Everyday lessons

William, after his own everyday lesson in taking down the laundry.

Our days these first two weeks have been packed with milestones that are simultaneously momentous and mundane. They've been big deals to us, but it hasn't felt entirely blog-worthy to say, "Hooray! Car insurance!"  Then again, the experiences of everyday are what will really impact us this year. So for those who want a feel for our day-to-day experience, here's a run-down of a few lessons we've been learning so far:

- Paperwork is the real king of France. Almost every person we work with (at the bank, the town hall, the insurance company, the car dealership) half laughs while filling out the umpteenth form, "The French, we love papers!"  Often getting one paper requires visiting several other places first to get other papers and official stamps. To buy the car required getting proof of insurance, which required getting proof of residence, which required proof of our lease, which required a special stamp from the town hall...  (And some of those steps had their own domino effects, besides.)

- Baking ingredients and techniques are different here. It took me 20 minutes to locate baking soda the other day at a major grocery store, doing so only after surrendering eventually and asking for help. There was just one tiny box, turned sideways, on a massive shelf otherwise containing at least 40 different types of salt. I've yet to find baking powder. No such thing as round cake tins anywhere I've looked. Just yesterday I located special flour that I understand should yield "normal" cookies, since the ordinary flour here is much finer and I've read will yield a pan of spread goop. The good news is that I have a full contingent of taste-testers in residence who won't turn their noses up at even the ugliest of dessert outcomes, so I'm not exactly worried!

- Car insurance history is important. Not necessarily claims history, mind you. Just proof of having had insurance. Our rate was cut by half (not chump change, by a long shot) by providing documentation of car insurance going back nearly 13 years. Of course this was easier said than done, and Jesse deserves huge kudos for even remembering our various insurers from year to year; we've shopped around and changed more than half a dozen times in that period! Lovable freak that he is, Jesse was able to dial the phone numbers from memory for two or three our providers. (Who does that?? ) But you can imagine the odd conversations: "So, I haven't been a customer of yours for a decade. Do you still have records from 2003? You can check? Great! Here's the thing..."  My contribution was translating the important bits of any letters or documents or whatever the companies emailed to us (how we love Google translate!). End of story: We're insured!

- Thinking of cars, certain items are legally required in every vehicle on the French roads. We are the proud owners of a bright yellow vest and a big orange reflective triangle. We haven't bought a breathalizer since we understand that while legally required, we can't actually be fined for not having one (the other two carry fines). So, non-drinking cheapskates that we are, we're crossing fingers on that one.

- Sometimes, even when you understand the words, you don't understand the meaning. I've corresponded with the director of the boys' schools to arrange a meeting this week before school starts on 2 September. I also asked for a list of school supplies, rumored to put fear into the bravest French mothers' hearts with their specificity, complexity, and length. He replied, and I translate: "I can not provide you with a list of specific supplies to date. I can do that on 1 September. The only thing expected for the first day is a complete kit." How helpful and reassuring, eh? What the heck goes in a "complete kit" while I wait for the specialized list? (I'm assuming a complete kit means something specific and is in addition to the school supplies we'll learn about on 1 September...? I have an email out to a French friend to bail me out on this one.)

- Don't bother trying to do anything between noon and 2. Most offices close down. The lunch break is sacred!

- Don't bother trying to do anything after 6:30 or 7:00 p.m.  Again, everything is closed. In fact, don't bother shopping near to closing time. A huge grocery store nearby that is utterly mobbled with people in the middle of the day is a ghost store by the last half hour. Fifteen minutes before closing I had my wrist angrily jerked at as an employee tried to pull down the curtain on the section of the dairy aisle where I was reaching for a bottle of milk! (Oh, and thinking of milk: It's hard to find fresh milk...just a few bottles in the major grocery stores. Everyone drinks UHT shelf stable stuff, which I didn't expect in a land known for its endless array of cheeses, butters, yogurts, etc.)

- Don't bother trying to do anything on Sunday. Once again, all shops are closed. Of course this one doesn't bother us except that, sadly, most churches are included on the "closed" list—seeing as most are just tourist attractions, not houses of worship.

- Always have change in your pocket, or you won't be able to get a shopping cart. The first time we went to the grocery store, our first evening here, we took ages simply to break a bill, get change, and obtain a cart. We were nearly in tears over the hilarity and feebleness of it. Boys going bananas, all of us utterly exhausted, just wanting to get some food in our empty kitchen and bellies, and...thirty minutes into the ordeal, tremendous! We'd secured a shopping cart! Yay for us!

There have been many more lessons learned but this is getting too long. I should add that I hope these don't come across as negative. We came in expecting every day to bring new differences to navigate and appreciate. We're taking ourselves and our days lightly (which isn't too hard with Jesse in the mix :). And of course it's hard to complain about anything when certain lessons involve, for instance, discovering something new and delicious at the boulangerie each day!