A heartless mother I am... When all the children were crying last night (a lot less than after the all saints vacation, however) about having to go back to school the next day, I was thinking in my heart, yay for the end of the vacation! (and a little bit, 'oh, poor children have to go back into the hostile world of French schools', but I'm not sure that was the dominant feeling.)

A week before Christmas, we went to a new parish (Sainte Croix, an 18th century church that had the city bells added to its bell tower, which gives it a weird hybrid look, as if it's a cross between a city building and a church), where we were welcomed with such warmth that the two boys were enrolled, imperfect french and christianity notwithstanding, into the ranks of the altar boys. They served the Christmas mass with one of Matthias's friends from school (Roc, who was one of the most ill-behaved on that outing to the museum I described last time). I was a little worried, as was Matthias, but they all did beautifully, and want to do it again every sunday... We'll see. After Christmas mass, we went to eat the traditional 'réveillon' meal (the midnight feast on Christmas eve) at the house of one of Sean's colleagues. Everything was very proper: oysters, fois-gras, roast goose, smoked salmon, wine flowing a different color for each course--except the dessert, which we brought: pumpkin pie and pecan pie--but they had asked us to bring a traditionally American thing, and there aren't any hams at the market, whereas pumpkins are plentiful and cheap.

We spent christmas morning at home. We had a tiny tree that we had to buy for way too much money very near us and then carry home. Most of our decorations were homemade (paper garlands and popcorn garlands, and a few IKEA things). Simeon kept commenting about how much it felt like Christmas to be doing so much work to prepare, but I think it was really the smell of the gingerbread houses permeating the dining room that made him feel that way. Mimi, who had been learning about père Noël at school (in fact, she met him at a christmas goûter they had there, but she was too scared of him to go get her present), kept asking which presents were from him. She figured if there were any with no tags, those would have to be from him, but she couldn't find them.

After lunch, we drove to my brother's house in Poitiers for a second Christmas dinner (with a second tasting of fois gras and the traditional bûche de noël--a cake designed to look like a snow covered log, this one flavored with pear, salted caramel, and marzipan--and many other delicacies). This christmas dinner was an amazing feat of family unity, with my mother, my brother and me and all our children united for the first time. It was also lots of fun, with Magdalene and her cousin Josephine having a philosophical discussion on the existence of fairies that led to a discussion of how you could be sure about the existence of anything, that did not lead to a discussion about the existence or how you might know about the existence of God, which would have been interesting as Magdalene, under the influence of French anti-catholicism, has been growing more skeptical about religion, while Joséphine is being raised without religion, though she was exceedingly interested in all the creches in all the churches we saw, (it always skips a generation or two and then resurfaces, that gene).

My mother left the next day and we stayed on for a few days. We visited the abbey of St Savin which has 12th century frescoes all over its (unfortunately quite high) ceiling. Flashes are forbidden, so I couldn't take pictures of the wonderful paintings there, though for those of you who have been in our upstairs bathroom, we have a poster of Noah's ark from there. There's a hilarious picture of God speaking to Abraham with a little man climbing a tree in the corner that I was sure was a picture of Batimaeus climbing the tree to see Jesus, but the guide says no, it's all Hebrew scriptures in that part of the church, and what do I know.

We also went to a small village called Savigny (I think). The church here and the carvings of cats and dogs are from there. The city is stunning, all built on cliffs with a medieval wall and ruined towers and pieces of castle left standing, and a river running way below in the valley. But it's also a little bit of a caricature, in the way it's selling itself to tourists. Every sign for everything is 'medieval'. There's a medieval crèpe restaurant, and a medieval passageway, signs for the 'medieval' town everywhere. Everyone was jokingabout the medieval black cat we saw there and the medieval toilets (although the toilet's being medieval is not that much of a joke, actually).

