The two older girls have been in the states for two full weeks now, on their own with Grandma and then Grandpa and Nanny.  It's been an up an down visit for all of us.  I knew, upon making the plans for their first solo visit, that it would be hardest on Auriane who is not yet four.  She is the most attached to the French side of her family and, being the second child born shortly after the first began school, has not spent much time in the states even with me.  Her spoken English is almost non existent but our hope was that by being forced to make the effort to speak English, that is would improve.  My fear was that she would feel lost and homesick aided by an inability to communicate. 

Shortly after I left them two weeks ago the weather turned poor;  chilly and rainy.   Thus Grandma's plan to take them to the pool on a daily basis were underwater.  By Friday, Auriane was crying that she wanted me to "viens me chercher maintenant" come get me now.  And even putting her off by saying that I have to take two airplanes, and a train before I get there wasn't calming her.  Her lack of a sense of time didn't help.  It only went downhill from there culminating by a 4 am phone call (I was on the 4 am side) to inform me that Auriane had a temperature of 101° and had vomited at the 4th of July church party mom had taken them to.  She had already begun coughing before I left so I knew she was beginning a cold.  But the vomiting and fever gave me a pause, and a sleepless night.  The last  time we visited Auriane had the same symptoms which turned out the be pneumonia (and a heft hospital bill thanks to no insurance in the states).  

Mom wanted to know if she should give her some fever medecine?  "Yes," I said.  Take her to the emergency room at 10 pm?   "No," I said.  Wait until morning then call the doctor.  We're lucky to have an excellent friend who's a pediatrician and willing to help at all hours.  However, he lives over an hour away and mom is never up for long car treks with the kids.  She did give him a call.  I'm not sure she got much sleep either since my second call from her came around 8 am, 2 am her time, to inform that Auriane's fever had broke. 

The next day she called the local pediatrician who told her it was unnecessary to come in since its probably just a cold and not to give her any more Tylenol unless the fever raises to over 101° again.  Three days later, Auriane still has a low fever, is not herself and crying every time the phone rings if its not me on the other end.  When I did call, she wouldn't let anyone else talk to me which got Olivia crying.  When mom forced the phone from her to give it to Olivia, Auriane's hurling in the background made it almost impossible to hear Olivia. 

Finally mom took her to the pediatrician who discovered an ear infection.  But by this time Grandma had a bad cold and her energy for activities was gone.  Auriane, thanks to an antibiotic, is feeling better.  For three days now, the girls are with Grandpa and Nanny who fill everyday with activities so that when i called yesterday and today, Auriane didn't even want to talk to me for more than 3 minutes.  That makes me happy. 

My respect for Nini has grown.  She voluntarily gave up her bedroom for a musician. 

Yesterday a family called to see if we had four rooms available for five nights beginning today.  I said yes and then went on to explain the rooms;  two with double beds, one with two twin beds and one with a double but no private bathroom.  I don't like renting this room unless its for a family and they can share another bathroom.  For the past two nights we've had a musician staying in it and using Nini's bathroom. 

The family reserved for the first two nights and then showed up on short notice to look at the rooms.  I could tell right away they wouldn't be pleased.  The women, actually compared to the men, were rather drab.  They just had on shorts and blouses.  The men had on ironed jeans and chinos (they had the fold down the middle), polo shirts with the back of the collar turned up and the two corners turned down and every single male in the family was wearing loafers.  They loved the exterior but were disappointed with the rooms.  I wanted to say, "If you were expecting a five star chateau you shouldn't have chosen to vacation in the Ardeche."  The Ardeche is the poorest, most rural part of France.  Our houses are called Mas which, as Fancy Nancy would say, is a fancy word for farm house.

