francospanglish.

Our little Man, the Fighter

2007-05-19T09:43:00.000+02:00

Today, Louis turns two weeks old. The feeding tube is out, and he now referred to as a Feeder and Grower, which means he has to put on a certain amount of weight to leave the NICU. We have been told that it could be another two weeks to a month until he will come home with us. We can say with some assurance that he is doing well.
Our elder children have not yet been to visit him, but Conor refers to the picture on the frigo as "EEE-EE." My mother and Michael's father are staying with us, toting Dec and Carmen off to their various activities during the day, and being Conor's Personal Trainer, Canvas, Mary Poppins and Cook at the same time. I have been recovering at Lou's side, spending the days with my little man. Thank you for all your emails. Michael and I appreciate the support.

A birth announcement

2007-05-06T09:12:00.000+02:00

Dear visitors. Most of you already know that Ashley went into hospital on 25th April. After our last pregnancy, we knew the chances of this happening again were high. We were reassured when we passed 28 weeks. Our child was growing well.
Our son was born by cesearean c-section on May 5th at 12:38am, weighing 3 pounds 9 oz, 16 inches which is a good weight for a 31 weeker preemie. He's in the NICU and doing well for his gestational age so far at this early stage. He is not requiring oxygen, and was breathing fine at birth with a strong cry. We do not know a lot at present. Ashley is recovering after the birth. She has not said much for the last week which is understandable. Papa and Lita arrived last week to be with the children. They have been such a huge help to our family.
. I thought i'd take this opportunity to let Ashley's family and friends know of the birth. We are hoping the Lord will continue to watch our son, whom we have named Louis.

Louis Nicolas Daniel G.
May 5 07. 12:38 am.
3 pounds 9 oz. 16 inches.

Regards,
Michael.

Our children, our ambassadors

2007-04-18T06:48:00.000+02:00

On the 6th April Michael's mom took her last breaths in her home in Nantes, France. She was joined by Michael, who flew up two days before before knowing the end was near, and Michael's dad. Michael is their only son, and our children their only grandchildren. The next day we flew into Nantes to be with Michael and his dad, and let our children see their grandmother for the last time. That night, Declan and Carmen drew pictures to put in her casket, and even Conor drew with crayon on the floor to join his siblings. Declan asked many questions, such as why we won't see her again, what she'll be doing now, and why she had to go. I fielded the questions while Michael and his dad sat alone. I have never seen my husband or his father grieve like this, and it was difficult to see them broken like this. Mhairi had been sick for so long, and each day Michael and his father would wake knowing today could be the day. We hadn't expected her to live for long after Conor's birth. He is now close to 14 months old. We had hope that she would live to see the Tadpole since she had made it so far. We had wondered if she was invincible. No matter whether you know death is imminent, it still comes as a shock. Michael's mom was such a wonderful mother and grandmother. Our children love her deeply, and many times during the day Declan and Carmen would ask what Nonna is doing, whether Nonna would want to play with them and whether Nonna would approve of whatever they were doing at the time. At the funeral, our children sat silently. Even Conor stood transfixed. Declan and Carmen took up roses, holding hands. We were so proud. We ate in a restaurant that night with Michael's family who doted on the children and on my growing baby belly. If a girl, Michael's mom asked that we name her SOPHIE. We have agreed.

We still believe the baby is a boy. We are now past 28 weeks. We have three boys names lined up.
LUC DANIEL
LOUIS DANIEL.
OLIVIER DANIEL.

We cannot decide between the three. Daniel will always be the middle name.

I had better get the children up, and my dear husband off to work.

My Hacker, the Jetsetter

2007-03-15T21:53:00.000+01:00

After promising Michael a pre-baby Adults Only holiday (including, of course, the one year old), we left Declan and Carmen in Nantes, and set off. We spent 3 days with my adored brother Carl in Vilnius, followed by a visit to our good friends Anya and Gia in Berlin. We spent the last week in Michael's favorite place in the world- Ho Chi Minh city. We strapped Conor to Michael's back with a cookie and baby numbers book and explored the places we hadn't seen since our honeymoon.

I'm now 22 weeks pregnant, and our scan yesterday concluded all is fine with our baby.
Our tech told Michael that the baby is very 'purposeful.' Yes, purposefully bashing my ribs that's for sure.

My son, the one year old.

2007-02-21T07:45:00.000+01:00

At 5:30am we were woken by the sounds of cords being pulled out of our TV. Michael and I woke to investigate which one of our children was trying to give us the message about TV Addiction. We looked. Behind the TV, grinning from ear to ear, was our little Hacker, dressed in a singlet and diaper with one sock and no pants. Not only had just found his way out of bed, but into our room and into the arms of his long lost friend: the TV.
Michael and I looked at each other, then looked at the clock. 5:34 am. Our Little Hacker was officially one. My baby is now a year old.
Michael scooped him up and brought him to the bed.
"He knows it's his birthday," Michael said, "He knows attention is coming. Attention and brightly coloured boxes."
"Yeah," I said sarcastically, "He's one, Michael, and already a mind reader. He doesn't even know what day it is."
Michael paused. "I want to give him his present." On a whim, Michael had located a toy store and had chosen a ridiculous box of lego-type things that make noise when connected together. On inspection from Declan and I, we had no idea what to do with them. How had my husband found this atrocity? Had he looked under Toys That Make Excessive Noise and Have Small Parts and No Real Function or Educational Value, and found this? Glad this gift would not be opened at Conor's birthday dinner in the evening, I let Michael give Conor the box. Conor laughed and put the box on the floor. He went back to tugging Michael's glasses. My husband, never beaten, opened the box, tipped out the lego and spread them on the floor. We could hear Conor's curosity turn into full blown excitement. Toys that dismantle! That make noise! Things maman will hate!
Michael and I woke up again at half past six to see Conor still on the floor, concentrating on what could have been a house or a boat or towers. Or just a post modernist piece of art with no real meaning. "Lego Stacked Up in the Morning." This type of art comes with being born post-millennium.
We took a photo of our Busy Constructionist, to go alongside the obligatory Cake photo (this year, Conor will stab, mush and otherwise ruin a chocolate gateau).
Lying in bed, watching our one-year-old, we were silent. Until Michael asks with a hint of curiosity, "Ash, do you think he'll use his Powers for Good or for Evil?:

Why our child will need a shrink.

2007-02-13T09:11:00.000+01:00

I wake up this morning to a strange sound. A sound I am not accustomed to.
I look over to the pillow beside me and see my husband is not there snoring La Marseillaise.
However, his feet are poking out the end of the bed and suspiciously tapping against the bed frame. .
When I listen carefully, I hear the sounds of my very French husband softly singing Mockingbird to my stomach. On further listening, I realized this was not just any Mockingbird. This was Eminem's Mockingbird. The Banned Eminem, symbol of evil, that my husband had promised would never enter our house by any means, electronic, musical, pictorial or otherwise. The Eminem version of this childhood that I was not aware my husband had every heard, let alone able to recite at 8am to our Tadpole.
I pull the covers back to reveal my guilty husband.
"Why don't we just sing Baby Got Back," I suggest. "This baby is doomed from the beginning."

