapet.  Too many have I seen in my capacity as a parent volunteer and as a teacher going un-noticed or sacrificed to a policy of special needs budgets being spent on a vain attempt to get every child, no matter how academically capable, hitting a level 2 or level 4, a deemed average level. Children should be encouraged to achieve to the best of their ability, not some government politician's arbitrary idea of what everyone should be capable of.

.. And so we move to France and within months the school requests he be tested for dyslexia, recognized despite his limited french and in conjunction with information from his knowledgable parent.  Tested he finally is at a reasonable cost which is all refunded. In the U.k it is expensive so unless the school does it only parents with spare cash can contemplate it.  Not something one does with a limited budget and if one is not confident with one's own diagnosis and certainly not an option for many on low incomes.

.... And he has dyslexia, he has dysgraphia and he now has funded weekly sessions with a lovely Orthophonist ( speech therapist) and finally he is starting to read willingly, those nightly battles and tears of frustration both him and I, a thing of the past.

As an aside also despite the so called rigidity of this system, children sitting in rows facing the teacher, silent rooms passed whilst walking through corridors, programs followed with crossed T's to dotted i's,  they love school and they are excited by what they learn.

Their brothers on the other hand supposedly in the 'fun' , ' child centered'  international system well that's another story....

.... work out what to do with my once beautiful but now broken mirror.

Last week we had two glorious days of skiing.  Early nights and even earlier mornings a necessary evil.  So on one such night being woken up to a decibel breaking crash was not in the game plan.  Mike jumped out of bed, Sherlock dived under and poor Lily, our beautiful Bengal who'd chosen that night to join the motley crew upon our thankfully super kingsize, dived over headboard and onto window sill.

The floor now littered with glass scattered around my upturned mannequin and prostrate mirror.  The culprit astutely hidden and in no hurry to reappear for fear of being marched straight back to S.P.A from whence he came by one irate, 40 plus, male, owner. 

No longer full length glass to peruse oneself pre venturing forth each day. Sadly an all but empty frame with sole glazed corner reflecting back feet and ankles, cankles not, my best feature peutêtre but not terribly practical. 

Alas bin I think, cela vie at least it wasn't this one.

Phew that Wii game was exhausting.

Lily enjoying a more restful sleep.

... let you in on a secret

Thank you google maps

Alec aussi for showing moi screenshot.

An Old House  may be ours, fingers crossed, touch wood and all that.  Best laid plans .....  the intention was to wait, to hang fire not count our chickens, 70's edition of First Aid in English has a lot to answer for as does my mother.  However bedrooms have been bagsied, sofas selected, Christmases planned. It has a drawing room to die for.  Cool went out the window as competition entered the ring.

U.K sale still chugging slowly forth , still no tie ins no deposits no anything to stop our purchasers fleeing into the night, leaving us high and dry and sans funds to buy this wonderful abode or at the very least a deposit to cover costs already ensued.  However we are nearly there. A final form winging its way, okay optimistic that, dilly dallying across the channel; international post being what it is, random.

Once done that magic word, exchange and then corks pop, celebration time proper and despite knowing the french system will be long and arduous, at least both parties will be committed,  I hope,  moi, I most definitely shall be in all senses of the word.

Ohhh and it comes with a lot of  brown stuff.

.. write about ponds and pools.

My older boys returned to school today, the younger have another week off, frustrations of having one lot in French system and the other in an International School.  The sun shines so we will spend time in the garden and walking Sherlock.  Almost tempted to open pool.

The pool has been a bone of great contention.  When we moved here it was on the must have list of requirements.  Back in blighty Blakeney we converted a pond into a splash pool.  The boys were using it for inflatables pre-conversion so to avoid catching dysentery or some such when also diving in to retrieve treasures thrown by youngest, then toddler age, we emptied out flora and fauna and added some nice tiles and a couple of chlorine tabs.

Small it was, bad the weather was, great fun still for boys and friends and unfair to move to better weather and not one have.

Pre-conversion,

Who needs a beach?

So we rented a house with pool but arrived at a house with swamp.  Green it was and green it stayed those first few months and cross was I and offspring too.  Frustrated,  we closed it down for winter in the hope that all would be resolved come following spring.  It wasn't, not even after a full on raving middle aged loony mother, shouting match, with recalcitrant landlord, witnessed by mortified off-spring one not so sunny day.

So a formal letter was sent, this is France, threats of withheld rent made, and finally come July in time for the long summer break we had a fully functioning pool,  if a bit rough around the edges literally;that concrete needs filling.  And there, on lounger, lay I for the best part of two months; car issues have their advantages, another blog peutêtre .  I do love France.

The boys on the other hand, after all their bloody moaning, had to be blackmailed off their various
electronic satanic beasts to use it!

Summer 2013

Amazing what happens when the internet is turned off.

...sort through our ski stuff

Holidaying with four boys can be a tricky endeavor and unfortunately or fortunately some would say for many years living on low funds choices were limited.  Thank you Mother in law for accommodating us in you cosy West Country abode and that Longleat Center Parks treat we so enjoyed.  You aussi Tesco satan for many but four boys consume much food, wear through many socks and pants and points equals prizes, equals two weeks Cote D'Azur stay at a delightfully small, family friendly caravan park.

However the payback for spending most of the week sans hubbie mean't increased holiday budget, choice entered the equation.  We chose to ski.  Always the cheapest week, not that flush, but conveniently the quietest.  And then we moved here thoughts of weekends spent slewing down slopes, glistening white planned.

It hasn't worked out quite that way, things never do.  Our rent is high, school fees equally so and the joy of an almost full time hubbie comes with a cut in wage.  Nether the less it is vacances and we will ski, if only two days we can manage.

That said an offer has gone in on ' an old house' , school fees will be halved and the slopes an hour closer.  Fingers crossed, now that sounds familiar.

My how they have grown.

10 year old still fits in youngest jacket.

4 years later!

Great for the budget though.

..... shop for Alec's dinner.

Yesterday was Sunday so just like the great one I too took a day of rest.  Sunday for us is also test day.

It's not just moi that needs to get speaking this tricky lingo.  So too do the hubbie and four boys.  The youngest two have a bit of a leg up as they attend a French school.  The eldest not so and their apathy towards acquiring said skill partly contributes to my disappointment with their establishment of not so great learning.

So to help us all we have a verb of the week and we have to learn four tenses of chosen verb.  The winner gets to chose a four course meal of their choice and the loser gets to be footman and scullery maid for this grand repast, too much Downton peutêtre.

Last week Alec was the lucky one poor Elliot the not so.  The carrot and the stick it has to be.  Does it work?  Well put it this way Elliot may not be choosing this weeks supper but neither is he tidying up.  That not so pleasant task will be left to the eldest. Unfortunately it often is, genes will out poor Tom.

Suffice to say I like to ensure I never have to, as I mentioned at the beginning of post, everyone deserves one day off.

La semaine prochaine,

We revisit aller.