14 days.

This came in the mail last Thursday:

A friendly little reminder that the only thing traveling faster than light is time.

Four years. Zap, bam, boom. Gone. My baby's heading off to kindergarten next year. As a working mom, I wonder how I will feel on his first day of school. Will it be any harder than handing him over to a stranger for 10 hours a day at four months old? Peeling him off my legs every morning for two months straight after a childcare transition? Listening to him scream my name as I walked down the hallway and back out to my car for a quick cry before heading off to work?

Last night as I snuggled with him before bed, Calvin asked if he had to go to school again today. I said yes, and he said "I don't want to go to school tomorrow! Can't we just stay home for 14 days?"

That kindergarten letter hit me hard. But it was nothing compared to the wave of grief I felt hearing him ask "can't we just stay home for 14 days?" Because, no. We can't. We can't stay home for 14 days this month or next month or any month in the near future. We can't stay home for 14 days while you're small and needn't be anywhere but home, and I'm not sure we'll be able to stay home 14 days when you're big and off for summer vacation and all your friends are home, either. Your mom works, so…no. We can't stay home. And it breaks my heart, because I know how much of your childhood I'm missing. How much we're asking of you to spend 10 hours a day somewhere other than your home with people other than your family. How unfair it is for you to have a school schedule before you've even reached school age. I know you don't want to go to school tomorrow, buddy. I wish you didn't have to.

I didn't say that. I hugged him tight and told him I understood, that I don't like Mondays either, and that I wished we could spend 14 days at home together because that would be so much fun. I sang to him, prayed with him, kissed him goodnight. And then I went downstairs and watched last week's Grey's Anatomy. The main storyline? How much it sucks to be a working mom.

Does it ever.

I know I'm a good mom. My kids are loved and treasured and safe and happy and we make the most of the time we have together. I work because my family needs me to and because I (mostly) like to, and I try not to feel guilty about that.

But sometimes? Sometimes it just sucks.

Happy faces.

Well, my maternity leave is over and I'm wrapping up my first week back at work. The transition has been far more difficult for me this time around and I have so much to say about it...but I just can't find the words right now. Honestly, I think I'm too sad to talk about it yet.

So instead of writing I'm going to post a bazillion photos from my last few weeks of leave. We really made the most of our time at home together, and while these pictures aren't of us doing anything special, they will always be special to me. I just adore my kids. They try my patience and keep me up all night, but they are so beautiful, so happy, and so full of life. And my husband, well — he's just amazing.

So thankful that even on the toughest days at work, I have the ability to look at the sweet, happy faces of my precious family. You can bet I'll be revisiting this post a few times a day for the foreseeable future...

Random tidbits from the homefront.

Hi there. Remember me? The one who likes to pop in occasionally with photos and a list of crazy and nothing of real substance?

More of the same to follow. Get excited.

1. I love being home. There, I said it. It goes against everything I've ever thought/said about myself and I'm putting it out there anyway. If I could stay home indefinitely, I would. I would wear yoga pants and sweatshirts and go without makeup and load and unload the dishwasher and washing machine thirty times a day and drive my son to and from school and snuggle my daughter all day long every day if I could.

But, I cannot. So that's depressing. Three and a half weeks to go...I am going to cry. A lot.

2. I have a feeling once I get back to work I will be totally fine, though. Especially if I'm able to implement my Yoga Pants in the Workplace Wednesday idea.

Shouldn't be a problem.

3. So far during my maternity leave I have finished Mad Men (I can't wait for March 25. Can't. Wait.), gotten hooked on The Voice (Adam Levine, you are so fine), found myself simultaneously amused and annoyed by Portlandia, and caught up on a number of girly movies I wanted to see (The Help, I Don't Know How She Does It, Life as We Know It).

4. I also read two books. Yes, two. I really thought I'd do more reading because I spent many a sleepless night plowing through a long list of books while I was home with Calvin, but Audra? She sleeps all night. At eight weeks.

Best. Baby. Ever.

Also, I spend what little time I am up with her at night on Pinterest. Which is probably just as enriching as reading, if you really think about it.

(Please don't.)

5. While on the subject of Pinterest, I'm already thinking ahead to Calvin's third birthday party. Which is either going to be a Toy Story 3 party or an Up party. I am not-so-secretly hoping for Up, as that seems far simpler than Toy Story 3 (i.e. lots of balloons vs. some sort of space ranger/cowboy/daycare center/landfill scenario). I mean, it's Calvin's birthday so he can pick whichever one he prefers, but don't be surprised to find me slipping Up into the DVD player a little more frequently in the months to come.