The Month of Birthdays.

2007-02-13T07:21:00.000+01:00

In a little over a week, our Little Hacker turns one year old. One year since he was born in Tokyo. He is still the cunning little baby that hides in the hamper, and fiddles with the wires on the computer. Lately, his focus has switched from Troublemaking of the Techological Kind to the walking type. Un catastrophe ambulant as my husband says. In a matter of days, Conor has become completely mobile. His favorite game is making various items crash- books, lamps, kitchen utensils. I walked into the kitchen to find the drawers opened and all my pots on the floor.
Conor is making an orchestra, my daughter informed me in Spanish before the imminent banging began. She had been doing her favorite activity of Conor Watching which involves a giving a running commentary of his mischief. From a safe distance.
If Conor unable to find mischief of the common sort, he claps his hands and yells “BOON!” which we have learned is a balloon. A small Disney Cinderella balloon that Carmen inherited is Conor’s best friend. Our good family friends from Japan who were present at Conor’s delivery- and gave him their family name of Takao- will arrive in Brussels tomorrow for Conor’s birthday party. Michael and I haven’t told them yet, but we are asking T & A to be Conor’s godparents.

On the 7th February, Declan turned 6. My mother and father were unable to make it to his party as they are staying in Mexico City to help with my brother Javi’s newest baby. My husband’s parents traveled down from Nantes to be there, and Declan invited 11 francophone and anglophone students from his international high school, and his friend Lucas from Spanish Club. His guest of honor was Mayako-chan from school who has recently moved to Brussels with her aunt and uncle, and who often speaks Japanese with Declan.
Declan was spoiled with gifts including language books and DVDs in all sorts of languages. Dec’s speaking in all his languages has flourished of late. He has perfected the Spanish ‘r’, has acquired new vocab in English, and has learned hiragana and some katakana thanks to the educational DVDs he watches. I am told he understands a lot of Dutch, but it is difficult for me to judge as I speak none. It is like that when your child speaks more languages than you.

For his party, Declan asked for a ‘Cars’ themed cake, and the kids made a fort where they could play party games. We had a ‘Cars’ piñata which Carmen adored. By the end of the afternoon, we had crepes with the adults while the kids watched a DVD.
Last week, Dec had brought home a composition from school where he had written about his family in French.
“Ma mere est Ashley, elle aime les etoiles. Mon pere est Michel. Il est au boulot. J’ai une soeur elle est sympa et j’ai un frere il est mechant et un bebe qui va venir. Le bebe est dans le ventre de maman.”
I can’t believe my little baby is writing already. It doesn’t seem like 6 years since he was a newborn baby in France.

As for the pregnancy, things are progressing well. Last week, the baby measured ahead giving a new due date of July 17th. We have already ‘booked in’ my mom for 3 weeks. Michael’s mom’s health is better than expected, and we are blessed that she is still doing well, and will be able to meet her newest grandchild. At 17 weeks, I am “huge.” With this pregnancy, I seemed to swell almost immediately, and am now almost bigger than I was full term with Declan. We are sure that it is a singleton, gender unknown. Do I have a “feeling” for which gender? I feel that it is a boy. Michael feels that it a girl. I have had an easy pregnancy as I had with my boys, not the all-day sickness I had with Carmen. Michael read books on belly shape, and has concluded that it Must Be a Girl. My husband being the expert, of course. At the baby scan, Gender Unknown was sleeping (another reason Michael is determined it a girl, as Dec and Conor were always on the move.) We have another scan in 2 weeks. Due to the miscarriage of the twins, I have scans often to make sure everything is okay.

As for names, our family have nicknamed the baby That Which Must Be Named. As discussed before, our families begin the name debate while the baby is still a zygote, and the debate doesn’t stop until the name is written on the birth certificate. Even then, we are careful that Michael’s dad doesn’t get there first. For a girl, we are tossing up over Aurelie and some form of Lily (Liliane looking likely). Middle name will most likely be Marthe after Michael’s aunt. Michael and I both like Susanna, but have promised a “French” name for our daughter.

For a boy, Lucas Daniel is our choice. We experimented with Luc, but decided that he needed something more substantial. Daniel had always been our first choice, so there is a possibility of Daniel Lucas. Lucas and Daniel fit into our “transcending language boundaries” criteria.

We will be leaving Brussels in November. Michael’s assignment will either be Kuala Lumpur or Tokyo again. He was asked to move to London in August, but we figure that it will be too difficult moving with four kids, one of whom is a newborn. There is always the option of Paris, but Michael wants to wait a few years before moving back to France. I’ll keep you updated.

Now that Conor has stopped feeding, I can go back to bed.

My husband, Le Pere Noel

2007-01-02T02:27:00.000+01:00

Christmas was spent in Istanbul with my brother Carl, his wife and their young daughter Biyanka, and my mom and dad and Michael's mom and dad. Before Christmas, Michael took some time off work so that we could travel to France to visit Michael's family, and Ireland to see Michael's aunt.
On Christmas, Michael dressed up as Santa to put the presents in the children's socks. Carmen and Declan were sharing a futon on the floor of Carl's living room, and Michael had forgotten the delicate position of the bed, which did not leave much room for footing. With a giant bag of books and toys, Michael tripped over Carmen's end of the bed and fell to the floor. This woke Carmen, who screamed "SANTA!" Michael regained his composition, waved, and ran out the room leaving the presents on the floor. In the morning, a rather sheepish Michael explained why the children were telling the story of how they saw Santa at the end of the bed, and how he isn't very fat, but how he is extremely clumsy!

Our little hacker is 10 months old, and almost walking. Michael and I encouraged him with various snacks, leaving them on accessible surfaces and helping him navigate across the floor to them. He has been wanting to keep up with Declan and Carmen, and looks disappointed when they play games that involve running or jumping. He wiggles his feet and his butt, and finally puts his hands up as if to say "Come on maman, this is where you help me out you know."

I start a three month translation assignment in February, and have arranged for 5 mornings of french playcentre for Carmen, and three afternoons of english playcentre, and one afternoon of Spanish Group. For Conor, I have found him a Japanese caregiver, Asami, who also speaks French and English. I am sure this is Conor's first real life Love as he adores Asami. This reassures Michael that we have the right choice about me working for awhile, knowing this will give me some Adult Time before I become a full time mommy again in July.

We have been discussing baby names for our Bun. We have decided on Aurelie/Aurelia for a girl, and possibly Daniel for a boy. We still have a long time to debate names, but I thought I would let you know on our musings thus far.

Happy New Year.

Love Ashley, Michael, Declan, Carmen, Conor and Bun.

