I have been trying to find something to combine all these passions but so far, I only managed to link two or three of them. For example:

*Children + food: My children get to eat good beautiful healthy food. 

*Children + French: I organize French groups, classes or activities for children.

*French + Photography: The French classes I used to teach were illustrated by a few of my photographs. 

*Photography + Children: Families ask me to create photographic memories of their children.

*French + Children + Art + Food: I think it is funnier to teach a language to children through art and cooking. 

*Food + Photography: I always wanted to combine these two. It was time I worked on it. After all, food is so much tastier when it is beautiful.

Spending time to develop one passion every day is vital, but being able to work on two or more of them on a given day is a blessing.  So, yesterday, I took an early bus, my heavy camera, a tripod, a notebook and I attended a photography class in Boston. Going to a city is a much needed survival reflex. Being surrounded by trees, mountains, deers and ponds is relaxing and the beauty of these never ceases to amaze me. But at one point, I need to hear airplanes, cars honking, I need to see people, diversity, architecture, novelties and taste some new food. A friend of mine living here confessed that she goes to NYC to do 'people and vehicles watching'. So, I went to Boston, took a class, ate the heavenly rhubarb pie from Paul's Bakery, walked a few miles with no reason and no direction in the city with a heavy history. Then I went back to the stunning and silent Northern New England.

The day in Boston was a perfect day to work on two passions: food and photography.  I am absolutely nowhere close to where food photographers are but I feel a little less intimidated by sharing these very first trials.

And of course, of course, my list of passions is not done here. And my desire to combine them all into something meaningful is not fulfilled. But this is another story...

Last week-end, there was just a little bit more snow. Not much but just enough to have a new day of recreational school cancellations.

The kids got another opportunity to 'butt sled', to build a snowman, to bake "snow and mud" milkshakes.

As for me, I do receive another happy chance to take a frozen morning walk with my camera. On this last unofficial day of winter, the diamonds sparkle in the snow. 

I am smiling in my dirty down coat. Winter has not been as horrible as I feared. Maybe I am getting used to the cold. Maybe, sometimes, I even enjoy the cold. Sometimes. (Don’t get me wrong. The warmth of the sun in the South is pure delight. I could stay for hours reading a book in the sun. And I do, whenever I get a chance. )

But the bitter cold on my face is not that bad, after all. I feel happily alive, more conscious of every breath when the cold hits us. And I feel compelled to look around: maybe it is a chance to live in this winter wonderland.

A chance and a challenge. I feel ready to embrace it again next year. I think.

Winter is something I could easily live without. People feel bad for me. When we moved here, everybody was bragging about the beautiful snow. I usually replied with a frown. Until a few month ago, I felt all alone in my abhorrence of winter. Then I met two persons. One is a winter fanatic. She told me I should EMBRACE winter. "Embrace" happens to be my favorite word in English. So, her words caught my mind. I remember them almost every day although I am not sure exactly how and when and if I will ever embrace winter. The other person loathes winter as much as I do. She sees it as a chore, just like me. It always feel good to meet someone who feels exactly like you do.

The dirt of the snow, the accidents on the road, the cold, the snow everywhere, in the mittens, in the neck, on the hair, and the absence of color pay a toll on me.

But when my kids dress up to play in the snow, I remember that I bought them hand-me-downs super colorful snow pants.

When I hear their giggles in the snow, I feel a little warmer.

When finally the sun comes one hour before the sunset and brightens everything, I start to feel (a little bit) lucky to live in a winter wonderland.

This is the best way I found so far to embrace the winter. With a camera instead of skis. Later, I will start iceskating on the pond, skiing, snow shoeing, snow tubing, you name it. There is only so much I can adjust at in a certain time and these kinds of adjustments happen quite slowly . So, I enjoy the few minutes of the sun reflections, I pray that my kids don't get hurt in their backyard sledding adventures and I end up smiling with them at the bottom of the big hill.

The creator of this masterpiece called it a ginger flop

Building a gingerbread house is one of the mandatory winter chore that I usually compare with the absolute obligation to build a snowman or to have a hardwood floor full of grey snow stains. I could happily live without these chores. The last few years, I have usually delegated the snowman to the kids (sometimes the husband), while I took care of the stains and lazily bought an overly expensive box of store made gingerbread house. The gingerbread kits are overpriced and end up in the trash after a few weeks of daily homage followed by a quick and inevitable disregard. But they are better for pictures and for presentation and they have the power to limit the number of candies used.

