My Big Belly

My belly's big. Really big. I know because everyone keeps telling me so--strangers and acquaintances alike. Here in France it seems much more acceptable to openly comment on a pregnant lady's protrusion. Several times a day, I hear "Mais, ca pousse!"--Wow, that's really pushing! (As in the outward direction.)

I find it strange how in this part of pregnancy, your enormous stomach kind of ceases to be a part of you and becomes more a very intimate, close companion. In many ways, it doesn't really feel like my body, even though it's always there--acting as an arm rest, catching my spills, blocking the bottom of the page when I read. The fluttery kicks and punches that used to feel like butterflies are now so pronounced that I'm constantly reminded that this little creature inside of me is a completely separate and distinct being. I may be sound asleep, but if you a put a hand on my tummy, you'll likely to discover that he's not.

Certainly the round pregnancy belly has its disadvantages. I feel huge. I really struggle mentally separating "fat" from "pregnant." My clothes don't fit. Recently Brooklyn sighed pityingly and told me that my belly was so big that it was making it hard to be modest (my non-maternity shirts all flip up.) Even so, after spending so much time with this little one, I think that when it's all over and there are no more limbs inside to poke and be poked by, I just might feel a little lonely.

Bridging

Today is my last full day in Lyon, and lucky me, I get to spend it escorting ENS-LSH applicants from one room to the next. It's an intense process--the candidates draw a subject from a box, spend one hour preparing their comments, then present their remarks before a jury for the next half hour. I'm glad that the hardest thing I have to do is hold their cell phones if they need a potty break.

It just so happens that the public transportation went on strike today as well, so I had to bike to work. At first I was pretty grumpy about the extra physical effort, but the ride along the river was so beautiful that I ultimately felt grateful. In a way, it was a nice farewell tribute to the city and its wonderful bridges.

I suppose that we will soon be bridging as well. While the body of water we will cross is a bit bigger than the Rhone, we're still anxious to see what (and who) is on the other side.

Au Revoir

Does anybody else out there hate good-byes? Maybe it's because I moved fairly often as a child that I've developed an aversion to the whole awkward ritual--the half-kept promises of writing, the unfilled invitations to come and visit, the formulaic last phrases. While well-intended, these good-byes are often laced with over-promises that can seem insincere--all of which bothers me because it runs so contrary to how much I truly will miss these people.

As much as I'd like to pretend that we will be back here and see friends and acquaintances again, the truth is that life moves fast and changes constantly. The only thing certain is its unpredictability. Even if we do make it back to Lyon, the lives of those we've come to know and love will have changed. I guess the secret is accepting that this change is okay.

This week has been filled with so many lasts...
the last time hanging up the laundry to dry
the last time firing up the oven with a lighter
the last time playing piano for the Villeurbanne paroisse
the last time watching Brooklyn and her Daddy walk to school together from out my front window

As hard as all of these lasts may be, it helps to remember that they will soon be followed by many firsts.

Keep on the Sunny Side

Well, it's begun--the infamous move. Today a couple friends came and claimed the stove, washing machine, and a couch. Afterward, we moved out our table and chairs, Brooklyn's bed (except the mattress), the kid's table, and lots of boxes full of household items, toys, clothes, etc. I'm worn out from simply gathering and boxing, so I can only imagine how Jason feels after handling the bulk of the heavy lifting!

It was interesting to watch the kids react to the chaotic situation. For a few minutes Brooklyn ran around the apartment saying, "Oh no! Oh no! What are we going to do? Why are they taking all of our stuff?" Then, in a truly Polyanna moment, a huge smile spread across her face and she said, "That's okay. Now we have more room to play house."

May we all learn to keep on the sunny side of life.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

Ever since arriving in Lyon in September, I've wanted to post these pictures of commonplace items that are so standard and ordinary that we take them for granted. It's not until we encounter a culture that interprets them differently that they suddenly become original, fun, and extraordinary.

While our family has been in France long enough that most of the originality has worn off for us, we hope you enjoy the pictures anyway.

Boxes
In France, we discovered that milk comes in boxes. Even the drawing of the cow is square!