Why i am my parent's daughter

2006-11-18T05:02:00.001+01:00

The real question is- what will I be doing on the 22nd July 2007?

The answer is not having a holiday, getting a break from the post-modern artist, hackers also known as my children. The answer is: (Have you guessed yet?) having another.

I am once again pregnant. So for those of you who weren't woken up by my husband's muffled crisis at 3am, consider the news broken.

Since our last pregnancy ended in miscarriage, we weren't going to tell anyone, but we figure we should share our happiness for as long as we can. We aren't going to tell the children yet. We think we'll wait until after Declan's birthday in February.

Why i am my parent's daughter

2006-11-18T05:02:00.000+01:00

My daughter, the three year old

2006-11-14T07:35:00.000+01:00

My little Carmen Mairead turned three a few days ago. At 5am, our time, phone calls started pouring in from a very confused Time Difference: my family. I blocked the calls until 7, when Carmen came pattering into our room with her hippo and giraffe, saying "Tomorrow it's my birthday."
"Today," Michael said, " It's today your birthday. Happy birthday my girl."
"Today is candles!" Carmen screamed, as if the best thing about turning three was the fact she would get to blow out the three Disney Princess candles my mom had brought her.
The other night changing Conor's diaper, I had seen Carmen in the playroom with the cake she had made at French playgroup. Letting Conor crawl in behind me, I poked my head around the door, and asked Carmen what she was doing.
"Blowing candles, mommy, because it's soon my birthday and on my birthday I'll get to blow real candles out, ones with fire."
Carmen's vocabularly in French and English has just improved to Long Sentences, especially Long Sentences that talk about Candles or Fire or Presents.

At 9pm, Carmen was lying on the floor sound asleep with a balloon tied to her wrist, and the Tornado of birthday wrapping paper surrounding her. The adults, especially Michael and I who had executed the Birthday DInner and Birthday Drinks, were also asleep on the couch beside Carmen.
We woke up early, still in the family room, with Michael's mom opening the curtains. Our newly three year old sat up, rubbed her eyes and said, "WOW! Look at this mess, maman and papa! This is going to take All Day to clean this!"

The artists formerly known as my children

2006-10-22T01:17:00.000+02:00

Michael turned 38 the other day. To celebrate, I had the children finger paint him drawings of various things (princesses, boats on the ocean, and squiggles) and present them to him. I had put the drawings in an envelope and put them on the bench with the wine and gift I had chosen.
By the time Michael arrived home from work on his birthday, the kids were exhausted, still wearing their blue painted clothes, and I was sleeping on the couch with them.
Michael opened the door, took a look around at the pink and blue streaked table, poked his head at the bathroom sink covered in blue fingerpaints, and the fingerprinted fridge where Declan had tried to locate the apples.
"Ash?" he said, shaking me awake. "Every year the birthday surprises get stranger. I mean, last year the kids gave me a drooled-on-box. But this year, they gave me my house as a piece of post modernist art in progress."

Skip this post if my family scares you enough already

2006-10-19T06:54:00.001+02:00

Long time, no blog.
As I write, my mother is sugaring up my children with the treats I told her not to bring from California. I tried using various excuses such as sugar is banned in Belgium. The children are allergic. I’m allergic. Michael is allergic. They didn’t work. The children dived in to my mother’s suitcase, sniffed out the treats and began devouring them.
I am the No Fun Maman who doesn’t do sugar.
My mother is now the best, according to Carmen. Even Conor, at the discriminating age of nearly 8 months, gives mom large grins whenever she walks by and holds up his chubby arms for her.

Plus, he is pulling himself up. Our Little Hacker is crawling and pulling himself up. Carmen reached that precious milestone at 10 months, Declan at 11 months. The first thing Conor did was reach for the TV remote to change the channel from current affairs to some romance movie. Michael, who was working and using the TV as white noise, looked up to see Conor grinning at Julia Roberts with the remote in his hand. What next, Playboy under his crib?

Carmen is putting in orders for her 3rd birthday. When she spoke to Michael’s mom, she said, “Mamy? I want books okay? Books and a new skirt.” She then paused and repeated the word in English, “Skirt okay? Jupe. Okay?”
Carmen is thrilled by how things work. Taking Declan to school, and balancing Carmen and Conor in the double pram off the tramway, Carmen says, “How does the tram work mommy?”
She wasn’t satisfied by my explanation, and asked Michael that night. Michael used big scientific words to skirt around the issue, and finally resorted to buying Carmen a book on how things work. At playschool, she showed her friend Manon (who has been speaking more French with Carmen) how trucks and cars work.
“Look,” Michael said when I showed him the photos, “Our daughter is a nerd. The best kind.”

Our family, known for our procreating abilities, have welcomed more children. I don’t know whether this pleases or worries my parents. Michael, an only child, gets a pained look on his face whenever I hear of another Covas baby.
My brother, Conversative Lucien, and his wife Sara welcomed their second daughter on the 8th October, named Elisabeth Marie.

My sister Sarita, and the Artist Known as Joshua, ie her on-off boyfriend, (apparently off since an argument over the name) welcomed their very early son Angel on 15th October. 5 weeks early.
Angel is “rocking” Sarita told me, while complaining that “all he ever does is cry.”
“I guess not all babies are born with hacker skills,” Michael told Sarita, as Declan and I threw couch cushions at him.

As for me, i'm doing fine. There are still Stressed Days where Michael waits in his office for hysterical screaming on the phone from the Wife. But Michael and I have counted our blessings, and the wonderful support we've had, and things are looking up. Lying in bed this morning, we had the whole family cuddled up. Despite the fact the children have their own perfectly good beds, they seem to enjoy ours best. Michael agreed to take a hard line on the kids sleeping in their own beds, but after three nights, of blissful solitude he said, 'This bed feels emptier. Where are the kids?"

Skip this post if my family scares you enough already

2006-10-19T06:54:00.000+02:00

Things I love about life here in Brussels

2006-08-31T04:39:00.000+02:00

Our washing machine instructions are in Dutch. When I want to do anything more complicated than Normal Wash, I am royally screwed.
Conor managed to change the language on the television. And disable the parent lock. And expose his brother and sister to the joys of 10am soft porn. (This is for everyone who didn't believe my son will be a hacker.)
The only apples that resemble apples at the supermarket taste like dirty sock.
I managed to lose one of Conor's socks somewhere between the metro stop by Declan's school at our front door.
Maternity pads are no longer on sale.
Declan and I went one metro stop too far and ended up in a neighborhood of church houses.
Michael and I needed 3 forms of identification to start up a membership at our video club.
At said video club, we borrowed Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast and Fear and Loathing. Guess which white-rabbit filled movie the kids were watching first thing on Saturday morning?
My complaint about that is that I wanted the kids to read the book before seeing the movie.
My new plug adaptor is Gods Miracle to the earth.
Declan has written his santa wish list already thanks to a brochure we got informing us how many shopping days it is until Christmas.
Don't get me started on the 'Public mentality.'

