Celebrate good times,come on! (Let's celebrate)
Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)
There's a party goin' on right here
A celebration to last throughout the years
So bring your good times, and your laughter too
We gonna celebrate your party with you
Come on now
(That Kool and the Gang interlude was brought to you by The Husband. He loves 'The Funk'.)
But yes, we are celebrating in Le Petit Village. Last weekend was my first Franciversary, and now, the blog's first birthday. That's right. On Friday 2nd October, I wrote my first blog post. And now, 301 posts later (302 with this one) here we are.
In celebration, let's do what TV does when they've reached a milestone (and the writers are feeling too lazy to come up with new material) they flashback to old shows. So that's what I'm going to do, cheat. I mean have a flashback and take a trip down memory lane of my last year blogging in Le Petit Village.
There was the day that I officially became French (sort of) by getting my Certificat de Residence (never did get that frame).
And when I painted the spiral staircase in the old house, covering up that nutjob's handy work. And let me tell you something, spiral staircase painting is not easy work. Plus I'm getting on in years so there was a lot of, "Oh, my back." (Except sometimes I like to channel an old Jewish woman named Sadie so it was, "Oy vey, my back").
Then I discovered the joys of Pizza Night and loved it so much I created a song and dance in it's honor (I've since taught this song and dance to my nieces in Dublin. I'm sure soon it will be all the rage).
A few weeks later, we drove six hours north so I could meet French Mommy which turned out wonderfully. French Mommy is so happy to finally have a daughter (French Nana digs me too) that on our last visit I got loads of presents and The Husband nada (hee hee).
And then after we returned to Le Petit Village, Dreamfarm Girl bestowed upon me, my very first blog award (Dreamfarm Girl was my first non-family/friend follower, she's been with me since almost the beginning. Plus she's lives in Texas. There's a bond).
I cooked for Papa's Wife for the first time (I have two French Mother-in-laws. No pressure). Oh and her mother came too, and then The Spaniard showed up, and later The Cousin crashed. Good times.
And two months after moving to France I had to finally give in, be brave, and get my hair done. Which despite all my preparation turned out to be the the absolute worst haircut I have ever had.
(Good news though, The Spaniard's sister owns a salon and she's pretty good. I'm going for my second appointment with her next week. Besides being good at hair I like going because she looks exactly like her brother. It's like The Spaniard wearing some jewellery and makeup. Cracks me up).
Then Fifty's beloved Honey Jr (they're best buddies) moved in across the street. The Husband and Honey Jr loved yelling at each other from their windows. The rest of the village, not so much.
And since it was December and Christmas was approaching we went shopping for my first French Christmas tree, which of course turned out to be a puppy from the refuge instead. And soon my life became all about Fifty and the crazy housebreaking schedule I put him on.
(All those years spent project planning at the bank paid off. All you need to train a puppy is an implementation plan and a complete disregard for sleep.)
Soon Christmas was over, New Year's passed, and because I was so busy dealing with walking a puppy ever hour in the snow, I hardly noticed when March rolled around and we were going stateside to visit my father and friends in Massachusetts and New York. Oh, and then got married.
And since all newlyweds have their problems and we certainly are no different, we came back to Le Petit Village and discovered that our little Fifty is a serial killer. (I wish I could report that he has been reformed, but after a few months of his inner psycho lying dormant, he has recently struck again. I'll be sharing the carnage soon...).
Time slipped by quickly and soon it was May. Springtime in Le Petit Village and we began looking for a new home to move into. I felt like Goldilocks, nothing felt just right, until we finally settled on our new little abode complete with a small garden and Honey Jr installed next door (we move, he moves).
And then it was summer, and we celebrated Brother-in-Law's birthday and only a few days later, The Husband's (Papa must really like September if you catch my drift...) and we went to The Cousin's wedding and then Honey B's and now here we are...
300 posts later and whole lot of blog friends. Thank you to each and every one of you for taking the time to read my inane drivel. You make living in the middle of nowhere with no Starbucks that much easier.
(And I must say I've come to adore the Le Petit Villagers.
They never stop filling me with wine, and cheese,
and homemade alcohol.
Plus, they always give me something to write about.
And to laugh at).