We began our introduction to France and the French culture this weekend. When I actually stop and remember that my target audience is only 2 and 4 years old, I think we’re doing pretty well. Also, when I take Stella’s terrifying memory into account, I feel confident that she’s already memorized the lyrics to “Les Champs Elysees” in French and will spontaneously burst into chanson one day and totally freak me out.
To start, I wanted to show them where this mystical place was, where people talk and eat differently than we do. So I ordered an inflatable globe on Amazon. My mistake was only ordering one. My children spent the entire damn weekend fighting over this globe. It was like a live-action game of Risk whereupon my offspring were fighting – literally – over world domination.
On Saturday afternoon, we thought we’d take the kids to a local French-style café, where she could try some other Frenchy food. She refused. I think she had reached her limit of France that day. Instead? We went to the damn Olive Garden – one of the very places I was using as an example of what I didn’t want to become a cultural reference to my children.
I felt like an asshole. The kids loved it. Felix shoveled so much spaghetti into his maw that he was Jersey Shore orange by the end of the meal. It’s funny, but it took having children to appreciate the Olive Garden. Note taken.
So it’s been a mixed lot so far. We’re not done with France yet. We’ve worked our way through our Try the World box. I’m tickled at how open-minded both kids are being. We listened to Erik Satie and Edith Piaf. There was no bitching. We never did find time to make crepes. Maybe next weekend while we’re celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Nothing wrong with a little France/Ireland mash-up. Damn. I should have planned this better.