Goodbye Baby Girl

2006-08-28T02:48:00.000+02:00

Here I am sounding like medical personnel: Despite our best efforts to save our baby girl, we were unable. She died on the 13th August 2006 at 21 weeks, 4 days.

Eleonore Kathleen, known as Baby Katie, was born after a quick labor. We said our goodbyes, knowing she was far too young to survive. In the ambulance, the paramedics spoke of putting off labor, forcing her to wait, but she had already gone. Michael held her, and after he had wrapped her up and prayed, he handed her to me. I held her for four hours.

Somehow, I knew baby Katie was not going to make it. I grieved for Emmanuel after his death, and yet after Katie died, I felt I had already grieved for her. She was such an angel, so calm, still, perfect.

I was discharged from the hospital after 3 days. I saw a psychiatrist and various other psychologists and priests who offered support. I was always surrounded by family. My little boy Conor looked so grown up in his 6 month size suit when he came to visit. My daughter charmed the doctors with her new love of French (brought on we think by a friendship with a three year old Quebecoise named Manon). And not the rude sort either. She spoke of her dolls in Spanish, and switched to French to show the doctors her newest Californian-sent barbie. I had never been so proud of my little girl.

These past few weeks I had been so occupied by the pregnancy, so determined for a good result. Now I must move on, shower my three beautiful children with the love and attention they deserve. Our au pair is heading back to France and I will recommence at being a stay at home mom.

Thankyou to everyone who has emailed me with your love and support. It means a lot to Michael and I.

On having a holiday

2006-07-23T08:05:00.000+02:00

For the last 4 days, our eldest children have been on holiday with Michael's parents. When our cell rang with the call from Michael's dad, we half expected an emergency. "Is everything okay?" I asked, puffing as I had ran to grab the phone. "Everything's fine," said Michael's dad with his thick Parisian accent. "One second." The next thing I heard my son's voice. "Maman, we're having so much fun. I want to stay here!" "Me too!" my daughter added. "This is fun!"

Michael and I have been showing my mother and sister around Brussels. They have been the epitome of the bad American tourists. At one point, after my sister (who had never previously left the states) entered into a heated debate over a cup of coffee with a waiter, Michael and I agreed to ditch the family and do our own shopping.
"We'll meet you at the house," Michael whispered to my mother, "We have the phone!"
We had Conor strapped to Michael's back, and we walked through the streets holding hands, enjoying our first outing by ourselves (with the exception of our sleeping baby). When we were stopped at a traffic light, an older couple came up to us and smiled at Conor. "Congratulations on your baby. Being first time parents is so exciting!"
Michael opened his mouth to explain we had a five year old and a two year old, but stopped himself.
'Yes, yes it is exciting," he said. Then he pointed to my stomach, "And second time parents too."
The couple looked at Conor, looked at my stomach and chuckled nervously.
"You certainly work hard," the lady said. Michael and I laughed all the way back to the house.

On knowing nothing is certain

2006-07-18T01:37:00.000+02:00

Being parents, you always fear the worst. When my elder daughter was born, she was momentarily deprived of oxygen. In the thirty seconds it took to turn her from limp and lifeless to screaming and red-faced, many images popped into my mind. Not being able to crawl, walk, talk. Not making it to the toddler age. Even when she got walking and talking, and her elder brother was learning to read and write, we imagined disasters- a plane crash, leaving them alone for two seconds in the bath and a drowning. Choking on their baby mash. Michael and I have always been protective parents. Part of that has been our refusal to post our children's pictures on the internet. Michael wanted to abstain from posting names, but loosened up a little when Declan and Carmen (the unfortunate D&C we used to refer to them as) were not kidnapped as we walked through the Tokyo streets.
Conor's birth was smooth, and the knowing that our children were healthy and happy led Michael and I to trying straight away for our fourth. Michael's mother, who is very sick, gave us her blessing to see her last grandchild.
We had no reason to suspect that this pregnancy was anything but normal. Conor was still breastfeeding until recently. I was still functioning. Our scans had revealed two strong heartbeats. I knew I had been stressed with the Tokyo-LA LA-Brussels move, but things were finally calm. We have a house. Declan and Carmen have school. We have our wonderful au pair, who makes our life easier. Then, unexpectedly, I am lying in a hospital bed and my youngest son is gone.

We are mourning for Emmanuel Frédéric, who left us late morning on the 12th July.

My mother, Michael's mother and father, and my newly pregnant younger sister arrived yesterday. Their presence has greatly helped. My mother lay at my bedside, washing my face, saying these things happen. My sister, torn between her desire to visit Brussels and try out her 6th grade French, and her sisterly desire to stay by my bedside with glasses of water, hugged me and offered her love and support. Michael, still shocked, has taken 2 weeks off work. His parents are taking our eldest two children to Paris for a week. I never thought I would agree to letting my children leave, but realizing that nothing is certain, nothing can be controlled, let me agree. We would trust Michael's parents with our lives. They leave tomorrow.

Michael and I will give as much love and attention as we can to our younger son over the next few days. I am on bedrest until my next scan to take things easy.

We are almost certain we will call her Kathleen, or a variant of. This morning in bed, Michael suggested Cathaline, Katherine, and even Kathylynne to make me giggle. Our little Katie. I sit there, waiting for her to kick. Waiting for her to move and therefore move on with life without her brother.

I am grateful to you all- for all your emails and messages and love. I am blessed.

Goodbye Baby Boy

2006-07-16T09:32:00.000+02:00

One of our babies did not make it. Baby Boy G died measuring at 17 weeks gestation on 12th July at approximately 11:25am. We are thinking of naming him Emmanuel. Our other twin, gender unknown, is fine with a strong heartbeat. We do not know Baby #2s gender.
Ashley is in hospital with monitoring for Baby #2 and my parents are here to look after our other children. Ashley is quite exhausted. We will be doing everything we can for our other baby. I have taken 2 weeks off work to look after Ashley. Carl- I will ring you.

-Michael.

My son, the eater

2006-07-11T09:14:00.000+02:00

Conor weined himself Saturday. It was overdue. Michael came with me to buy the formula, and baby cereal and solids that he has now been approved to eat. We took him to the pediatrician yesterday, and she agreed it was my developing pregnancy that put Conor off breast-feeding. She said, he did it willingly. It was his choice. That is why I love my pediatrician. She always manages to make me feel better about the situation on hand. This afternoon he sat in his pillowed-up highchair and Michael fed him spoonfuls of cereal while I prepared the milk. Conor giggled and spat the cereal out over Michael's suit saying dad you think you get to look nice for work while mommy gets to wear all my old food? Think again!

When I can go shopping crazy

2006-07-05T02:10:00.000+02:00

We have a gender determining ultrasound on the 2nd August.

If we have twin boys, we are pretty much decided on Daniel Gerard and Gabriel Thomas. Since the beginning of the pregnancy, I have felt that the twins are boys. Michael tells me that feelings mean nothing. We will probably end up with twin daughters, octuplets, or a singleton.