This year, I am learning a few new things, like for example, eating pickles (hopefully also part of the practical US citizenship test) or tasting the jellied cranberry sauce in a can. The last month has been weird and I needed parties in the house. I like parties with a theme, and around Christmas time, we have to be careful about the religious orientation of the activities. A tree, a reindeer, an ornament are related to Christianity, although the connection is kind of very tiny. Gingerbread house, as far as I know, is not religious. (Am I right? Am I wrong?) 

And I thought it was time to spend the money in a better way than paying $15 for a kit. So. Parties happened. Lots of graham crackers were bought. (no, I did not do a real gingerbread house. This first step is huger than one can imagine… the oven fresh gingerbread plates will be for another decade) There were candies all over. Kids were going crazy with the sugar. Then candies were bagged and donated to homeless people. The little houses were eaten, not trashed. Kids were happy, the house was full, just the way I like it. Now, bring on the citizenship test. For that matter, I am ready.

With the girls, we have been debating if we should send real Christmas cards or electronic ones. It is the era of quick emails, quick texts, easy spelling shortcuts. Think about it: why spend several hundreds of dollars and many hours in real paper cards while you can save that money and send mass emails in less than 10 minutes?

I don't have a good answer. I just know how much my daughters are longing for real letters, real cards, real paper. Seeing the smile on their face when they receive a note in the mail is priceless. Receiving a card or receiving an email is such a different sensation. 

So, we decided to print cards again, maybe for the last time. The political climate helped us too to lean towards kindness rather than easiness. Stopping a moment during the busy holiday preparation is worth the cost of paper. We stop everything, spend time together, writing the names on the envelopes, sticking stamps or writing a little note on the card. We wonder: why are we sending these people a card? Sometimes it is because they are alone, sometimes, it is because they are family, or good friends,  or friends, or old friends. When we put the card in the envelope, we think about the happy moments we share(d) with these friends. 

Stopping, connecting, imagining the smile on faces makes it worth the money and the time. 

Happy new year friends, with many smiles and a lot of gratitude for who you are or who you have been in our lives. 

(Oh, and please, send us your address (by email :-)

There are very few rules in my parenting apprenticeship. One of them is to let the children play. I have not read much about it nor have I done a lot of research. My guts simply told me when the kids were at the edge of preferring electronics to toys: let them play. I might be completely wrong. There might be serious university studies telling that children should learn at an early age or books about the benefits of the IPAD for kids. Maybe. But I don't care. My point is that, when they grow out of play, they stop playing forever. There is no turning back. So, as long as they are young and want to play, I let them play. The clean up rule is not part of my parenting (or individual) signature. Once in a while, I pull my hair out of despair and beg the kids to clean up. Most of the time, I let them display the structures, constructions, organizations of their imaginary world for weeks, until they are ready to enter a new imaginary world. 

N playing with these beads bought more than ten years ago for the big girl

I drive my hubby crazy with all the toys at home. He does not seem to understand why I keep the beads bought in 2005. There is something more to it than the simple urge to not discard things that can still be used... in this case by our little boy. So, why the hell do I keep barbies in a box?

The answer is simple. When we moved out of our comfortable and friendly Chicago, unlike many families moving and downsizing, I decided to keep all the toys. Well, almost all of the toys. Yes, I kept the barbies. Right before moving, I had observed my big 11 years old girl cut the barbies's hair with her good friend.  They took the barbies out of the donation pile. My daughter and her neighbor friend were playing outside and hiding from whoever might see them. You see, being 11 in the big city and playing with barbies hair is something you are supposed to hide. It is embarrassing. I was chocked by their hiding game. I packed that box with me instead of donating them. I thought about the move, about the new school, the possibility that making friends might be hard. And I thought: no matter what happens in the new place, I want the kids to feel at home.

Children might be resilient but they are losing a lot in a move. They are giving up more than their friends. In a move, they lose the immediate availability of the friends, the comfort, the security, all the landmarks that created them. In the new place, how can they know who to turn to if they are late to be picked up, they don't know how the new school will be, how the new gymnastics school will be, how the new martial arts place will be. They don't know which neighbors can be trusted. They don't know the time it takes to get somewhere. They don't know the expectations, the behaviors, the playdates rules. No matter how lost they would be, I needed to ensure they would have two strong landmarks: the family and the endless possibilities of play.

