I know where I'm sleeping tonight!

It’s always when I am patting myself on the back with both hands that I end up kicking myself in the ass. 

Jet lag. 

Upon everyone’s advice, we plowed through our arrival day with meals at regular intervals and no naps. We even got outside for fresh air despite the Norfolk-esque weather of 50 and raining. It all paid off when the boys went down beautifully at 8am—- and woke up 14 hours later; no big deal. Again, more regular meals, walks outside in the sunshine. All was well, until bedtime Sunday night— our second night in France.

After a big day I knew the kids would be exhausted and ready for bed— except that it was 4pm Norfolk time. And they knew it. They would have no part of my quiet bedtime routine. Despite copious doses of melatonin and appeals from an exhausted mom— they were ready not going down easily.

Anyone familiar with whack-a-mole can relate to my bedtime routine last night. Holy moly. Placate one boy whose brother kicked him in the head, WHACK; turn the radiator down because Samuel is roaming the halls in his underwear, WHACK; confiscating kindle because they figured out the web access and are trying to play video games, WHACK; go get my own dose of melatonin, WHACK; confiscate reading light because Samuel thinks it’s cool to project blinking light on ceiling—of our shared room, WHACK; remove Cooper from bed he shared with Bennett because he’s pretending to be the monster from garbage compactor in Episode IV, WHACK; go get Bennett some water so he can take melatonin, WHACK.

At one point, and I am not proud of this, I set Cooper up on a blanket on the floor in the partially heated hallway at the bottom of some very creepy stairs to the unoccupied, and probably haunted, third floor of our apartment. He knew I was pissed, so he said nothing. He rolled over, hid his head under the blanket and went directly to sleep. 

I am surprised Samuel made it through the night alive. As I mentioned, we were sharing a room and he was wide awake until about 4am (10pm Norfolk time). 

I was already tired on Sunday— we went into a pizza place I had read about. We tried eating there Saturday, but arrived after 2pm and they do not serve lunch after 2— period. Anyway, we’d been out walking since mid-morning (again, trying to avoid jet lag, according to my perfect plan). 

The place was in a basement, dark, with timbered ceilings. Rugby on every TV and people were settling in. Feeling groggy and enjoying this cave-like comfort, I started getting a little sleepy. I dropped the worst French I’ve ever heard myself speak, managed to order a cheese pizza without olives- yeah- don’t ask—and then proceeded to ask for a “cafe d’eau.” Yep- a coffee of water. I get so flustered I order a glass of red wine. So he leaves and when he comes back, I am not sure he’s the same guy. Seriously- I am messed up! What the hell is wrong with me? Was my French so bad, he had to get reinforcements? I whisper to the boys— is that the same waiter? What the hell do they know? They haven’t had TV in two days— they are GLUED to the rugby, which they don’t even understand. Samuel says- I dunno mom, they all look alike. Seriously?! That is not true. I think he was trying to be funny. I ask the guy — are you the same man who was here before (in much better French, because now the adrenaline has kicked in, as I am terrified that I am losing my sh!t). He says— and this is where pronouns are important my friends— “yeah, yeah, it’s all the same.” Oh— what the hell did he just say? Did he say “I” am the same or “it” is the same!? I know my subject pronouns — but what did he say!?

I am pretty convinced he is not the same waiter at this point. So I again order the same cheese pizza— no olives— but I decide I want a beer instead of wine because I am now sweating and need a cool drink. I order myself a fancy pizza and salad and sit back relieved that it’s all over. What do you know, here comes waiter number one— with a glass of red wine AND a beer, and a carafe of water. 

I am sort of smug because I KNEW it was a different waiter, but I am also sort of embarrassed now because here is this poor lady with three rowdy boys and three glasses in front of me. So I start drinking! 

Post-script: that roll-a-bed from the lego picture is now in use— in the room with the other two twin beds. Three boys, three beds, and MOM is in the beautiful master suite overlooking the vineyards in the valley. The boys are in their beds, and it’s lights out and I think they are asleep. They’re quiet anyway!

Here's some pics, if you didn't already see them on FB; I'll try and get better with the pics.

Here's one of the many winery offices in Sancerre; they have storefronts where they have tastings,
sell tour tickets and sell bottles to take or ship. 

Sunday evening: the boys found one of their cartoons on TV- in French of course.

You can't tell very well, but on our way to schoool this morning at 8:45, we saw this guy walking down the street.
That's a pig butt on each hook.

Hiking to the next town to go to the supermarche.

Sancerre is very rural. It is surrounded by vineyards. The village only has a small grocer,
very limited and he's closed Mondays.