Michael and I watched l'urgence last night. We put our eldest children to bed for school in the morning, and tucked Conor up between us to get his weekly dose of medical goodness. This time, we watched season 2. Conor gurgles and giggles when Jeannie comes on the screen. We have written it in Conor's book as his first crush.

My babies, the warriors

2006-07-03T03:37:00.000+02:00

No mother forgets the first time she feels baby kicks. With Declan, I was in a French class. I was sure that French was the first sound he heard when he gained awareness. With Carmen, I was lying in bed with Michael and Declan. Michael's hand was on my belly. With Conor, Michael was away on a business trip. I begun talking to my son in Spanish. Chico, chico, chico. With the twins, I was sitting Conor on the floor in his chair to entertain himself with kitchen pots while I made a cake. When I handed Conor the spatula, the babies began to flutter. I immediately ran to the phone and called Michael. He was in a meeting with several important people from Botswana. "Mikey," I said to his secretary, "THETWINSJUSTMOVEDANDIFELTITANDOHMYGOD." His secretary, who is used to my crazy, whispered, "Hold on a sec, Ashley." I could hear the sounds of her getting my husband's attention and whispering, "Some sort of new revelation with the babies." My husband's patient voice answered the phone, "What's happened, Ash?"
"They're there, Michael," I said, "They're really there."

We took Declan to the ER last week following what we thought was an asthma attack. He was sweating and could hardly breathe. Carmen came running to our room to inform us of this. "Deccie- sick," she had said. Michael phoned the ambulance and immediately I begun trying to calm my son down while thinking of the million things I would have to do- find socks and jackets for the other children and the keys to the apartment. My mind began answering questions I knew would be asked- any other medical problems, any other incidents of breathing, full name, age, height, developmental milestones. It was the first time.
"He's healthy," I told the paramedic. By this time, Declan was hiccuping and struggling for breath. He was put on oxygen and I followed him in the ambulance to the children's hospital. He was examined quickly. Michael and our younger children arrived soon after. At around 9am, a psychiatrist came to see us. He asked lots of questions about Declan and his personality. We answered honestly- he thinks a lot, he is very intelligent, he is the eldest child, he shows much compassion for his younger brother and sister. Yes, we have moved- many different countries. The psychiatrist explained that Declan has an anxiety disorder, probably caused by all the moves. He sees the psychologist next Monday at Fabiola Hospital.
Some options were presented to us- psychotherapy, medications. Michael explained it was a one off thing. Our son is otherwise healthy. This came as a shock. He asked if medication is necessary. Michael and I do not agree with medicating children unless absolutely necessary. The psychologist agreed we could trial psychotherapy. We have also installed a baby monitor in his room, beside his bed.
Michael and I have found it difficult to sleep soundly after that. We lie awake, wondering what is troubling our son. We wonder if he would be having these problems if we had stayed in one place. We talk to him, always ask him if he is okay. He is staunch and shrugs off our questions. Ca va maman! The psychiatrist said to ask his teachers how he is going. Michael and I made an appointment, all the while wondering if his teachers would talk of his nervous demeanour and diminishining progress. Instead, they said Declan is advancing. He has made many friends. Maybe Josef, Oceane and Braedin would want to come and play at our house?

There is so much to parenting. We always wonder if we could do more. We always wonder if we are involved enough with our children, if they know the extent of our love and care for them. Michael and I always agreed family was the number one thing, but had our moves and focus on new babies inadvertently neglected the other children? Michael took a day off and went to Carmen's playschool. Carmen showed Michael off to her teachers and friends. "Daddy's here to play with me!" Carmen announced proudly. There was a tone of surprise in her voice. The teacher reassured Michael. He said most fathers never come. Most fathers work fulltime.

Conor's milestones are rapidly increasing. He is able to hold toys, roll over both ways, giggle, attempt to copy our words, and is already exhibiting a preference for Michael and I over assorted relatives and friends. I signed us up for a Mommy-Baby dance group, which Kim and her daughter Olympia adore.

I will try and post more often. I have started translating 2 days a week. I have a contract with a local company until October when I can start maternity leave with the twins. I am 15 weeks along. The morning sickness has eased up and I am feeling more healthy and energetic. I am already piling the weight on. People are starting to ask me when I am due. I am enjoying this, my last pregnancy. It's almost 4am, I had better go to sleep. Chao.

Why I didn't take logistics at college

2006-06-19T12:31:00.000+02:00

Michael and I were lying in bed with the baby, discussing sundry things such as how Declan had made yet another hole in his jeans, the exact distance from our canope to the television, and my blog. Michael said, "I read your blog."
I shrugged, "That's expected." Michael looked a little embarrassed. "I felt like such a stalker. Reading Ashley's blog." I tickled him. Then he got a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know what?" Michael asked. I am always worried when he pauses. I expect the worse to come out his mouth, like "We're moving to Bahrain," or "Why is the baby taking so long?" Instead he said, "Your blog should be 6 cadeaux pour nous. With the twins and all."
"No," I said, "but the twins are one pregnancy. They're the twins."
"Oh god," Michael said, "I can imagine it now. French Man Kills American Wife For Dressing Their Twin Babies The Same."

Our au pair arrived. Every member of our family had opinions on The Nanny. No matter how many mothers, fathers and sisters I tried to convince that having an au pair a like a cultural exchange, the more responses of I told you should have had your tubes tied, I received. This was after an hour long phone call with my mom. She asked questions such as 'Is Declan reading at a 7 year old level yet,' 'How is Carmen's cooperative play' and 'Is The Badly Named One sleeping through the night.' She asked a little about our new house, including whether the neighbors have drug convictions (we are staying very quiet about the activities of the neighbors in the next building) and how quickly an ambulance can come. This is my mother who gave an ambulance a timed run before buying our family house in California.

I received a lovely baby congratulations post from the lovely ladies at my favourite boards on Babycenter. I try and stay away from internet forums. I have tried pregnancy weekly and BNW, only to be blown away by the astounding illiteracy displayed. After I browsed PW, Michael came home and I clung to him apologizing if I accidentally suggested adding extrenuous commas to our twins' names.
More on the topic I am a million times grateful for the awesome ladies at multilingual babies. Seems I have found my home away from home.

Why i'm on the next plane to America

2006-05-27T04:16:00.000+02:00

After my prenatal appointment and a bit of quick shopping with Conor, I pick Declan up from school.
We're on the metro- Conor doing his Flirty Face at the lady behind us and Carmen doing her ABCs- when Declan says, "Maman, how do you do sex?"
"How do you do it?"
The man behind us starts laughing so I quickly switch to Spanish.
"Yeah, maman. Oceane told me today that her parents do sex."
"Yes, and daddy and I do too. It's something that adults do when they love each other."
"With a penis?"
"Yes, with a penis. When you're an adult. Not when you're a child."
"And Uncle Benedict?"
"I don't know, Dec."
"And Auntie Annabelle?"
"I don't know, Dec."
"Why don't you know?"
"I haven't asked them lately, that's why."
"Maman, when Uncle Benedict comes for dinner, can I ask him why he and Auntie Annabelle don't know
if they're having sex?"
"Sure. But Mommy's going to leave the country first okay?"