I am aware that the rooms need some changes.  I hate the carpeting but its clean.  The bathrooms are not bad but small since they were put into old walk in closets.  The bed coverings are Nini's choice and are mostly large handmade lacy doilies (must see).  But what we lack in décor, we make up for in hospitality.  So this bourgeois family gathered in the front garden to discuss.  I offered them a glass of wine which they declined (obviously they were already leaning toward no.) while they argued.  So, when the woman who originally reserved came back and said they were in disagreement and were sorry but canceling, I wasn't much surprised.  The Raphael came along and said he understands large families (They were actually two families and the grandma.) and they're welcome if they change their mind and we still have space. That made me mad because it makes us sound desperate - for money maybe (or maybe just for our own house thus the need for money) but not for guests.  We would have filled the place last night or this morning.  It's a holiday weekend.  Five minutes later, they came back and said they changed their minds again and now wanted the rooms.  I wanted to tell them no.  But four rooms, five nights, no sheet changes, no bathrooms to clean.  I said okay but I'm not sure I have the ability to be as hospitable as usual.

In the mean time, we discovered the musician, who's occupying grandma's room, was planning on staying another night.  But Nini, always looking to cut back on the work and realizing the above, said we'd put the musician in her room for the last night (he's been using her bathroom anyway) and grandma can have the room for the five nights.

Now really, who goes on vacation with children in the south of France to spend more than just sleeping time in the bedroom.  Wait until they find out I showed them the best rooms.  Grandma's room and the blue room were occupied and so I couldn't show them.  They share the worst bathroom in the house.  Should I tell them the kitchen where they plan to cook their children's meals was once the home of goats?  And the public toilet stall housed chickens? 

Fancy Nancy would love our rooms, by the way.

The second thing that happened last weekend (we'll get to this weekend's events next weekend because that's about how much time I have right now) was that I got relocated from my job as a marketing adviser at the crocodile farm.  Now there's an interesting sentence.  Yes, this summer I got a job; my first in France outside of the winery and the b and b;  And, I forgot, giving guided tours in English of the medieval town of Viviers.  Now, it's not as bad as it sounds.  I wasn't fired but replaced and relocated back to my original position.  This marketing thing was supposed to be temporary anyway.  I just thought it would last more than two days.   This is what I was doing as a "marketing adviser";  I was stationed in local towns and villages handing out coupons to tourists and locals for La Ferme Au Crocodiles. 

It was a two week deal and I was told that I would be delivering posters and brochures to tourist offices and camp sites.  Hélas, non.  But I agreed to do the street marketing anyway.  The only problem, I hate being approached by people in the street even if it is for something free, so approaching people, "Voici, a coupon for a free entrance for kids with one adult purchase,", did not come easy.  The only good thing about this job was that I had weekends and July 14, the French Independence Day, off.    I felt like an 21 year old, not a bad thing, doing a summer job.  Not that my present position is much better.

I am still working at the crocodile farm, in my original position, at the snack bar.  Yes, it's a job I could have done in college.  I kind of fell into in.  Surprisingly, LA ferme Au Crocodiles is the most visited attraction in the Rhone Valley.  A friend of mine is the manager and he told me that they had lost their native English speaker this spring and were desperate for someone.  As if I don't have enough to do, I agreed to a part time position handing our drinks and french fries to tourists five hours a day five days a week, including most weekends and holidays.  (I worked today and I work on the 14th.) 

I was supposed to start this week.  And then the marketing team decided to try a new 'get people to come' program involving street marketing and they asked me to do it.  That is until they found out I sucked at it at which point I was returned to the bar, a fitting place for me, and replaced by a younger, 20 something girl with lots of bounce.  I am very happy with their decision.  I just keep in mind, it's all for a house.

This past weekend was full of events.  First, we, that is Raphael and I and the girls, officially relocated from our bedrooms for what is becoming our annual summer bedroom round robin.  This is the week that the Cordes En Balade begin and we have annual reservations for all five of our bedrooms.  This includes the rooms the girls and Raphael and I have been using since last fall.  For those of you who've been following This Provençal Life since this time last year, you'll know that last summer we spent our nights sleeping in whatever bedroomwas not rented and when they all were rented, in the wine cellar or on a futon couch in Nini's living room.  The girls had a permanent set up with their bunk beds in the corner of Nini's living room nextto the futon.  And Angeline, at under a year, followed us around in the travel bed.  It was unstable for the children, irritating for Niniand a nomadic life for us.  And yes, we've begun it again.  But so far we don't know where the girls will sleep.  They are currently in the states with my parents and despite the fact that they return early next week, we haven't given much thought as to where to put them.