Barbies were not a good keeper. They were used once to learn how to braid hair. But all the other toys have been played with more than the recommended age group and they all have been cherished before and after the move.

Today, the little boy is sick. He is not, really. He had a fever at school and as per the rule of all American schools: you keep your kids at home for at least 24 hours after the fever broke. (there is no wonder why many American's moms cannot go to work full time, but that's another story). I follow the rule, so happy to enjoy a day with my son. The closest family member is about a 16 hours drive away, the closest dear friend who is almost family lives about the same distance. I am a stay at home, trying to work from home mom also for that reason. So, we enjoy a nice time together. Clearly the boy is not sick. And clearly, he is thrilled to have 8 hours of uninterrupted playtime. 

Little Mister N. often asks me to watch the IPAD. A few days ago, he came back from school and told me that two kids in his class had their own device. Seriously? I don't want to believe him, although I know it might be true. This morning, when he knew he was going to stay home all day long, he asked to watch my Ipad. I suggested we would first play a little bit. The little bit lasted eight hours. Eight uninterrupted hours of playtime. He created Santa trains transporting girafes, he built complex crane structures to dig out the gold from the dwarf mines, Superman saved people being trapped by mean pink and orange pigs (no comments here), he made necklaces and he 'helped' me to make a puzzle. 

"You see Mom", he says: "you have to try to put it all by yourself. You cannot ask me to do it. Otherwise, you will never learn".

As a mom, I achieved very few things I am proud of. Allowing my kids to play and develop their imagination as much as possible is one of them.

When the big girl was not so big, and at a too early age, she got under the peer pressure that green is yucky.  Before the peer pressure, she has been eating salads, asparagus, broccoli, advocado and even Brussels sprouts with no mishap. But one day, I picked her up from daycare and green became the number one enemy. At that time, I only had one child and life was so easy. I could have chosen to fight but despite the easy peasy status of the single child, I was not in the mood for a fight. There were pink straws in the drawer. I gave her a pink straw with the green soup and voilà, the miracle happened. The girl drank her veggies instead of eating them. No big deal, cute story and this is how a tradition starts.

I know there are lots of theories saying that you should be a eating your fruits and veggies and not drinking them. I do not care. As of now, my children have at least 5 servings of pure vegetables in the shape of a soup every week, more if I have time. They still drink it with a straw and again, I don't care.

My adorable little kids tell me that my soups are the only ones they like and for once, I don't contradict them. No soup tastes better than the easy ones I prepare. Except in these fancy restaurants and by fancy restaurant, I am not talking about Panera Bread. My soups are cheap, super healthy and literally take no more than 10 minutes to prepare. 

How to achieve this miracle? You need two or three basic ingredients and a variable one. Today, I am making broccoli soup. It takes me a little longer than expected because broccoli has to be boiled twice, otherwise, you spend your day burping broccoli and that's no fun.

Ingredients for a broccoli soup by the straw

broccoli florets

1 or 2 shallots

Knorr chicken cube (replace with vegetable cube if you are vegetarian)

1.5 liter water or about 6 cups water

Preparation

1. Cut the broccoli in big chunks

2. Boil the florets until they are tender.

3. Pour the water, reboil them. Add the shallots and when the water is boiling, add one or two little cubes.

4. Let boil for 5-10 minutes

5. Don't drain the water. Put all ingredients in a vitamix or blender and that's it.

remember to boil the broccoli twice if you don't want to be burping broccoli all day long.

Easy peasy. No heavy cream, no fat. One bowl is about maybe ... what? ... 30 calories? And believe me, it tastes SO good!

Sometimes, I add a little shaved super-extra-vermont-sharp cheddar with it. That adds on the calories and it is just for a little extra pleasure. And as for the big glass jar of soup, I might drink it all before the kids come back home. However, broccoli soup is their favorite and kids need their veggies, right?

my very early photographic discoveries took place in the streets of Paris in the 1990's. As of today, this is still one of the favorite pictures I took.

My very early photographic discoveries took place in the streets of Paris in the 1990's. As of today, this is still one of the favorite pictures I took.

This post is for a friend, for the aspiring photographers, for the ones who love to see beauty everywhere. Why spending time, money, ressources on a creative career in the crazy-profit-materialistic-social-media driven world? You won't make any money being a photographer. You will encounter an unfair competition. You will struggle with calculations of light and aperture and more more more. But just do it anyway. If you don’t have a closed capitalist mind, then do it. Just do it. Go for it.