My son, the party animal

2006-05-24T12:46:00.000+02:00

Life in Belgium is going. I'm on 3 hours sleep a night, waking up to Mr. I'm Three Months Old
Now I can Party at 3 am. We've learned to put on Radiohead, threaten to play That James Blunt
Song and let him sleep until 7. Almost can't believe that he is almost 3 1/2 months old. Already, he is
responding to everything- music, his big brother and sister, his grandparents. He adores going and seeing
our friends here in Belgium especially Lucille and Bernard whose daughter Noemie will be my
future daughter in law by the looks of it. We narrowly escaped a serious incident when Mr. Gummy put
raisins up his nose (and Noemies). All small objects are banned from the floor and accessible baby-surfaces.

Conor and I are spending afternoons together just the two of us with Declan at elementary school and Carmen at the local
garderie. For the last week, we have been spending the time wiring ourselves in red tape and teaching each other bad phone habits. I have taken to curling up with Conor besides the television, mindlessly listening to Anpanman in Japanese and hearing the sounds of the dishes not cleaning themselves. There's a part of me that wants this pregnancy to be over, to see the twins and begin the baby thing all over.

Carmen's teacher tells us she especially likes the Spanish children, but that we have to work
on her verbal communication in French and Dutch. Dutch? Michael went to pick her up and explained that
we are not interested in Dutch right now. He explained four languages is more than enough for our family
and we don't want our daughters head to spontaneously implode. The teacher suggested a French playgroup
which we will start Tuesday morning.

We move house on the 1st June and are looking forward to our large family-sized apartment, all ours. Michael
and I have spent our evenings discussing various orgasmic topics such as paint colour, position of canopies
and what household items will be accidentally dropped by the movers.

This will be my last blog until we're settled into the new house sometime in mid June.

For now, chao.

My son, the linguist

2006-05-12T01:54:00.000+02:00

Michael brought Declan home from school yesterday afternoon.
Declan came bouncing into the kitchen and said "Maman, papa taught me a new word. It's perceive."
"That's a great word. Did daddy show you how to use it?"
"I perceive... we perceivons..."
"No," I said, "We perceive. Nous percevons. percibimos."
You know what maman, my son said, I am really starting to hate this whole language thing.

Do you see what I see?

2006-05-10T12:09:00.000+02:00

So you're walking down the street and you see two people, and you think: that's nice.

Or you're lying at your first prenatal appointment in Brussels and the doctor whom you just spoken with about your choice of international school for your son turns to you and says 'I see two sacs.'

Michael and I had spent this morning while I ironed his shirt and prepared his sandwiches discussing how words can be life changing. I love you, I'm pregnant, there's been an accident. And, spoken on a slightly grey Brussels morning at barely 9am, I see two babies in there.

I had assured Michael I would be fine going to the baby doctor by myself. 'I've done it three times already,' I said to Michael, 'Il serve rien to take the morning off work to see me pee into a cup." But after the doctor showed me thetwo very distinctive young people hiding in my uterus, all I wanted was Michael there so I could squeeze his hand and and listen to his inappropriate jokes about gynecology exams.

I met Michael to tell him we were expecting twins directly after my appointment. I had spent the trip to his office thinking of clever ways to tell disclose that our life is going to become that little bit more crazy.
I ended up in his arms mumbling something about 'dos ninos.' After minutes of incomprehensible Spanish, I just resorted to saying 'two' and 'babies' over again in a mixture of languages.
'Well,' Michael said after a few minutes, 'Guess we'd better start teaching them to sing now.'

Fifteen minutes later, when steaming coffees have been brought into the room and Conor settled down into mid morning feed, Michael and I figured out who was responsible for bringing twins into our lives.
I assured Michael that although our family might be repopulating faster than Africa, we had no history of multiples.
At that point, Michael began to look very guilty. He kept his head down and after a minute of silence said, 'Guess we won't be speaking to my father for a bit, hein?'

My husband, the diplomat

2006-05-10T05:54:00.000+02:00

My mother left yesterday and Michael's parents left to explore the wonder that is Luxembourg. For the first time in what has seemed like years, our family had the entire apartment to ourselves. Michael and I decided to celebrate by watching more Johnny Depp films, 'Deliverance' and a couple of Francois Ozon films, after which I declared to Michael I felt extremely sane. This was only hours after Gilles had left his wife at the birth of their son and I had refused to let go of my husband until he assured me that he not only would not leave during the birth of our last baby, but that would never cheat, lie or wear a shirt tucked into his pants.
After the movies, I did Conor's 3am feeding and we lay watching the late news.
"What's happening?" I asked Michael, as Conor took great pleasure out of biting me.
"I don't know, something in other countries."
"What other countries?"
"I don't know. European ones."
"You mean the countries you work with? You know, in your job as a diplomat for foreign relations?"

Like the Family Von Trapp, only Mexican

2006-05-07T03:21:00.000+02:00

Our dream house turned out to be above a crack den, but it's in a street lined with trees, an
excellent garderie 3 houses down the street, a variety of restaurants below us and easy access
to the trams. We figure if our children become crack addicts, it'll be thanks to watching
too many Johnny Depp dvds and not the nice, quiet people living below us.
If we get through the bureaucracy, finding copies of every marriage certificate, bank statement,
passport, national document and doctors certificate Michael and I have ever accumulated, we
should be moved in to our house within 3 weeks. "More than enough time for you to have a
stress-free pregnancy," Michael said, as we stood in Centraal station and watched our
five year old son hop on the metro by himself, without help or hesitation.

When we'd come back to the apartment and let our 2 1/2 year old in the pots drawer to
"cook us dinner", we received a phone call from my sister, Sarita, who had enthusiastically
taken on the children during our sejour in Los Angeles.
"Guess what Ashley," Sarita said, the sounds of President Bush dancing to the Macarena
in the background, "Joshua and I are expecting."
"Guests?" I asked, my mind busily picking up that fact that Michael's workmates were stopping by.
"A baby. In December, like you."

In my family, things happen in groups. When I found out about this pregnancy, I immediately
wondered which one of my brothers or sisters were expecting their next child at the same
time. The answer came with my brother Javier Jose. The answer usually comes with him.
Javier and his wife Marisa have six children and seem to be trying to solely repopulate
Mexico. While Michael and I have adamantly agreed this pregnancy is our last, we think
Javier and Marisa are just warming up. Michael and I imagine turning on the television
set and seeing the latest Von Trapp Family, live from Mexico!
We've agreed to only watch the local channels from now on.

