Mother's Day in Moissac

This is vivid. Precious. Europe Green. Still.

HOT day, I decide to wear 'the' dress, on only its third outing all year. Drove to Moissac, a cathedral town on the Garonne, famous for its cloister and its canal. Markets again, our French is running back into our mouths like saliva does when you see something delicious. Suddenly, the words are there.

An outside, sunny, hot, picnic of couscous and chicken by the Canal du Midi. The lunch is gorgeous, the company fine, the weather has us amazed - it can feel like this!

The canal runs across France from Bordeaux to the Mediterranean, and was built by a genius engineer (he must have been) during Napoleonic times. Here in Moissac, the canal must cross the Garonne. Simple, they said. So a bridge to transport the canal was built, ably assisted by a lock to adjust levels. We walked under plane trees, saw some boats lower in the lock, and walked back again.

Green spring. My beloved boys. All three. This is how a mother's day should be. Every now and then. Too much and we wouldn't have enough to laugh about later.

Birthday Boy

The Bean turns 8, in France, thrilled that he is having a birthday in Europe after all. He thought, as we all did, that we'd be home by his.

Staying with family friends, from the Malaysia days, in the Quercy region of France, we had a completely beautiful spring time location, with a flower garden sheer bursting in celebration. The day started with presents, a young deer stopping by on his walk through the woods, just a quiet, very moving gaze; continued with a trip to the local market and the patisserie at Montaigu de Quercy; back for lunch, boules on the boulodrome and a tractor-mower ride, and finished with a swim and a walk in some of the most picturesque country there is, anywhere.

The Bean got parcels from grandma, new doctor pyjamas, things to make and read, and a Nintendo DS, and the gift of today. We, the parents, had agonised about the DS for 6 months, as it's the big toy here in Cork. The debate goes like this: does he need a box to disappear into? It's good for trips and anywhere that we happen to be - portable. It's removable. It's the toy he's up to in his progress, and they are a tool for social interaction as much as anything. There are good games for it. It's very expensive, will he treasure it? We hate them. If not now, then when? Not when he's grown past it, which no doubt will happen too. So, we did. He is thrilled! And, on a serious note, we will be introducing a total number of screen-time hours he is allowed to have each day: tv, DS, computer, anything.

If we lived here, he could have balmy lovely spring birthdays every year. May is magic in France. Fraises et asperges. Which we ate most days for 2 weeks. All of us: The Bean more into the asperges in his fingers as a starter, the Pumpkin more into the fraises with sugar and cream! LMM and I just inhaling all day long.

Paris meets Paris

Years of lead-up, this! Paris the bear gets to Paris today.

Driving up from overnight in Orleans, droping off the car at Orly airport, then train and Metro to our hotel. Me now with my boys, in Paris again! Wow. Lunch for E10 at a corner bistrot, fab fab, we're here. This, I can do.

And hitting the high notes immediately, we set off for the Eiffel Tower. Long wait in the queue. This will be the one time we do this. I never did when I lived here at 16, or in later visits - always too touristy. But now. The boys are hopping, I'm getting cold, the queue is full of tourists on shorter holidays, we get to feel that we really do live in Europe now. What a stream of life we're in.

Up in the lift, to the very top. EArrgh. Vertigo. I'm almost sick with the height of it, the headtrip of it moving up here, the wind, oh I know it's a safe structure, and it's been here, but suddenly I've got all teh bad thoughts rushing in. The Bean beside himself with excitement, the Pumpkin falls asleep on Leathermanman's shoulder and misses a real lot of it all. We go to the top, gaze into the museum boxes, stare out over this amazing city, roar into the wind. I'm back, I'm back.

On the way down, the Bean and LMM run the stairs (like LMM did when he was a kid here), the Pumpkin and I catch the lift down. Incredible experience, a real highlight. And then we search for toilets, go to a playground. Of course.

And into the 6e, past my old school, photos there!, amazing to BE HERE, shop for postcards. A shred of home it is. Dinner near St Michel in a Greek restaurant, staring at a statue of a nude white bum, over the shoulders of my two boys. LONG walk home, all the way past Notre Dame, the Seine, Place de Vosges, rolling, savouring every step. Just got here, wish I could stay.

(Paris the Bear is Paris because Painterwoman bought the bear for the Bean on the day he was born. Then 2 weeks later, she flew to Paris, to paint. That bear has been wanting to get here for 7 years!)

A driveway 5km long

We arrive in Osses in golden late light, driving from the small town with fountain/church/convenience shop with roasting chickens on a spit and local chestnut cake up to the house. It's a winding green road, across a narrow bridge overlooking perfect-green-river, past farmhouses, one lane of road often coated in dirt off tractor wheels, reversing a bit to let the tractor by, hairpin bends in green gloaming forest, up into open fields and across an endless view straight to the Pyrenees, and into the gate to the house.

Which looks exactly like the pictures online. Difference being, the walls are paper-thin, and there's only one bathroom. Cousin B chooses the bedrooms for her family again, it works better for all that way, and we begin to fill the house with our week's intentions. The view across the terrace is one of those I drink in, store in my fibres, because I'll b eneedign to draw on it again for years, later.

The next day, all we manage for the days is to pack some food, swimsuits, books, and drive to the bridge over the river and swim, eat, laze in the sun. The photos are completely idyllic. This is the holiday we wanted. Perfect after the move from Spain-week to France-week, via the Guggenheim in Bilbao, yesterday. Perfect.

Update: this is one of the most memorable days for the 8 of us. For different reasons: Cousin B was in such agony with her knee, she almost couldn't read her book, much less enjoy our larks in the water. Me because we all stopped, really played where we were, invented stories and cities for the children in the middle of the riverbank, swam them in the strong, cold, current, ate a delicious picnic, which we had really sorted by then - cutting up and making for the children, wine for us in tumblers! A day when we all just were. Together.