I hear people talk about the 'eye' for photography. But it is not just about the 'eye'. Photography is a process that drives your entire body, that makes you think, and changes the full perception of the world surrounding you. Photography forces you to have more than just one eye. You will look at the very little, at the intensely big, you will look at the broken, at the useless and all will make sense to you. And you will be tired. You will have to lay down, to kneel for one hour, to keep all your senses alert.

The possibility to photograph the very little is a chance and a treasure.

My photography journey started when I was 16. I was a student, working for CocaCola. One day, I was sent to an isolated gas station to sell the drinks. There were no customers at all. People were there to take gas, not to shop. So, when the official CocaCola photographer came, we spent a little too much time talking. The guy took pictures of the Coke display, which in my opinion had no interest at all.

Sometimes, one sentence can change your life. In my teens, three sentences changed the way I looked at life. 

Like every teenager, I loved art, but Coke cans? That was no art at all.

'It does not matter that it is a stack of cans. I will find the way to make it a beautiful composition, there will be beauty in my picture, there will be beauty in these uninteresting cocacola cans'. 

I looked at the cans, puzzled. Beauty in coke? Hmm... A few months later, I asked my parents to use their camera to look at the world. Then, when I turned 18, I received my first camera. 

Photography allows you to make sense out of the ugly, the broken.

Is it really insignificant that Cocacola opened my gaze on the world? I don't think so. Somehow, I believe it makes more sense. Trying to find beauty in the ugly was a challenge. If I was told to photograph the nature or the cute little babies, I might not have been driven to the need of beauty.

Photography forces you to look at the world in a different way. Like drawing, painting, sculpting, dancing, cooking, video making and so many other forms of art, it forces you to open up to the endless and often unseen possibilities of beauty.

But the problem is: is beauty really useful? (This is the second sentence that changed my life in my teens)  Does beauty bring profit? Do we need beauty to live? Often times the answer is no. My answer is yes. But that's another story...

Another chance offered by photography is the possibility to connect with people. Whether you take pictures for a client or pictures of groups, sharing the pictures is an act of kindness. When I take pictures during celebrations and I share them with the subjects or the parents, I can feel the smile on their face. I just know they are smiling. Making people happy is worth the time you spent. If you make money out of it, good for you. If not, it will make you happy anyway.

Yes, go ahead, take photography classes. If you can, don’t take online classes. Go on the field, meet people, talk to photographers, to the corner camera shop employee. Learn the basics, learn to listen to critique, to feedback, to advice. Take one class, two classes, a whole degree. For the sake of the beauty in the world. To change your gaze on the world. To connect with people. To cultivate the sparkle of hope. To change a teeny tiny bit the world.

To make money? Yes, sure, everybody loves money. But honestly? No, not really. Unless you have good contacts, good chance, a lot of time or you are a genius. Otherwise, you will face a few competitors: 

1/the long time established photographers. They have worked their ass off in order to become photographers. They went to photography school, they spent money and hours advertising, they took online classes, workshops, chemistry classes, they understand the whims of the light, the zone system, the subtle combinations needed to take a great photograph. They possess the finest equipment and the knowledge. Respect them. Strive to become one of them even if it will take years, lots of failure and lots of work.

2/the self-called photographers. These are people who have kids and a somehow OK camera. Because kids are cute and handy, and their camera is kind of good, these "picture takers" take cute pictures. They found a way to make easy and quick money. Don’t be scared of them. They know little about light. They know little about composition. They know how to capture a cute subject but often they need to learn how to reproduce the beauty. (of course, not always, some rare 'picture takers' are truly talented). I would not trust anyone to capture the joys of childhood if they only know the automatic function of their Costco-bought machine. I would not trust anyone who charges $50 for graduation, Easter bunny pictures or important moments of my life. Clearly, with $50, they have nothing to lose but also not much knowledge to give.

Having the eye for photography is a good start, but having the knowledge that you learn in school allows you to much more creativity and to really master what you want to photograph. Photography is a daily commitment, an honorable one, one that will make you look at the world in a compassionate way, one that will, ultimately, always reveal beauty. Don't look back. Your eyes will be tired to look at the millions of possibilities surrounding you. 

