Do you know what lait de poule is? It’s chicken milk, or what we would call, eggnog. But in France it’s called, lait de poule, which translates as milk of chicken. Can you think of anything more gross than the name, chicken milk? Me either.
All this chicken milk talk came up over the weekend while we were celebrating Thanksgiving, since now Christmas is just a hop skip and a jump.
But first… check out this tasty little guy…
That’s our French turkey. Or as Aidan kept referring to it, a baby turkey (baby turkeys and chicken milk… freakiest meal ever if you ask me).
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Friday morning, before The Husband and I headed down to our first ever Franco-Texan Thanksgiving, Aidan phoned me…
Aidan: “Why don’t you bring your running stuff with you and we’ll go for a jog tomorrow morning “
Me: dead silence
Because what was going through my head was some crazy multi-mile jog through Montpellier and uh, no, that was not part of my Franco-Texan Thanksgiving plans. But what Aidan had in mind was a turkey trot with the whole family. Our first annual Turkey Trot actually because you know that now, this is definitely a tradition. I mean look how awake and happy we all look…
{turkey trotting in our sleep}
Oh how I wish I had filmed Aidan’s Littlest chugging along. His little arms were pumping, his cheeks were pink, and there was a look of sheer determination on his face. As far as he was concerned, turkey trotting was some serious stuff.Â
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{turkey, stuffing, and cranberry… oh my!}
Dinner was delicious. Aidan and her mother nailed it (no small feat throwing an American Thanksgiving in France let me tell you). Every bite tasted like America.
We watched the Longhorn/ Aggie game (a couple of days late but it was still awesome), we played charades (here’s a tip… if it’s your turn and you want to get out quick… mime Eat Pray Love… easiest one to guess ever), and we watched holiday movies. It was perfect. It felt like Thanksgiving. It felt like home.
bisou
It's Me, Sara Louise 
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