Our plan, well we have two actually, is to move all of us into Raphael's office.  Remember the sweat box in the highest portion of the house?  All five of us!  Our second idea is to buy a double tent and install it permanently for two months on a portion of the Domaine that is shrouded by trees and camp for the summer.  This might not be a bad idea actually.  I'm already reduced to sharing a bathroom with Nini for the next two months.   And while I use her bathroom, I don't install my stuff.  I store my toiletries in a travel bag in the laundry room.  And the girls will love sleeping in a tent every night.  I insist on an air mattress, a fluffy pillow and proper sheets though.   

The guests for our room, bringing the total to five rented bedrooms, that is, all of the bedrooms in the house except Nini's, weren't supposed to arrive until tonight.  Or so we thought.  At 9:30 last night Raphael came rushing into our living room (our bedroom is off of it) where Iwas busy organizing personal papers in order to relocate them to Raph's office today, and announced that they were on their way and would be here in under an hour.  Now, besides the  fact that Angeline (no she wasn't in bed yet but I was working on it) had just emptied a box of Olivia's Polly Pocket toys on the living room floor to join her puzzles, my major concern was our bedroom.  And more precisely, our bathroom.  I had planned the major cleaning project for this morning.  I had already relocated our clothes to the cave next to the laundry room that afternoon and removed all the personal photos and other odds and ends that accumulate in abedroom with three children around.  But the state of the floor was a concern and the bathroom was just scary.  Not only that, after a small water leak a few months ago, a portion of the wall outside of the bathroom had accumulated a nice green coating of mold.  I know, it makes you want to stop by for a visit.  My plan for today was to deal with all of this including a fresh coat of paint on the one wall.  Could we be any more last minute?  It's hard to get motivated to move out of your own bedroom when you don't know what to do with nine months worth of accumulated stuff.  

While Raphael literally threw everything;  toys, my shoes, toiletries, various pieces of junk, into the cave, I frantically scrubbed water stains off the shower walls and hurridly stripped and remade the bed.  Okay, the bathroom took so long that that's all I had time for.  Raphael vacuumed, poorly and missing cobwebs which I removed while he was plying the guests with charm and wine in the caveau.  He even, miraculously, removed the mold from the wall.  The results were...acceptable.  And all this for one night.  Yep, that's all they're here for.  In fact, as I write this I hear them packing their car to head off the their concert and then home.  Oh, now that were out, were staying out for the rest of the summer.  Our room is now back to being the yellow room at the bed and breakfast.  And guess what I'll be doing today?  A second thorough scrubbing of the bathroom and bedroom to reach a level beyond acceptable as well as painting the wall where the mold was. 

Tomorrow I'll tell you about my other even of last weekend. 

And later....

After being summoned by Raphael, we discovered that the guest left their stuff in the rooms.  I decided to clean around the suitcases in preparation for guests tonight and then i got to the room where the only female is staying.  Upon seeing her clothes nicely hanging, I thought, they may be coming back before their concert to rest and take a shower.  So much for the major cleaning.  It'll have to wait until this evening.

Our well has dried up.  Not the well that supplies water to our house.  That well is filled by a Roman source the flows from deep in the ground and that source has never, in Raphael's lifetime, dried up.  This is the well that supplies water to our garden.  Yes, this year we planted a vegetable (and some rather wimpy cantaloupe and a few better looking watermelon) garden.  It's about a third of a football field in size and requires as much work and upkeep as a small child.  And it is Raphael's baby at the moment.  He wakes at 6am or earlier (even on the weekends) to water it and work it.  And he makes plans for its future.  We share it with some friends and so they do half the work but Raphael can never let the farmer in himself rest and so usually joins the friends to 'help'. 