6. Are movie and tv show titles supposed to be italicized? I've been looking at that the entire time I've been writing this and I still have no idea.

7. Yep, I have a degree in journalism and should know that.

8. Nope, I don't plan to look it up.

9. Do you think it would be worth buying a plane ticket to somewhere cheap so I can eat at the Chick-fil-A going into the Minneapolis St. Paul airport? Cause I kind of do.

10. Two weeks from Saturday Nate and I are going out to celebrate our birthdays. And not just anywhere, but to our favorite restaurant of all time: the 112 Eatery. Heaven on a plate, folks. Or multiple plates, I guess, since we have no self control when we're there. Anyway, we were discussing our mutual excitement last night and I said "Remember how they used to know us because we went there so often?" and Nate said "Well, that will never happen again" and I said "Sure it will...at Panera." And then we both cried a little for all we've lost in having kids.

11. Just kidding.

12. Kind of.

Ugh. See what happens when I'm cooped up in my house all winter long? I start talking crazy about loving food more than my kids. It's probably a good thing I'm going back to work soon.

But no. It's not. Because then I have to leave these sweet faces...and how terrible will that be?






Very, very terrible.

Turns out I love them way more than the 112's stringozzi with lamb sugo. Or steak tartar. Or scallops with oyster mushrooms.

But maybe about the same as the tres leche cake. It's really good.

Eight hours.

Eight hours, I've decided, is all I need to be a better mom and wife each week. At first glance, it doesn't seem like much. But, really, it's an extra work day.

In eight hours, I can clean my house from top to bottom. Almost.

In eight hours, I can run errands, do laundry, and make dinner. And probably dessert, too.

In eight hours, I can build a fort. Play with play-doh. Cut sandwiches into silly shapes. Read a story or five.

In eight hours, I can snuggle. Rock. Sing. Nurse. Tickle. Kiss.

In eight hours, I can take a shower, shave, dry my hair, and (hopefully) find something other than pajama pants to wear before my husband comes home from work.

And come 2012, I will have those extra eight hours a week to devote to my family. Because this working mama is cutting back.

I need to. For me. For them.

Eight hours isn't much, but it's enough. An extra work day — devoted to the very best work of all.

Secret shame.

Being a working mom is really hard.

And so is being a stay at home mom. Don't think this is going to be one of those pointless posts where someone tries to make the case for one over the other. I've read my share of those and I seriously can't believe people keep trying to win that argument. Ain't gonna happen, folks. We're all moms and we're all working our tails off. Let. It. Go.

While I fully admit there are big perks to having a full-time job outside the home — uninterrupted computer time, daily interaction with other adults, extra income, and eight hours of freedom from the hands of another human being — there are a few things about my schedule that make life challenging. The most important one, of course, is missing out on time with my son. That's heartbreaking, and I totally get why people say they stay home because their kids are only little for so long. I do feel sadness and guilt over missing out on large chunks of my son's childhood. But this is what works for our family, and it is what it is.

The second is lack of time. I don't have enough time to do anything. And I mean ANYTHING. I follow the same exact schedule Monday through Friday:

6:30am: Drag myself out of bed.
6:30am to 8am: Get ready. Drop Calvin off. Drive to work.
8am to 5pm: Work. Eat. Work some more.
5pm to 6pm: Leave work, pick Calvin up from school, get home.
6pm to 7pm: Figure out dinner, play with Calvin, eat dinner.
7pm to 8pm: Bath, books, put Calvin to bed.
8pm to 10pm: Clean kitchen, do laundry, collapse on couch.
10pm: Drag myself into bed.

Rinse and repeat. Except for Tuesdays, when my in-laws come over to give me a break at night.

I literally have two hours (three if you count my lunch break, which is typically utilized for errand running) a day to get things done. Unfortunately, by that point in the day my son is in bed, my husband is probably at work, and I'm exhausted. Truly, there aren't enough hours in the day to tackle my "should dos" or even my "need to dos" after checking off the "must dos" — which are currently limited to working and tending to the basic needs of my family. And on the weekends my priority is spending time with Calvin and Nate, not mopping my floors and going to the post office.

