A little bit of a round-up

It has been a couple of weeks since I posted, but it feels like longer.
Lots of things have happened, some big, some small and some in the middle.

Baby C, who is a week shy of 6 months has started on solids. I am going with baby-led weaning,where you don't puree stuff you just give the baby holdable pieces of food and she tries to eat them. Mostly she smooshes them around her face, but on nappy-evidence I can tell you that some is going in.
At the moment her menu consists of toast, banana, carrot and courgette. Exciting times.

My nana died, she was 94 and it seems it was her time and she was ready. Baby C and I are off to England to say goodbye.

I have started to get my arse into gear with my elance account and post job proposals and I think I have secured my first paying writing job. Do a little dance. It isn't much but it is a start.

Mr. C and I had a humungous row. Not something to be proud of, but we did have a very good heart-to-heart afterwards so while there are worries we are trying to address them. (For my mum - don't worry it isn't that bad - just the stresses of life building up)

I have found a fellow blogger in our town. Or more to the point she has found me. Her name is Emily, she is Canadian and her blog is here. She is much better with the photos than I am so you can go and see where we live on her blog.

I think that's about it for the time being. There is probably more to say but I can't think of it right now.

Welcome to France - land of strikes, subsidies and suppositries

I've been living in France for a couple of months now and thought it was about time I shared my observations with you. So what do we know about France?

It is a land where men wear manbags with no discernable sense of irony. It isn't fashion it is simply a large pocket on a strap to store all your stuff in.

Where the local pizza chain use goats' cheese on a four cheeses pizza. Which if you ask me is wrong, wrong, wrongity wrong. Why would I want my pizza to smell of old feet? There should be lovely melty blue cheese on it.

When the doctor gives you a prescription for baby paracetemol don't expect to pop to Boots and pick up a bottle of Calpol. Nope that would be a prescription for baby paracetemol via a suppository. I got Mr. C to take care of that end of things as it were.

Buses - they're free.

French lessons - they're free.

Plastic bags - no thanks. Please fill up my artisan-woven-basket-bag bag.

Supermarkets at the cost of the local economy - no thanks, we would still like some supermarkets but we will still be shopping at our weekly market if it is all the same with you. Filling up our artisan-woven-basket-bags with artisan crafted bread, cheese and charcuterie.

And of course if you don't like it you can always go on strike as a million or so workers did at the beginning of the month. The thing about the French strikes is that everyone seems to get in on the act. I’m all for unions and the rights of the workers so it seems very civilised that all those with a grievance strike at the same time, I am sure it makes the message so much more powerful. I do however have one curiosity. Students. Students striking. Now correct me if I’m wrong and things have changed since I was at university but being a student isn’t working. You may or may not work at your studies but you aren’t a paid up member of the workforce. So I am not very clear on how not going to class has an effect. Or perhaps I am misunderstanding and they are protesting rather than striking.

What I really want it know is when stay-at-home-mums and our babies can strike, and how would we strike? Perhaps by laying down dirty nappies outside government buildings? Or perhaps loading up water-pistols with breast-milk and firing them at the riot police, well it would make a change from eggs.

Such is life in France.

It worked!

I just logged in to check the blog this morning and it looks like my cunning plan for more appropriate adsense ads is working.
Today the ad was

"Defend Women's Rights - Study Gender & Law at American Univ. Law School in Washington, DC"

That's more like it isn't it.

Apologies to Sonjea who missed out on the mail order bride ads, though you could probably make up your own. More apologies to Sonjea for not hanging out on her blog enough. I'm trying not to eat too many biscuits and all her talk of scones and cooking makes me hungry.

Three beautiful things - reprise

For those of you not in the know the 3BT blog is lovely. Clare shares three things that cheered her day. Inspired by Clare I tried my hand at logging three cheerful things everyday but didn't get very far. I could find them but I couldn't always blog them. Fortunately blogger now allows you to import posts form other blogs, so you can see my musings here.

So for today here are my 3BTs - all thanks to Mr. C today.
Lie in, magic hands, breakfast in bed.

1. Baby C woke up at 6 am and didn't go back to sleep after her feed. Mr. C, with minimal prompting and no audible complaining, got Baby C up and took her downstairs allowing me an extra couple of hours sleep.
2. Mr. C then brought the baby back for her next feed and then took her away and soothed her for her first nap of the day. He does indeed have Magic-Daddy-Hands.
3. Then Mr. C brought me breakfast in bed.

How lucky am I? Mind you he very nearly blew it all when he handed me the baby mid morning and in a martyrd voice said; "I've been looking after her for half an hour!"
Although there were many responses running through my head I managed to keep them all in there. I think I will file them under;
"Yes dear, such is life with a baby" cross referenced with "hmmmm"

Oh but the has just redeemed himself by offering to go for pizza and knowing that I would want a four cheeses. So that is possibly four beautiful things and four more on top.