Two Things on Tuesday

The First Thing

So, the oldest child is 18. It was bound to happen, because of time and that sort of thing. In honor of this auspicious moment, we went full Babette’s Feast and did courses–les avocats aux crevettes, le potage au choufleur (my own invention–cauliflower soup, I wasn’t up to buying and cooking a live turtle), le boeuf Bourguignon, la salade, la fromage, le gateau creme glace. I probably spelled all that wrong. My French spelling is only slightly worse than my terrible English spelling. Anyway, it was pretty epic. And honestly, the whole we’re not eating that much more because we’re eating it all slowly instead of all at once did not fly with my digestion.

I’ve decided that I want to do this again only invite some adults and make all the children serve. It’ll take me some time to train them, but I think it’s doable. Then I can hire them out to other people, or restaurants. It’ll be like the middle ages or something.

The Second Thing

Funnily enough, today is Bastille Day. I watched the very muted parade on France 24 for ten minutes this morning before falling back asleep. I must say, I don’t have it within myself to celebrate. It’s going to take me a week to recover from the birthday bash. Also, I feel queasy about celebrating what, arguably, could be the first real exercise of “cancel culture” in modern history. The French are spending the year remembering De Gaul, which is lost more fun than thinking fondly of the Reign of Terror. I googled “Bastille Day, Cancel Culture” and nothing came up except a bunch of google fireworks, so apparently I am the first person ever to have thought of this. Either that or all the people who have are already canceled by google.

So anyway, enough French stuff…except that I think the next birthday child wants bouillabaisse. What is it with the culinary inclinations of my children? Where did I go wrong? Why don’t any of them ask for pizza and a movie? This is one of the problems of not being “from here.” Even when I see the way other people celebrate their children’s mile-markers it doesn’t register. I “see” it, but then when it’s my turn I forget and start asking them what they want to eat. Let my life serve as a warning to young mothers. Whatever you begin in infancy becomes a tradition almost immediately. There’s never any way to back up without disappointing everyone or instituting your own reign of terror, which is kind of a mean thing to do.

Have a great day!