I think the thing that appeals most to me about staying home — besides the obvious benefit of caring for your children — is the flexibility. The ability to run errands. Make a decent dinner. Throw in a load of laundry. Pick up the house. Use nap time to accomplish something. Of course I realize being home is equally (if not more) exhausting, that you can't spend all your time cleaning and running errands when you're home with your kids, and that doing those things with kids in tow is no easy task (plus cleaning with kids is pretty much pointless because it will just be messy again two minutes later), but having the option to do those things during the day would be nice. I can't do any of that from work, and yet it still needs to get done at some point.

Basically, I'm romanticizing life at home and using work as a big, fat excuse for my lack of productivity. And now you'll see why.

The Abby who started this blog back in 2008 had a house that looked like this:



And the Abby you know today has a house that looks like this:


You know that whole "clean kitchen" line on my little schedule? Yeah. That's on a good night. So is the laundry. More often than not, I put Calvin to bed, take a shower (because it gives me five extra minutes of sleep in the morning), put my pjs on, and sink into the couch. I might shove everything in the sink or load the dishwasher, but I rarely have the energy to clean the entire kitchen. And right now I wait until I'm almost out of clean underwear to do laundry.

Oh, and my bathroom? Yeah, don't even ask. I used to be completely militant about cleaning it from top to bottom before anyone came over, lest there be a stray piece of hair on the floor or vanity. Now my in-laws come over weekly and kneel on the floor to give my son a bath and I don't even remember to put a hand towel up before they arrive...much less vacuum or mop the floor. Full disclosure: Half the time Nate and I dry our hands on the shower curtain.

Three years ago I never would have admitted these shortcomings to a soul, much less the entire blogosphere. I worked really hard to maintain the illusion that housekeeping comes naturally to me. It doesn't. Obviously. I am a slob of the highest order. Yet for the longest time I knocked myself out trying to keep my house clean, because I thought an orderly house equaled a happy home.

You know what? It doesn't.

I discovered this important truth once I accepted the fact that I no longer have the time, energy, or desire to maintain my previous housekeeping standards. While my home may be a complete disaster 90% of the time, it's happier than it's ever been. And so am I.

Though I'm not sure happiness is a good enough excuse for failing to hang up a hand towel. I'll try to squeeze that in somewhere.

It's Thursday.

I started the day with shampoo in my eyes, which was unpleasant enough. But that was followed closely by a startlingly large spider waiting for me outside the shower, and then by me somehow running straight into the toilet, which I'm pretty has always been in that same exact spot. The highlight of my morning was managing to successfully hide in Calvin's room with a bowl of cereal. I had to hide my cereal consumption because we didn't have time for both of us to have a bowl of cereal and I really needed one because I felt like I was going to pass out from low blood sugar. And if that had happened, well, we would have been even later than we already were.

One irritated eye, dead spider, stubbed toe, banged-up shin, bowl of cereal, and late daycare drop off later, I made it to work. But not without a quick stop at Target first, where I purchased a new cardigan. The one I chose to wear over my tank this morning didn't even remotely cover my bra straps, which I didn't notice until I was almost to work. While I occasionally lack modesty, I don't usually show up to work with lacy bra straps a blazin'. I blame my shampoo eyes for that oversight.

It's been a day. I'm really tired. I'm a little grouchy. My toe is kind of sore. But, gosh darnit, I am going to write a Thankful Thursday post. It's been a while, and I've got some thankful to share. But none from this morning, of course. This morning sucked.

Without further ado, today's list of things that have nothing to do with today but I'm thankful for nonetheless:

1. Cloud 9 by Tresics t-shirts. Never heard of that brand? Me neither. Until I went to Marshall's and found this super soft cute grey t-shirt for $5.99. I think I've had it for maybe two months and it's already been worn more than most items of clothing I own, even the two t-shirts I still wear from my junior year of high school. After unsuccessfully scouring the internet for more Cloud 9 t-shirts, I finally went back to Marshall's, where I found three more. If you live near a Marshall's, go. Now. Best t-shirts ever.

2. I have an office! We're talking four walls, a big window, and — most importantly — a DOOR. When I was hired seven years ago, there were four of us in marketing, I was at the bottom of the food chain, and I shared a cubicle with all of the marketing samples. Two years later there were four of us in marketing, I was second from the bottom, my intern got to sit with the samples, and I got to move into a slightly larger cubicle without a window. A year after that everyone in my department left, two new people were added, and I was back at the bottom of the (slightly smaller) food chain. However, I got a promotion and was moved into a cubicle with three walls and a big window. And now there are only two of us in marketing, we work as partners, and I have my own office. The office my boss had when I first started here. I've successfully made my way from minion to manager. While my job hasn't changed much — in fact, I now just do the work of all three people without oversight — there's something very satisfying about looking back at my past from the comfort of my new office.