Note: I do not call myself a professional photographer. I have studied photography, know a little bit about the subject, I have worked with many clients, I understand some physics and some chemistry, I studied the history of photography and a few more things. But I am a mom, a teacher, an imperfect person and absolutely nothing compared to the great photographers out there. I am just at the beginning of my learning journey. There are too many subjects I wish I was able to photograph.

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target is a temple of millions of unnecessary items. hmm. should we should take that horse mask?

In the movie, 'we bought a zoo', they complain because the closest target is 10 miles from their house. They make fun of it but also complain about it. Our closest target, friends, is 1h30 from our house. Whenever we are going on a little trip, we have to stop by Trader Joe's but somehow, Target is not really missed. We always manage to skip the Target store and we are doing perfectly well like that.

But last week-end, we went to Portland, Maine.  It was raining like hell. Not just a little rain. Driving was a pain, puddles all over, going from the car to some place was enough to get drenched, even with umbrellas. We visited the art museum, the children's museum, had a good lunch but we were not ready yet to go back to the hotel. As my husband was staying in the hotel room to work and needed some quiet time, I asked the kids what they wanted to do. They were tired of museums (the children museum is awesome but really too crowded and better for the younger children).

This is when the big girl came up with an idea: is there a Target here?

I look up Target on my nice little phone. Yep, there is a Target in Portland. Yes, we can go there. At least, we won't be drenched in Target. And as the dad is working, I decide to be generous and to offer $10, for a toy or a book. $10 but no more. 

The big girl jumps with joy! Yoohoo! We are going to Target! Yeah! The kids make up a song about their happy feeling towards Target. I promise them not to share it on Facebook even though it is hilarious.

Suddenly, I become the best mom in the 'whole wild world'. 

I am not sure what happens, but when we are in the Target, the nicest part is the fooling around. Not all the toys. Of course, Target is some kind of  Santa workshop of the Modern Mamma and yes, the kids have smiles in their eyes when they see the dolls, the legos, the little animals. But they do not stay in the toys aisle for more than a few minutes. They imagine new games for the dolls that they can play when we get back home. We end our Target shopping trip with three boxes of tictacs, two funny birthday cards for my dad a very big very good smile on our faces.

(I always let my kids food around in supermarkets. First, it is nice to take pictures of them acting crazy. It is a nice memory. (below are a few old pictures, not necessarily from target) Second, there is no harm in laughing in a store, it makes shopping much easier for everybody in the family. Also, some products come in handy: when the boy falls asleep in the shopping cart: thank you Target to let us borrow the stuffed teddy bear; hats are there to be tried on, right? Couches too. Finally, I don't need to compete for the-picture-perfect-nice-mom-with-her-well-behaved-children-award. I don't care: I already received the best mom in the whole wild world award)

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Sorry Target, we do not miss you after all. But it was fun to visit and to avoid the big rain! 

This, unfortunately, is the only picture, the only proof I have of their scones

I kind of tried to receive their recipe but, for obvious reasons, it did not work.  So, when I moved out of Chicago, the Blue Max scones were on my top 10 things I would miss. I have been back twice and twice, I flew back to Boston with a huge box of scones. But this is not sufficient. You never have enough of good scones. Where I live, scones and pastries are just fine. I have tried every single scone that was for sale in a 20 miles radius. Mainly, they use dried fruit or jam instead of fresh fruit. Maybe it is the way the British friends do it. I don't care. I want my scones with fruit, lots of fruits, real fruits, fresh fruits.

Out of my pretty big disappointment, I tried about 10 scones recipes. Until I found one that we all love. They literally take 10-15 minutes to do, which is the number one priority if I bake something. They are just a little sweet, not much. Just enough fruit. A teeny tiny sour. Even the big girl who swore she *hates* baked fruits, even she loves them.

My scones have replaced the thick pancakes I would prepare out of a box every Sunday morning for the kiddos and the hubby (I do not like pancakes). Also, at least twice a week, the scones replace the boring cereal breakfast. We eat them all the time. I use a mini scones pan from King Arthur Flour which makes enough scones for my hungry little hippos... oops, sorry, family.