While in Poitiers, we got to go to mass at the Church of Notre Dame la Grande, the most beautiful Romanesque church I have ever seen. I think I've described it before, but I'm going to do it again, because I'm so enthusiastic about it. It's made of a kind of brittle yellow stone that glows buttery in the sunlight, and its towers look like pinecones. It's not very tall, which makes it much more intimate inside than the large cathedrals that were built a century or so later. And then the inside is still all painted with what must have, at the time it was built, been very bright colors. Every column has a different pattern painted on it and a different pattern carved in the capitals. There are fifteenth-century vividly painted wooden statues, one of Jesus and Mary, one of Anne, Mary, and Jesus and a bunch of other children, and one of the disciples mourning over the dead body of Jesus. I didn't think to take pictures because I bought postcards there, but I haven't figured out how to put my postcards into my blog (no, Steve, I don't have a scanner here). Outside the church was what they call a living creche, with donkeys, oxen, horses, rabbits, chickens, pigs, and who knows what other animals, all penned around a hay representation of Mary, Joseph and Jesus. I guess it was more tasteful and more medieval than the big illuminated plastic creches you see on front lawns in America.

We were lucky with the weather during our stay and managed to go on a small hike out in the country where my brother does a lot of rock climbing. There was a river, rocky cliffs, trees to climb, meadows to roll about in, sticks to throw for Tipomme and my brother's dog Lilly and to use as swords for the three boys. It couldn't have been more perfect. There was even an isolated manor house, lost in the middle of the woods, which all the children wanted to buy and move into right away. In the three days we stayed there, Matthias also got to go rock-climbing with my brother, I got to go running by the river with my sister in law, and the children got to play and fill my brother's house with noise, mess and movement.

When we got back, we had a message from some friends here who had decided that our place was really perfect for a new year's eve celebration, and would we call them to let them know what to bring. I was so panicked by this that I pleaded lack of skills and told them they could come over only as long as they made dinner, since I had no idea what to cook for yet another 'reveillon'. The one friend who is a restaurant chef came over and cooked dinner, while the other friends brought tons of wine, cheese, and, you guessed it, that necessity of french feasts, more fois gras. I made a couple of lame things, and much to my surprise, it was a great party: 6 adults and 10 kids, and we stayed up drinking and eating until 2 in the morning, and only Mimi's friend Suzy (3) fell asleep on the couch, everyone else stayed up playing games and watching movies.

After that epic party, we ended up going off to the sea-side with one of the couples (they're both doctors and helped us a lot when Sean twisted his ankle, they have a house in La Turballe, an old fishing village on the golfe du Morbihan, in the south of brittany). We had a great weekend there with them. For almost all the time we were there, all the kids got along really well: Mimi and Suzy, who are the same age, played with dolls and doudous (cherished stuffed animals that every child must have in France under penalty of having to see a psychologist if they don't get attached to any),

Magdalene got along really well with the oldest, Mathilde, who is in Simeon's class, and the two boys rotated around. They played multiple-day games of monopoly, badminton (during a game of which, my stupid dog, while chasing the birdy, did something to her foot and has been confined to the house with a limp since, and has cost me, so far, 100 euros with not much to show for it at the vet), soccer on the beach, they went horseback riding and shell-hunting, and wading in absolutely freezing weather. I went for two runs around the point of Pen-Bron, the most beautiful run I've ever done (except maybe the run around schoodic point, Marjorie and Peter if you're reading this).

Anyway, we have to go back and explore that area more. Every village is more beautiful than the last: they're old old fishing villages, and that area has produced hand-harvested sea salt for centuries (it's called salt from Guérande, and they sell it very dearly, I think, even at the Bellingham coop); every beach is different--from yellow coarse sand to grey fine sand to rocks and tide-pools, different kinds of shells can be found at the different beaches and different kinds of birds observed (the salt marshes, for instance, are full of Egrets). We didn't get to see nearly enough villages or beaches or shells or birds, so we might go up again in February, though that would be without our friends, and so not quite as fun. That family was so welcoming and tolerant that it has reconciled me a little bit with France. I did not find it as hard to leave the house this morning as I normally do. Maybe we're (or rather I'm) turning a corner, finally?