If the saga didn't get scarier, it was that my brother Lucien had rung three nights previously.
He had rung to see how the move was going, and quietly slip into the conversation that
his wife Sara may be pregnant. He whispered the words, as if that would make them less
real. Lucien is the brother the most removed from our family spirit. Before having his 8
month old daughter Lauren, Lucien and Sara moved to Minnesota, got married, found
a good church, and solidly repented for the life they had led in Los Angeles including
associating with the freer members of our family. Everything about their life was planned,
from Lauren's text-book birth, to her developmental milestones, to Sara's Plan to Get
Lauren into a Good School. Now, it seems, Sara and Lucien have taken the daring road into two children.
"Oh, you'll be in hell for two," I said to Lucien, "Did you know that theres a higher chance
of juvenile deliquancy amongst families with two children?"
I could almost feel Lucien's hand against his pounding heart.
"Especially in Minnesota."
There was a long pause.
"You're going to hell, Ashley," my brother said.

stupid crazy guy on my phone

2006-05-06T06:10:00.000+02:00

My brother phoned from Turkey.
"Hi, it's Turkey here. Can I speak with Belgium?"
Unfortunately for him, it was neither country who replied, but Michael's cousin Arnaud who had helped us set up house.
"Ashley, there's a crazy guy on your phone."
When I heard Carl's voice, I said "Oh, Arnaud, ca va. Carl's got New Fathers Syndrome."

Being that I am the member of the family who is in the closest timezone to my brother, I have fielded the Stressed Parent phone calls concerning Carl's 10 day old daughter Biyanka.
"That kid," Carl said, at 3am when I was watching a late night movie dubbed in Dutch, "Is just one crying, pooping, screaming monster. But doesn't she just make your heart skip a beat?"

We have been in Belgium for almost a week. With the force of my mom, Michael's parents, his cousin Arnaud and his wife and one of Michael's new co-workers, we managed to set up the house in less than 8 hours leaving the children and I to crash on a futon in a half-dressed state of disarray, but nevertheless on a bed, in a room with curtains, toys and clothes put in drawers. By the time we woke up, my mother had rushed into Emergency Mode and stocked the fridge, steralized the carpets, and hired men to set up a large television, stereo and computer.
During the week, we managed to put a family styled spin to the usual tourist trips around our new city, including the Emergency Time Trial to Nearest Hospital, Avoidance of Major Toy Stores and various important trips, including a new obgyn, a new pediatrician, and of course new schools. We think we've found the winner for Declan and he will start on Monday morning at his ecole primaire a school we chose for its international, multicultural characteristics.

When you move to a new country, you go completely into survival mode- the basic tasks of unpacking, sorting out and orientating naturally happen with such sanity that afterwards the body falls into a tired sort of shock. Yesterday morning, the children and I greeted our long lost Father and Husband back from Spain where he'd brought over the planes weight in Spanish food, books and toys. When I saw Michael, all the pregnant hormones i'd been harboring ran out and leapt all over my husband along with a stream of various sentences in various bits of languages muy t'aime honey. After we'd safely arrived back at the house, sugared the children up and handed them to their grandparents, Michael and I went for a walk around our new neighborhood where we kissed under streetlamps like dirty teenagers, spoke Spanish and found a Hotdog stand. We went to bed early, our romantic night cut short by the appearance of all 3 children in our bed.

6:30 in the morning and I am up feeding the baby, making breakfast and preparing to attend to my jet-lagged husband and early rising children. We are going to do some house shopping, hit some of Brussels tourist spots and buy Declan's uniform as well as taking a quick peak at the house we are thinking of buying.

I was thinking this morning of what it felt like to wake up with my family- Michael's hand on our new baby, his arm around our newborn son, our two eldest children kicking at the end of bed. Family is a beautiful thing. I am looking forward to being in the same place with my family where we can make friends, settle our children and start our new life.

The Long Road to a Name

2006-04-29T08:12:00.000+02:00

Michael and I each drew up a list of baby names we liked and sent them to each other by email.
We could be as "original" as we wanted, because the baby naming process isn't just the two of us.
The name has to be approved by a series of family members more harsh than US immigration.
Children's names in our family go through the 7 stages of editing. The names Michael and I
originally liked. The argument from my parents that they are difficult to say in Spanish.
The argument from Michael's mom that no Irish name has a Spanish middle name.
The arugment from Michael's dad that it's just not French enough.
Then there's the arguments from my siblings that its not trendy enough, it's not pretty enough,
it's not versatile enough in three languages.

The debarkle over Carmen's name left my mother and Michael not speaking for over a month.
We chose Carmen to honor my grandmother, Carmela. Michael would not settle for Carmela.
"She'll grow up to be a prostitute," he said.
"It's Spanish," my mom said.
"It's non negotiable," Michael added.

The war over Conor's name began long before his birth, back when we were contemplating Mathis for a boy. "Simply awful," my sister said. "Why do you need the H? What about Matis?"
My sister Sarita sent an email which suggested "Mathys."
Embarrassed to be related to someone who would add 'y's gratuitiously to a name, I feared for her future children.

We decided on Conor Takao days before his birth, and quickly added Thierry to hush Michael's dad who
threatened to fly to Japan and name him himself. That night, I had dreams of Michael's dad storming in to the hospital room and naming him Jean-Frederic-Marie, imposing some sort law of French nationality and paternal choice.
I woke Michael up and said, "Thierry. Let's just add it in. Noone said babies can't have 3 prenoms."

We've started early this time. Barely 6 weeks into the pregnancy and we can see the signs marking
the future name war.
"I'm liking Baby G," I said, "It's street wise."
"It's a watch," Michael said.

In saying that, I present to you Michaels and my first five choices for both sexes, none of which i'm sure will make it to the finals of this gruelling competition.

Michael
Imogen Hugo
Clare Nathan
Nathalie Nicolas
Perrine Samuel
Annabelle Mattheo

Ashley
Aurelie Alexander
Mathilde Daniel
Taylor Joseph
Anais Aidan
Sophie Emmanuel

The Day of The Red Tape

2006-04-29T05:17:00.000+02:00

The Monsieur at the French embassy took one look at Conor's passport and said he has never seen
a more well-travelled 2 month old. The picture, taken when the umbilical chord was barely cut, shows a baby in the middle of a large outburst of tears. It is a photo of such character that I will always savor to blackmail my son in the future. This is on top of the "dress up" photos in his baby album. Friends and family (who we dearly love, of course) had sent a number of atrocious items that could only be filed under Baby Abuse.
There was a zebra, a clown, a male ballet dancer, what could only be described as a pimp costume, and what looked like a giant banana condom. We took great pleasure in dressing Conor up in these outfits, taking photos in all sorts of poses and sending the photos out. We took his passport photo in the clown. A tantrum clown baby. We can only hope he has a sense of humor about this when he is showing the pictures to his shrink.

