Ode to Croissants

Beaming crispy crescents

lying in a pile,

Hard resisting something

that looks like a smile )

The flaky bakey loveliness

sets many tums aflutter,

Possibly because they're made

with half a ton of butter.

Try not to look, to catch a smile

and focus on the bread,

But it's no use, I leave the shop

with five croissants instead.

(no prizes for guessing where we are at the moment…enjoying some sunshine and frequent visits to the Boulangerie :)

Jumping back in

We got back from our travels a few days ago now, and went head first into a whirl of getting ready for school. New schools too for all of them, so even more stuff to sort out. I should really be sewing on name tapes instead of blogging, but hey...

I had a picture in my head of how the summer was going to pan out, which was obviously daft - things rarely go the way you think, do they. And there were indeed a few unexpected twists and turns:  some good, some decidedly not so good.

The first was a grim little detour to the land of pain, when I did something agony to my shoulder. There is no great story attached to this injury; no tale of daring do, no sporting heroics, not even an over-energetic frisbee throw....
I was sewing. Yep, sewing. And when I finished sewing I couldn't move my right arm without screaming.
It all happened so quickly, SO out of the blue - and it completely stopped me in my tracks.
Not great when you're in France on your own with the kids.
There were some painkillers, which took the edge off the agony, but they soon ran out and I spent one long, uncomfortable night on the sofa, watching the West Wing and talking to the cat.

Straight to the doctor the next day, who prescribed a cocktail of pills and, thankfully, they seemed to do the trick. So apart from a bit of one-handed driving, I did nothing for a week: the kids lived on bread and we watched a lot of DVDs....including all 7 series of 'Sorry' - the 80's sitcom with Ronnie Corbett (lives at home with his overbearing mother) Anyone remember it? The eldest loved it for some reason, but not quite as much as his 'Legends of Tennis' DVD which he watched at least 23 times.

Weirdly there were a few good things that came from the shoulder injury: I got back into reading, about the only thing I could do. I'd sort of got out of the habit, and had forgotten how much I missed a good book.
It's also the only time I've ever gone to France and lost weight.

The next casualty of the holidays was my camera - dropped on a hard, cold tiled floor by the second born. I very nearly almost cried; not because it was expensive or particularly brilliant, but because we've been through a lot, that little camera and me. I'm rather attached to it in a sentimental kind of way. It isn't completely and utterly bust, but landed on the zoom lens; so sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Time I think to look for a new one. I still managed to take a few photos, and this is probably my favourite - taken at the Dune du Pilat near Bordeaux, which is definitely worth a visit if you're ever in the area.

The shoulder injury put paid to my ambitious Jumble Betty toy production plans too. I had hoped to build up a decent stock. But, if I'm honest, it wasn't just the shoulder - I simply ran out of steam.
Still, having no internet for ages probably helped boost bunnies etc, and I managed this lot. Quite a few of them aren't finished though.

I did however finish knitting the Tintin jumper for my 8 year old. The one I started when he was 6. I'm not going to do the big reveal yet as it needs to be sewn up. And I'm not feeling too optimistic, because all the kids have grown like weeds this summer. I know I'll have a job on my hands to get the youngest to wear it. She's not into Tintin... or jumpers.

I've more summer shenanigans to write about if you can bear it, but will leave that for a quiet moment when the kids are back at school, and the name tape mountain has shrunk to a gentle mound.

Day 290 - Dune du Pilat

We've just been on a day trip to the beach not far from Bordeaux: our last outing before heading back home. It was a perfect day - action-packed, sun and fun-filled, with a liberal sprinkling of sand. 

First stop was the Dune du Pilat, which is definitely worth a visit. We went last year - I wasn't blogging then, but enjoyed it so much I wrote this short piece... 

We park under the pine trees, step out into the heat and breathe in that unmistakeable smell of the sea. Everyone's irritable after the slow journey.  It seems the world and his wife had the same idea as us.

Our little family troop joins a growing mass of sightseers winding their way up a tree lined path; picking up speed past the stalls and cafes in the hope of avoiding the all too familiar call for ice cream.  Then the pine trees part and we get our first proper look at this extraordinary, towering mountain of sand, rising up from the forest floor.  The Dune du Pilat, takes me by surprise - it is somehow gloriously unexpected eventhough I've read the guide. I know it's the largest sand dune in Europe. It stops me in my tracks. Just for a moment.

The children start running - the fine, warm sand is like a magnet and soon they're scrabbling up the side.  I take the easier route, joining the slow procession moving up the steps.  It is quite a climb but the steps are wide and the pace is gentle. 

At the top my feet sink in and I wait for the others: they soon arrive, out of breath.  Then another short walk up through the treacley sand to reach the highest point. 

And what a view. Stunning which ever way you look. 

In front, the deep blue of the Atlantic ocean and the Cap Ferret peninsula at the tip of Archachon Bay.  Behind a dense forest of pine trees stretching as far as the eye can see. 

We sit down to take it in.  It's high season and we're surrounded by a constant hum - but it doesn't matter, it is still magical. 

A  trail of people walk on along the top of the dune.  The children aren't so keen to follow after their climb, so we watch a paraglider trying to launch off the sandy slope until the youngest lets us know it's time to go back. 

We race down the side, jumping high into the air.  Ten seconds of pure, exhilerating fun.  The memory of being stuck in hot holiday traffic fading with each thrilling leap.

Day 284 - Time Out

It's good to be a spectator for a bit,

to slip off to the sidelines

and watch the kids enjoy

time with their dad.

And I like this watching;

not being on watch.

Now I can stop 

anytime

Switch off,

off duty.

I'm going to make
the most of it;

of being the support act.

And when they forget,

my 3 favourite little words

at the moment?

'Ask your dad.'

Silent Sunday - 5/8/12