​This morning's flavor: raspberries scones with blackcurrant jelly

Ingredients:

1 stick of salted butter, in chunks, cold

a few table spoons of sour cream 

a few teaspoons of orange juice

orange and lemon zest

vanilla extract or orange extract

a few table spoons of blackcurrant jam

2 cups of all purpose flour

1 table spoon of baking powder

1/4 or 1/2 cup of sugar

1/2 teaspoon of salt (or if you use salted butter, skip this ingredient)

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. In a big bowl, stir together all the dry ingredients. Add the butter cut in small chunks. Use your fingertips or two forks.  It should look like coarse crumbs. Next, add the other wet ingredients starting with the sour cream, then the vanilla extract, then the zests. Be careful not to add too much orange juice. You don't want the mixture to become too wet. 

Finally, gently add the blackcurrant jelly and the raspberries. Gently knead the batter by hand, making sure you do not mash or crush the berries. Distribute the berries evenly in the batter. 

If you have a scone pan, press the sought out onto it. Otherwise, press the dough out on a floured baking sheet and shape it into a disk or a square. Cut into triangles, squares, circles, whatever shape you want to give your scones. (I like the classic triangle shape). If you have coarse sugar, sprinkle the scones with it. I usually forget to do so. 

Bake for 15-18 minutes at 375 degrees. Transfer the scones into a cooling rack, but not too long. They are better when eaten warm.​

Makes 8 medium size scones or 16 small ones.

Note: this is an ever changing recipe. Sometimes, I add an egg in the mixture because I forget the original recipe. Sometimes, I replace sour cream with heavy cream. Blackcurrant jam is hard to find in supermarkets. Some Italian or Polish markets carry them. Hero makes a very good one. I buy it here or here (they used to sell it on Amazon.com but as of now, Amazon.com is overpriced)

Noone really knows when that little bambi baby dear was born. Noone needs to know, it is the way nature works, I guess.

Bambi grew up, had fun eating all the leaves the summer had to offer. Then it grew again, survived one cold New England winter, maybe two, maybe none yet.

Then it crossed my path. I had just moved in the area. I was in love with deers. In Chicago, there were deers, oh yes, there are deers in the windy city's suburbs. I would always stop and admire them. The kids were tired of the car stopping constantly for us to watch the animals. But they acted like good sports, they tried to share my enthusiasm of deers. 

The Chicago suburbs deers, strangely less feared by humans than the New England ones.

When I moved to the East Coast, I saw deers in the garden, in the forests but none on the streets like in River Forest (River Forest is a snob and beautiful suburb of Chicago).

Until one day in October when I drive up a hill and out of nowhere, a deer jumps in front of my car. The three kids are singing and giggling in the back. They do not notice anything. I have one second to decide what to do. There is a biker going down the hill, feets before me. There is a car, right behind the biker. There is no pavement on the right side, just a long type of hole.  There is a deer in front of me. There are three kids fooling around in the backseats. I do not have a choice. It is the deer or the biker. I continue my path, feel the deer under my car. The kids don't notice anything. I breathe heavily. The adrenaline is hurting. I stop the car, far enough for the kids not to turn around and see the deer. (I know, I should have stopped and removed the deer but at that time, I did not know the expectations of the big woods)

I call 311 (non-urgent police number in Chicago). There is no 311 here. OK then, I call 911, feeling stupid to do so. Two minutes later, a police officer comes. They send me the nicest one maybe because they heard my shaking voice on the phone. He reassures me, checks on my car, tells me it happens quite often. People kill deers because deers just jump in front of the cars. He has already called the animal service for me. He welcomes me to the area.

I am in tears. Did I just do that? I know, it was the deer or the biker. The half second left to take a decision went towards not hurting a man on a bike. But for weeks, I have nightmares of a community of deers seeking to take revenge. I drive as slow as the cars behind me let me. I avoid the highways, I avoid the dirt roads, I avoid the hill where the deer jumped on me. It is stupid and childish but I am traumatized by the poor deer that was on my way. The kids are sad too. They want to know if the deer made it, if she was healed. The boy who, for some reason uses the French word to say deer, tells his teacher that his mom hurt a biche. He does not say 'biche', he says: 'bitch'. The teacher is puzzled. At least, I am laughing.

Dear poor deer, I am sorry to have sent you to the deer hospital. I know it is a small event in the life big events, but still, I am sorry. We did not know when you were born, but we can put a date on your encounter with my car.

I still have no idea how to avoid deers to jump in front of my car. Deers and moose and bears and pheasants. I know they are more likely to be out at dawn or dusk, in the fall and in the spring. But how to avoid them to jump right in front of you? I do not know. If I were an engineer, I would design a small device attached to cars that would repell deers. Like the ultrasonic things you plug in and get the mice out of your house. Well I am not an engineer and I do not know how to avoid meeting deers and moose on the highways.