I picked the first of their labors yesterday.  I actually love having a garden and wouldn't mind doing more of the work but it's not near the house and the few times we brought the girls along we ended up with smashed plants and gifts of green tomatoes.  So, I'm the designated babysitter.  Even when we do take the girls, I have to follow them around and find projects to keep them busy and off the plants.  They get to help with the watering.  Armed with their little yellow watering cans they water thenearest plants over and over again.  Until they get bored and begin watering each other.  Angeline doesn't like getting dirty and it's not long before her shoes are caked in mud and she's fussing out in the middle of a row of eggplant for me to come haul her out, rince her off and plop her near the hose to survey the watering can fill up.  We don't, as yet, have a sprinkler system.  Raphael rigged a series of hoses from the well, which is equipped with an electric pump, to the edge of the garden.  The hoses don't reach much beyond the edge so we are required to water each plant with a can.  The entire garden takes and hour and a half to water, and the potatoes, which we have the most of, never need to be watered.

As our well is currently empty, this morning Raphael met our partners at the garden at 6 with a tractor holding a large tub of water for the day's watering.  Although as I write, thunder is circulating outside the window and if we're lucky, this evening will bring a nice downpour to fill the well and Raphael's on the phone with our friends insisting that they shouldn't have gotten up at 6 to water.  He, a peasent farmer, knew it was going to rain. 

But I love eating the results.  Today we had sauteed yellow and green zucchini so tender it melted in the mouth and the cherry tomatoes never even make it out of the garden.  We all snack on them as we go.  There are some pear trees, a plum tree and a wild cherry tree on the field and the girls pick fruit randomly to munch on.  Not to forget the token grape vine of which we'll be kind enough to let our friends reap all the fruit. 

I've grown accustomed to sitting around and sweating.  Despite the abnormally cold summers of the past two years, we still manage to have one or two weeks of sweltering heat.  Each time I enter the house, I thank God for these old stone gems that stay cool even after 5 day's of upper 90's temperatures.  Then I proceed up the steps to my living room and with each step I feel the temperature rising and I know why people keep the shutters closed during hot summer days.  According to this family, that's my problem, I want to see day when it's day.  In summer, shutters's are to be closed during the day and opened at night to let in the 'cool' air.  I've not yet been able to adjust.

Our house is built  on a stone slope.  My in-laws portion is on the bottom floor of the lowest part.  The rear is actually partially underground and lined by wine tanks.  Raphael's office is on the level with the attic on the upper most portion of the slope making it the hottest room in the house.  My living room and bedroom are in the middle.   As I type (the computer is in the office), I can feel little beads of sweat pool under my shirt.  Gone are the days of hating to sweat, in the south of France, you adjust your thinking.  Almost no one has air conditioning, not even those one room box air conditioners that popped up all over western PA in the 80's.  In fact, France is the opposite of the states.  In the winter, it is necessary to wear 4 shirts and tights under your pants to keep warm - in the house.  In the northeast US, where everything is carpeted and we're all blessed with central heating, you can walk around barefooted in jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt.  On the contrary, in France in the summer your not cool enough naked in a shuttered room underground.  And in the states in summer, you're still wearing those jeans and long sleeved tee shirt because the air conditioning is so high.

I no longer like air conditioning, at least not at the temperatures Americans are used to.  Today, for example, wen I walked into the daycare to drop my daughter off, I wanted to stay.  It was pleasantly cool.  I had no need to put on a jacket and yet I felt like I could sit and relax.  I like not being shocked by the heat when I leave an over cool house or building.  I like having open windows and doors in the summer.  And I love the heat and hope, this year, it is here to stay;

The cicadas are hot.  They've begun the cooling process of flapping their wings that brings the noise that has become synonymous with provence.  I heard the first ones today at lunch.  Apparently the fried salmon was a hit because after a moment there was silence around the table, a rarity with three girls, as everyone dug into their lunch.  But it wasn't quiet, Inoticed the loud scratching sound right outside the open door.  

For about 5 days now we finally have a true summer, the kind of weather the south of France is known for, the kind where you just sit around and sweat and dream of an after lunch siesta (not possible) and a late afternoon dip in a swimming pool.

