Au Revoir in 2017

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In the year 2017, I am going to France. My daughters will, by then, be ages 10 and 13. We’re planning a girls’ trip and we talk about it incessantly these days.

I’ve been obsessed with France for years, though I’m not sure why. My friend, Lisa, suggested it is a subconscious thing linking the “A” in my first name to the likeness of the Eiffel Tower. She might be right. Or it could just be that I look good in a beret. Either way, my children have taken note and now gifts to me often include some representation of the Eiffel Tower in art work or jewelry. At least I know they’re paying attention to something I say.

I broke the news of our trip to my husband a while back. He suggested I wait until our oldest is in high school and combine it with a French class trip. “Um, no. By then it will be at least 2020!” I whined. He just raised his eyebrows at me. “And what will we do?” he asked motioning to our son, Ryan, the youngest of our three kids. “I dunno, but you aren’t coming to France,” I told him.

I said it in jest, but the truth is he has absolutely no interest in traveling to France. Besides, by then, he and Ryan will be wrapped up in Boy Scout adventures and probably all too happy to have some man time traipsing through the wilderness somewhere.

I then suggested he buy the girls and me Rosetta Stone for Christmas. I took French in high school and still remember a lot, but I want to sound legit when I’m sitting in a swanky French bakery. And so do my girls. Up to now, their experience with the French language has been limited to “Fancy Nancy” books and my rendition of “Alouette,” so I’m trying to teach them what I know. Supposedly, children pick up a second language pretty easily, but I’m not so sure.

“How do you say goodbye in French?” middle child Catie popped her curly head in the door and interrupted my bubble bath to ask one night. “Au revoir,” I told her in a sing-song voice. “Or what?” she said, cackling wildly as she closed the door.

This is the same child who likes to tie a scarf on her head and dance around the living room. “I’m from French!” she tells us and twirls off, her cackles trailing behind her. We call her the Mad Cackler because of her throaty, mischievous caw. “You mean France,” I say. More cackling.

Oldest daughter Reagan is more posh with her curiosity. She wanted to know what we’ll eat in France. “Do they have sushi?” she asked. I recently coaxed her into having sushi with me and now she thinks she’s cultured. “Sushi is Asian. We’ll probably eat snails. It’s called Escargot. Or duck,” I said. This was met with squeals from both girls.

In my best French accent, which isn’t very good, I rattled off a list of French foods. “We could eat real croissants. Not the kind from a can. Or, we could eat a croque-monsieur,” I told them. “It’s kind of like a fancy ham and cheese sandwich. But we don’t have to go to France to eat it. I can make one here.” This suggestion received nods of approval so it’s now on one of our upcoming dinner menus. Snails are not.

I’m convinced our dream will become a reality in five or so years. We’re having fun playing around with the possibilities, learning about another culture and driving the boys bonkers. It’s exciting to have a dream. And even more so when you have special little people to share it with. More and more, I’m learning these really are the best days of our lives.

Read more of April's work at thinkabink.blogspot.com

by April Brownlee

April holds a degree in mass communications and is a freelance writer and professional fundraiser. When she’s not chasing children or working, she’s an avid reader, follower of all things political, fashion addict, product junkie and foodie. These days she’s trying to spend more time savoring life. You can read more of her reflections at thinkabink.blogspot.com.