3. Windows are Rolled Down by Amos Lee. That song is on repeat. Like, all the time.

4. I am head-over-heels in love with So You Think You Can Dance this season. I feel like everyone is really talented, and so far there have been some pretty decent routines. I am such a sucker for the contemporary pieces. Like this one, for example. Or this one. Sigh. Such a guilty summer pleasure.

5. I've started listening to audio books on the way to and from work. I don't know why this never struck me as a good idea before, because I love to read and I don't have time to read and I spend a solid hour blankly staring out the window of my car every day. My friend Jennifer loaned me Janet Evanovich's Two for the Dough, the second book in a series I've tried to read based on a number of recommendations, but could never get into. And I loved it. I mean, the Evanovich books are kind of a cheap thrill and by no means literary masterpieces, but who wants to think while driving? It took me about a week to get through that book, and now I'm onto the next one. My commute has improved tenfold.

6. Tomorrow's blog post, which I've been working on for a few months. Good things take time, you know.

Happy Thursday!

Stress relief.

Work is out of control right now. I'm putting in long days, weekend hours, and feeling a little like my head might spontaneously combust. Within the last month my boss was laid off, my friend and extremely valuable marketing assistant Kate left to begin student teaching, and I inherited an additional job-and-a-half worth of work. No pay increase, no title change, no corner office. Just a heck of a lot more on my to-do list.

As you can imagine, I'm pretty crabby. And also fairly stressed.

Not helping matters one bit is the fact that we have historically spent the last week of January on vacation in Mexico. But, alas, parenthood has made us poor and even if we could afford to go on vacation this year I wouldn't have the time to do so given the state of affairs at work (because, you know, that might result in a DESIGN EMERGENCY. What would the people do without brochures? Websites? A comprehensive visual system? Or — gasp — a social media presence?). Yes, design is a life or death business, and someone has to be around to market/sell/write about it. And since my only remaining department colleague is going on vacation next week, I guess that someone is me.

Because I'm stretched pretty thin right now, things are slipping through the cracks — at home and at work. As a result, I'm constantly worried about one while doing the other. I feel guilty leaving work at 4:45 so I can get to daycare on time when I have tons to do, and I feel guilty staying late to catch up on the nights when Nate is home because I miss out on precious time with my son.

There's no easy answer to this problem, nor am I really even looking for one. It is what it is, and I know it won't be this way forever. But I'm at a point where I have so much to do that I can't really do any of it well. Or at least not as well as I normally would. And that drives me crazy, because — as you may have noticed — I'm a bit of a perfectionist. (Though I'm trying to let go, I really am...)

So, yeah. I'm exhausted and maxed out and I don't have the time or energy for anything except a lot of sub-par work and some equally sub-par parenting. Yet Monday night I spent THREE HOURS gluing conversation hearts to a ribbon-wrapped piece of styrofoam. May I present the second wreath in my DIY series?




The key to surviving stress is prioritization, you know. And the occasional mindless activity involving a hot glue gun.

Plight.

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom.

Just to be clear — this isn't going to be one of those "motherhood has changed me forever and suddenly I can't imagine doing anything more fulfilling than staying home with my child" posts, because that's not how I feel. Of course there are many times I would love to stay home to play with and snuggle Calvin all day long (totally unrealistic, he's not a snuggler). But there are also days when motherhood makes me want to run screaming from my house and straight across town into the peace and quiet of my office. Which is neither peaceful nor quiet, but sometimes the insanity of work is preferable to the insanity of parenting a 14 month old. At least my coworkers don't throw food (Tantrums, yes. Food, no.).

Besides, I like working. I need to work, for reasons both financial and personal. I need to see adults I'm not related to every day. I need to have a reason to get dressed in something other than sweats every morning. I need to challenge myself, think critically, and accomplish something on a daily basis that's not related to our home or family. Working allows me to do all of that, plus pay our bills.

But lately I just can't shake the feeling that this is all wrong.