The gynacologist took a look at me and said I was healthy and well enough to travel. The dating ultrasound was done, showing an expected due date of the 20th December 2006, comme pense.
I phoned Michael to say we have a well developing fetus.
Michael put the phone on speaker phone and I could hear his whispers around his office.
Did you hear that everyone? My fetus is well developing!

The routine blood tests, conducted in such a manner to make you want to endlessly pee in the cup, were normal.
No reason to be particularly careful, the doctor said. She paused. Doctors don't recommend as much stress as you are under, she said.
She took a look at me, baby in the sling kicking his brother or sister, customs documents and applications for schools and houses and permission to step off a plane spilling out my ears, two older children building a fort out of building blocks in the corner of the exam room and said, but looks like you're coping.
I assured the doctor, a French doctor born in Mexico City who I picked for that reason, that yes, I am always
busy, but yes I always cope. I worked on film sets for my first jobs. I am used to stress.
I have three children. This move is no problemo. Pas de problem.
Nothing, really.

Our less urgent things have left for Belgium. Less urgent meaning the posssesions we brought to America, "every occassion clothes" and photo albums.
The majority of the children's toys and clothes that had been shipped to Colombia have been given to charity. We decided there was nothing worth spending half a year's income
to ship to Belgium. We don't have furniture. It's something i'm looking forward to buying when we get a house. Something that will finally be just ours.

The next time I post, I will be in Brussels, in a new "family sized" apartment on the outskirts on the centre
of town. So for now- au revoir.

Driving Him to Drink

2006-04-26T09:48:00.000+02:00

When I told Michael we were having our first child, he was overjoyed. Within two days, we had been
to every baby store in Boston and brought overpriced clothes and large zebras.
When I told Michael we were having our second, he brought a bottle of wine and he drunk a little
bit with some of his friends.
When I told Michael we were having our third, he brought a bottle and sculled half of it. This was a day
when Declan had tipped paint into his work shoes and Carmen had systematically ripped the covers
off all his business manuels and peed on the floor, all in the space of six minutes.
Are you sure? He asked, I mean, we already have two of them.
It was Michael who suggested we have our fourth. We knew we'd have a fourth eventually, and Michael
couldn't entertain the thought of a new baby arriving without his mother knowing. Michael's mother,
who is very sick, is the reason we so hastily become pregnant with our fourth.
I stood in the bathroom with the stick and when I saw the familiar positive, I yelled for Michael.
"It's a baby!" I yelled.
There was a pause.
"How much does it cost to buy out a winery these days?"

Heart Attack on a Stick

2006-04-26T09:42:00.000+02:00

Staying in America has meant my children have now been introduced to 3 types of food:
Heart Attack in a Packet
Heart Attack on a Stick
Heart Attack on a Crust

After living in France and Japan for so long, we have been accustomed to beans and rice, when
mixed with pork makes a staple diet. We never intended to be stereotypical health conscious parents, but the disturbing obesity rate amongst our peers children has meant we have put the children's diet under a microscope.

Since coming to America, our children's "Food vocabularly" has increased considerably.

We went to the supermarket on our "French day". Everything in French Day has to be said in French. The only exceptions are speaking with English/Spanish speakers or asking how to say something.
While searching for the furniture polish, I let Declan and Carmen stand at the end of the aisle with their Auntie Sarita, examining the candy.

5 minutes later, Declan comes up to me and asks, "Maman, whats the word in French for double caramel cookie dough ice cream with fries?"
"Heart attack," I said.

Introducing to you, our baby Franglish

2006-04-25T06:40:00.000+02:00

Michael rang to talk about Brussels and it wasn't long before we moved on to Cacaheute (our nickname for the 4th baby).
Michael suggested Charles for a baby boy and I immediately dismissed it. "Too royal," I said.
"Arturo?" I asked.
"Javier?" I asked.
"What about Franglish?" Michael asked, "It's cute, it's original, it's multilingual."
"It's unisex," I added.

Given the time it took us to pick the other children's names, Franglish might be our best bet.

My son, the hacker

2006-04-25T06:29:00.000+02:00

I spent a half hour last night trying to figure out why the internet was frozen. I asked Conor a series of technical questions and he just stared up at me with a look to say maman you talk far too much. Then he reached down to the keyboard and started bashing. Low and behold, the computer began working. I sent Michael an email suggesting our son will be a computer technician.
Hacker more like it, Michael said.

I always wonder where I went so wrong in breast-feeding Conor. Declan and Carmen were such champion nursers that they spent all their time up to 16 months staring my breasts as if they contained all of lifes answers. Conor stares them and thinks great, she's going to make me suck those again isn't she.
Our lactation specialist here in LA thinks that our problems began with the stress of moving and my pregnancy so close after Conor's birth. She observed us trying to feed and explained that its the same the 17 times I try per day. He sucks, 3 minutes after, he looks up and says oh, there's the ceiling! and immediately stops. I've started pumping and now our entire extended family have tried with the nipple bottle to get Conor to suck like a boy his age should. He starts to suck, then looks at the perpetrator and says don't think you've fooled me folks.
Sarita thinks some of it is his personality. He's so quick, so active, so alert for his age. We've decided Declan will be the diplomat, Carmen the doctor and Conor the football player.
Declan and his playmate Billy were kicking a ball around and Conor so desperately wanted to join in. His legs started kicking, his arms started waving and when he realized that he couldn't get across the grass by himself, he started crying pitiously. My poor little man.

Permanent Baby Brain

2006-04-24T13:03:00.000+02:00

Declan: "Maman where did Conor come from?"
I said, "My tummy."
"How did he get there?"
"He grew. From a tiny seed into a big baby."
"How did he grow?"
"He feed off what I ate. Babies need food just like us."
"Did he like pizza?"
"I don't know. You'd have to ask him that."
"Don't be silly, maman. Babies can't talk. You have a baby brain again."

2006-04-23T10:05:00.000+02:00

The Husband rings at 5:30 am 5 mornings ago. My eyes are filled with a sort of crust that indicates non-productive sleep. The 2 month old is half latched to me, half naked. The 2 year old is sleeping at our feet under an Anpanman blanket with a sombrero on her head, cherry pajamas inside out and both legs in one leg hole. The 5 year old is curled up on the floor wearing a pajama top and boots. The remains of our 'family night of fun.'
The Husband chooses that moment to tell me we're going to Brussels to live.
"Brussels. The land of chocolate. Five years."
"Chocolat? Cinq quoi?"
He switches to Spanish.
"Cinco."
"What?"
"We're moving."
"To Bogota. 5th May."
"Not anymore. We're going to Bruxelles. I have the job at the EU."
And that's how I found out my dreams of the Spanish city life were ruined by a reality of central European life.
"So we're moving back across the world?"
His answer "We're world champions at moving Ash. We just sort of say the word and things jump into boxes."

How our family doesn't own an airline by now, I don't know.

2006-04-23T09:19:00.000+02:00

first post ever here.