lazy

I have concluded I'm completely lazy. Here I am, in France, and all I really want to do is hang out with the small children and read Arthur books. It may be that I'm scared of using my French in public (I am, without question) and it may be because we're in the midst of a heat wave and I am prostrated by the weather. It may even be because I'm trying to work on my book. Lazy's most likely.

It's a lovely place. Weather notwithstanding. It got up to 91 degrees yesterday, and today's forecast is 92. We had a little kids' birthday party for Reid on Saturday. The water guns I brought were a real hit. The children enjoyed themselves a lot, right up until the inevitable overexcited meltdowns. My sister-in-law scheduled it well, though: the meltdowns didn't hit until the parents showed up.

We picque-nicque'd yesterday in the mountains. I never cease to be amazed by these places: there's water in the streams, and in the ground, and even on the mossy stones. Where I come from, there isn't any water. There aren't any enormous trees, either. Or wood ticks. (I hope there aren't wood ticks here, either, but I have my doubts.)

The kids are learning how to make cinnamon rolls with their granny. The baby is headed to Geneva with her parents, in order to be registered as a US citizen and to apply for a passport. I am, ah, chillin'. Lazy.