The other night Nate and I went out for a quick dinner together. I was quiet and spacey, so he asked what I was thinking about. My response? "I hate my job." Which isn't even true. Sure, it can be quite frustrating, but all in all I have a pretty sweet gig — great hours, decent pay, good friends, the ability to wear jeans. There are plenty of perks to make up for the less than stellar parts of my job. So, no. That wasn't it. I don't hate my job.

What I hate is that me working means giving someone who is not me the responsibility of parenting my son.

As my Facebook friends know all too well, and as you may have noticed from recent posts, we are having some challenges with Calvin. I'll put it bluntly: My kid is the biter. He's also the screamer, but that seems to have improved a bit in recent weeks, and is less worrisome overall since screaming does not cause physical harm to other children. But for the past few weeks there's been a note on his sheet nearly every day: "Calvin bit two kids today" or "Calvin bit another child today — this time he broke the skin."

I can't even describe to you the feeling I get in my stomach when I read that. It makes me feel physically ill. And has brought me to tears more than once.

I am now going to go all defensive mommy on you and insist you understand that my child is not badly behaved. Or mean spirited. Or living in a home without rules, boundaries, and discipline. He is loving and sweet and wonderful. He is also one, teething, and testing every boundary we set.

It's normal behavior. I know that. My daycare provider knows that. I'm sure the other parents know it, although it has come to my attention recently that they are beginning to take issue with the daily reports saying their child has been bitten by another. I can't blame them, I would be wondering what the heck is going on and why the biter's parents aren't doing something to address their little piranha's behavior.

I wish I knew how to address it. I'm embarrassed, frustrated, and at a loss for answers.

We're working with our daycare provider to find a solution — your input and ideas are welcome, by the way — but, overall, I feel very helpless. Other than one incident at his birthday party, Calvin hasn't bitten anyone in front of us. And there's not much I can do to curb behavior I'm not witnessing.

Which I HATE. I hate that I'm not the one working with him to find other ways of expressing his frustration. I hate that I'm not there to teach him to be gentle with his friends, as I taught him to be with our dog. I hate that all day long someone else is reinforcing his good behaviors and addressing his bad ones.

I hate that such important tasks — tasks that will help shape and mold his character — fall to someone we pay to care for him 45 hours a week. The bulk of his awake time.

I trust our daycare provider. But I'm his mother. I should be the one teaching him right from wrong. I should be there to tell him not to bite, to be gentle, to be kind to his friends. I should be there to hug him after he looks at me with shocked, sad eyes for being scolded. I should be there to apologize to the children he bites, and their parents. I should be there to comfort, to redirect, to teach.

I should be there.

Instead I'm here. At work. Doing something I have to do, for now, but also that I want to do. All while someone else tries to keep my child from sinking his teeth into another.

I never wanted to be a stay at home mom. But I'm beginning to understand the appeal.

A week in the life...

Of Calvin:












































































Of me:














And that's only one half of my desk.
Hoping for a respite (and more time to blog) soon.

Leveraging synergy to maximize ROI.

Daycare was closed unexpectedly yesterday, so Calvin and I had a work from home day in our pjs. While I did some writing, he got down to business.

He set up his home office.














Completed a thorough inspection of our equipment (the visual inspection was followed closely by an oral one).


















Tested our security system.


















And conducted a very important meeting with his business partner.














At least one of us had a productive work day.

Work to live? Or live to work?

I have this cute little box of macaroons on my desk, courtesy of my friend/colleague David, and his wife, Becca. Becca is something of a domestic goddess...she fell in love with cooking while house sitting for friends with an awesome kitchen, and she hasn't looked back. Now she's launching a business called KitchenNut (she has a blog, too). David told me she's starting slow with one product (the macaroons) and is hoping to build from there.

Her baked goods are to die for, and they are packaged and labeled sweetly, thanks to David's stellar design. Becca is destined for success.

So, now I'm sitting at work after an eight hour day, staring at this darling little box of treats (willing myself not to eat them, but that won't last), and wondering how I got here.

I work for a design firm. A good one. We do great work, our clients love us, and we like and respect each other. My job is manageable. I have flexible hours. I get to work on a Mac. I'm surrounded by beautiful design, which I truly appreciate in any form. The company pays for me to attend fun events, like Magazine Day.

There are many, many good things about my workplace (Free Diet Coke, I've heard, is not available everywhere. This saddens me.).

And yet.