The nightmares are over and I started to annoy my children again. Each time I see deers, I stop everything and tell them to look at these beautiful animals. The deers come on the front porch, on the hill. We see them in the early morning, when we have breakfast, we see them sometimes at night, when we drive and they are peacefully eating the leaves from our trees. The boy still uses the word 'bitches' for 'deers' and I am not ready yet to correct him.

From what I read, deers are more likely to be out on the streets at dawn or dusk.

In hunting places, fall is the season when they are on the move. Watch out for deers running away from hunters.

Spring too is a busy season for deers. They have or will have their babies and they need to protect them.

Be careful. Always respect the speed limits.

If you see a deer crossing sign, slow down. It means deers are in the area or accidents already happened there before.

Apparently, you are supposed to look at the little eyes in the dark. I have tried doing that but if I do, I do not concentrate on the road. 

Your phone? Put it down. Away. Out.

(2011 camping trip in a park a few blocks from our house)

I do not care. Seriously, I don't. 

Like half of the parents out there, my mailbox is overflowing with subscriptions. They are so, soooo convenient... and soooo cumbersome. They offer 15% off your first shopping basket, they let you know of the very special events, the once in a life time promotions, the 'hurry up, it won't last long' kind of deals. Yes. they believe I absolutely need to know that there is a 40% sale at Gap until midnight and t.h.e. c.l.o.c.k. i.s. t.i.c.k.i.n.g. If I do not shop, I will miss THE chance of my life. Three emails about that. Three per day. The thing is: whenever I will need to buy a winter coat, these 40% will be welcome. Imagine: 40 bucks instead of 60-ish?  That's why I still am a Gap subscriber. I am not hiding it, there is no secret, I am a hoarder, I keep way too many things, including emails.

Seriously. 6000 unread gap- old navy- PDOP messages? This is not serious.

So, every week, I unsubscribe from random unnecessary things. Last week was the FFC fitness center in Chicago. This morning, the PDOP.

God -and a few friends- know how much I have *adored* all the park district offerings. I do not believe any other village has such a vast, diverse, fun and accessible program. I truly thought that the parks of Oak Park would be one of THE big things I would miss the most when moving to New England. Seriously, which other village has a splash pad, full playground and other super fun equipment every 7 blocks or so? I even think they won some kind of golden park district award. 

(Cheney mansion, open on a few occasions for my selfish picture taking pleasure)

That's true. PDOP is awesome, truly awesome. And we sometimes miss the variety of all the playground equipment. But on the other hand, our eyes are full FULL of wonder whenever, out of the blue, we find a new swing set. Yes, we have to drive to go to the playgrounds but so what? The drive is a wonder of beauty. And there are hundreds of "parks" without equipment in New England. Huge hills to run on. Trees to play hide and seek. My dear friend G. who grew up not far from here told me that the whole area is a huge park. She was right. It took me about a year to realize it.  

(our new swing set: consisting of one swing, hills and a pond)

So, farewell to the convenient convenience of Oak Park. I still miss a bunch of things and persons out there. But I am glad to say that the skating parties, the breakfasts with Santa, the grand opening of a brand new nature program and the camping trips are not so much on my homesick list anymore.

I am slowly letting go of Chicago, one step at a time, one email at a time...

So, because we absolutely adore raspberries and we need to buy apples, after school, we drive a quick 20 minutes to pick our afternoon snack. In New England, there might be more farms than stores. Usually, I find it somehow annoying, but today, it actually feels good. It is a warm, sunny day, we drive past 4 or 5 farms before arriving to our favorite one. There is a small corn maze, pumpkins, a small pumpkin patch, but nothing like the Chicago fall pumpkins extravaganza. There is no craziness, only peace and quiet. The fields belong to a few of us. We run through the orchard, pick up apples. The kids play with leaves and twigs. I sit down, take pictures, eat raspberries.

The sun is intense. It is funny how sometimes, nothing goes wrong.

We eat more raspberries than the ones we save for home. We taste so many kinds of apples. We drink apple cider, buy maple candies and are still early enough back home to get the homework and play time rolling. Tomorrow, the kids want to make raspberry jam. I am sure we will have eaten them all and we will need to go berry picking soon again. As for the apples, can we ever have enough of them?