I just had the chance to spend 11 days in France with my family. We drank wine and Coke Light (warmish). We ate fresh bread, and cheese, and more cheese, and chocolate, and Nutella…and some weird spread made of cookies that was strangely delicious. We walked, we (mostly kids) swam, we (mostly me) got horribly sunburned in that weird patchy way that almost diligent application of sunscreen can cause.
It was amazing.
Because having data access on my phone would have been insanely expensive, I turned e-mail off on my Blackberry. I was able to text, but in a very limited way. Calling cost $1 a minute and there are few people I want to talk to that badly who weren’t with me. I borrowed my Dad’s computer or my brother’s iPad once a day or so to make sure I wasn’t completely out of money and that the world hadn’t ended – but for the most part I was completely off the grid.
It was, as I have already mentioned, amazing.
So of course, my brain started thinking (as brains do) about how to keep all of this amazingness going.
We would move to France for two years. The kids would go to a French school and become well rounded and culturally immersed. They would help us learn how to say things like, “Please for the love of God put some ice cubes in my Coke Light.”
We would work at a winery…or in a little bookshop. Life would be so calm. And so French.
I would wear adorable outfits. I would find a way for my hair and French water to get along (during vacation they were waging a serious war…my hair was losing in a big way). I would carry a basket to the market and buy bread and cheese and more cheese. And we could drink the wine we had learned to make.
And she said, with the wisdom that only an 11-year-old possesses. “Nah. They have Nutella at home. And the TV shows are in English. I like that.”