We spent last weekend squatting in our friends pools.  On Saturday we went south to JC and Lulu's for the afternoon.  JC and Raph have been friends for over 20 years and are like brothers.  We arrive at each others houses and invade with all our children.  So far we've had the upper hand with our 3 to their 2 but their expecting twins this year so they'll soon be ahead by one.  On Saturday, to our surprise, they bought us a copy of their swimming pool.  Truthfully, they insisted, "it's purely for selfish reasons - now we've evened the game" - they'll have just as much reason to invade us as we do them this summer.  They don't even mind the in-laws. 

The swimming pool is one of those plastic blue circular things that balloons open and is sustained by the water.  We haven't yet installedthe sucker despite my constant comments about the heat to Raphael.  We're in debate over where to put it.  Okay, the debate is over.  It's been decided.  After ruling out Nini's courtyard due to the traffic of winery clients and me not wanting to be seen floating like awater buffalo and giving the impression that I'm wearing the pool as my innertube.  Our next choice was over the hill from the House where, a few years back we had a similar version of this pool, until it got blown to bits by the Mistral before we had the time to take it down one September.  It was a beautiful spot.  We could float around in lazy circles watching the trees blow in the breeze.  For me, it was too far away from civilization - a kitchen and bathroom.  Then there was the bug problem, they constantly fell of those lovely trees into the water, and the fact that we had to tramp through and un mowed field to get there.  Raphael had the brilliant idea to put the pool in our courtyard, that is the one currently under stalled construction in front of the HOUSE.  The courtyard is divided into terraces each bordered by a stone wall.  Only one is almost complete - the cement was poured months ago giving it a finished look despite not being tiled yet.  The problem, this terrace is not big enough.  But the center one, currently a mess of broken stone, is.  That is where Raphael wants to install the pool this summer.  He does have one point.  The spot is great for it's lack of wind, trees (and bugs) and is facing directly south so very sunny (this means that I won't be allowed to take the girls there between 11am and 4pm because it's too hot).  I agreed but that means waiting a week to use the pool.  Today the mason was here to finish breaking the stone (the first step).  Tomorrow and over the weekend Raphael will have to clear away all the stone so that Monday the mason can pour the concrete.  It needs three days to dry and then we can raise the pool. 

I'm going to thank JC and Lulu again because not only did they give us a way to cool off and keep the kids busy this summer but also they got me a second almost complete terrace. 

Olivia made her first cake today.  She mixed together all the ingredients without asking anyone's advice and then she asked Nini to bake it.  I knew something had been 'created' when I discovered the flour dusted counter top, the bowl with some kind of egg mixture and the used whisk.  At dinner time I discovered the garlic press in the sink. 

"Olivia," I questioned, "What did you use this for?"

"The eggs," Raphael said.

"Papaaaa," Olivia giggled.  "I used it for the chunks."

Yes, the cake was dotted with chunks of various ingredients.  Obviously Olivia didn't get them all with the press.  We each took a tiny piece of Olivia's cake.  It wasn't half bad, fluffy like the French pastry a Chou - eggy like a flan but with bits of egg shells included. 

"So Olivia, what did you put in the cake?"

"Well, four spoons of flour, two eggs, sugar, vanilla, levure..."  She pauses a moment to think.

"What are the black specks?"

"Well...I put some pepper."

Raphael studied his piece for a moment.  "Not all of this is pepper.  Did you wash your hands before you made this?"

"Yes.  Well, I made some of it outside and some of it inside," she admitted.  "I don't know how the sand got in."

We really did try to hide ourlaughing.  Angeline took one look at it and pushed it away, "No, pas."  Auriane loved it, ate Angeline's discarded piece and asked for another. 

"Why don't we take it in for Nini to try since she helped you make it," Raphael winked at me.  "Pay back,"  He whispered.

She enjoyed a nice sized piece and admitted it wasn't bad.  ThenI informed her of the supplemental ingredients.

Later that evening, Raphael discovered the butter.  All the paper was still folded neatly around the block except on one side, where three distinct finger lines were dug into the length of the butter