Growing up, I thought I'd be a teacher. During college, I planned to become a newspaper reporter. By the end of college, I wanted to be a magazine editor. In fact, I was certain I would become a high-profile editor at a fashion magazine, live in New York City, and be all kinds of glamorous. And I thought that was likely to happen pretty quickly. Maybe not right out of school, but definitely by 25.

I started out as a Bloomingdale's sales girl at the Mall of America. In Bloomington, Minnesota. (Also known as the glamour capitol of the world.) The clothes were awesome, but I got myself in loads of debt and therefore needed to make more money. Onward, upward.

I moved on to a receptionist position at a hair salon (that was boring and lasted less than 6 months), and then to an interactive agency in NE Minneapolis, where I answered phones, ran errands, stocked the fridge and wrote copious amounts of copy for next to no pay. I made more than I had at Bloomingdale's, but not much. So I supplemented by continuing to pick up shifts at Bloomingdale's and working an additional 3-4 nights a week at cute little housewares/gift shop.

(Yep, that's right. I worked three jobs. I can't wait to use the old "Well, when I was your age..." line on my kids.)

Much to my sadness, the cute shop closed. Bloomingdale's stopped calling me (though I think I might still be on staff there, I get employee mailings all the time), and I quit the interactive agency for a much better opportunity — a marketing position at my current place of employment.

Four years and two promotions later, I am still here. I live and work in Minnesota. I am not a high-profile anything. Age 25 has come and gone, and the word glamorous does not describe any part of my existence.

And truthfully, I'm okay with that.

There are days I long for the life I thought I'd have. I wouldn't want to move to NYC now — that was the dream of my 22-year old self, not the person I am today — but it's something I wish I'd experienced. And I would love to work for a fashion magazine, though I fear that environment would only cultivate my jealousy and materialism (things I struggle with now that would surely get worse if I was constantly surrounded by beautiful, skinny women in designer clothes). That is not the path I've chosen (or perhaps the path God chose for me), and that's fine. However, it would be a lot easier to accept the life I have if I felt more inspired by what I'm doing with it.

Unlike many of my friends, I have never wanted to stay home with children (I may change my mind about that once I have children, but it has never been the desire of my heart). My career has always been a defining part of my life. Other than my relationships with God and my husband, it's probably THE defining part of my life. When I am happy and excited at work, everything in my life seems happy and exciting. And when the opposite is true, well....just ask Nate. It's not pleasant. And there have been far too many unpleasant days lately.

I wish I had some answers. Is it better to be responsible — to stay in a career that is somewhat unfulfilling (but good in other ways) just to pay the bills and support the family I hope to have? Or should I try to figure out what really makes me happy, whether it's going back to school or attempting to open a cute little shop of my own? Is it even possible to have a career that makes you really, really happy? Or am I discounting all the good in my life — my family, my faith, my friends — and placing my career on a much-too-high pedestal?

I really don't know.

I'm going to go ahead and eat this macaroon while I mull it over.

Bonne fete de la Bastille!

Alexiane is our summer marketing intern. She came to Larsen from France through a strange trail of business connections and a lot of unreadable (on my part) paperwork. The decision to host Alexiane was very sudden, and we had no idea what to expect. Luckily, she's smart and sweet and a great addition to our marketing team.

Due to a slight language barrier, the past month has been a learning experience for all of us. But more so for my boss, Heather, who just found out the French greeting she's shared with Alexiane each morning has been anything but accurate.

According to Alexiane: "You cannot say that. It means nothing! I did not want to tell you."

She is so funny. I just adore her.

Because today is Bastille Day (also known as Fete Nationale or Quatorze Julliet, according to the ever-reliable wikipedia), we decided to honor Alexiane's heritage with an authentic French breakfast. We had croissants and baguette slices with French jam, hot chocolate, coffee and orange juice. Alexiane said this is a traditional weekend breakfast — during the week the French eat "cereal or nothing," because a breakfast like the one we had today requires an early morning trip to the bakery. (I guess they don't have Trader Joe's frozen croissants in France.)

To add to the "authenticity" of our event, Alexiane wore a little scarf tied around her neck, Heather wore a bright red beret and a red, white and blue medal around her neck, and I wore a black beret Alexiane brought for me. (Unfortunately the only photo of me in the beret was terrifying, and therefore not included below.) We had Edith Piaf playing on the stereo, French flags hanging around the room, and a silent video of people doing the can-can on the large computer screen.

It was quite festive, and very entertaining.

Now for the only word of French (I think) I know:

Au Revoir!