As you can see, Brooklyn loves this milk, as do we. Pasteurized at high-temperature yet still tasty, it has a shelf-life of several months and doesn't hog up all the room in the fridge.

While milk may be square, cereal doesn't have to be. It had never occurred to me that there was more than one way to close a cereal box!

Textures
Our apartment has quite the unusual assortment of wall textures. We'll call this one "bubbles."

Our remaining walls are actually covered in fabric. While this isn't very typical, it's interesting nonetheless, albeit nearly impossible to clean. A French friend suggested that the fabric's likely covering up something really terrible underneath. :)


Circles
This circular electric outlet produces twice the juice. A recent visitor recently forgot to switch her blow dryer from 110V to 220V--talk about hot air!

Any guesses as to this pretty little circle? It's the toilet flusher! Just remember to pull up instead of push down.

And last but not least, my favorite circle--fromage! This brie makes me chuckle because it's labeled as "petit." Makes you wonder what a big brie would look like...

Wow.

Today has been a rough day. Actually, this week has been a rough week. Our double stroller finally gave up the ghost, meaning that I’m often stuck carrying two children, one in my belly and another on my shoulders. Talia’s hit an independent streak that involves un-potty-training herself and an extraordinary number of temper tantrums. The cultural differences that I once found endearing (such as the well-meaning old lady on the bus who insists on telling you all the things you should change in the rearing of your children) have recently become annoying. While I should be cherishing the remaining moments, I’ve instead found myself secretly wishing that I could fast forward time and miraculously be “home” again.

The truth is that most of my worries and fears have been deeply rooted in our move. Just the thought of trying to move ourselves, the kids, eight suitcases, and carry-ons is nearly enough to put me into pre-term labor. Somehow, we have to mobilize ourselves (and our loot) onto the TGV (high-speed train) to Paris, then to a hotel for the night, and finally back to the airport the next morning. While it would have been much more convenient to fly directly out of Lyon, we’re hoping that the $1500 savings is worth the inconvenience.

Naturally, we are leaving most of our belongings behind (no room for the front-loading washer, no matter how much we love it!), but that in and of itself adds to the organizational stress. Every single object that we own requires a decision—do we schlep it all the way back to the States, or arrange for its adoption into a new home? One way or another, our place has to be completely empty by our check-out time next Wednesday at noon, but we don’t have the luxury of throwing it all in a moving van (and I’m morally opposed to sending it all to the landfill instead.)

Fortunaly, this evening I stumbled upon the words that I really needed to hear from while studying Isaiah: "sois tranquille, ne crains rien, et que ton coeur ne s'alarme pas.” Translation into Kara-ese: Calm down, stop worrying, and let your heart be still. One way or another, it’s all going to work out all right.

Already, miracles are happening. Someone from our local congregation is lending us their van so we can move out most of the big stuff on Saturday. A friend is feeding us on Sunday since we will no longer have a stove. On Tuesday evening, other friends have offered to help move out the remaining items. Even more, our bishop (the leader of our local congregation) has offered us a place to stay on Tuesday night so we won’t have to camp out on the hard floor. On Wednesday afternoon, he and his brother have arranged to take us all to the train station and stick around to help load all of the baggage onto the TGV.

Wow.

I am positively overwhelmed by this kindness and support. Somehow our year in France has gone full circle, beginning and ending with enormous acts of generosity that we will never be able to repay.

Ever since we have known each other, Jason has wanted to get a truck, primarily so that he could help other people move. Ever since we have known each other, I have balked at Jason’s dream for exactly the same reason. After all, I want to see my husband on Saturdays! Thanks to this experience, however, I can feel my hard heart softening. Maybe I’ll just have to become the designated driver who sneaks an occasional hubby handhold--stick shift, safety belts, bucket seats, and all.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Since today is Sunday (Happy Father's Day to all the great Dads out there!), I thought I'd share Brooklyn's spiritual insight. Here's a brief excerpt from this week's Family Home Evening lesson.

Jason: How can we get closer to Heavenly Father?
Brooklyn: By dying.

Not quite the answer we expected, but true nonetheless, I suppose. :)