Arrivee des villegoises

They seem happy. Little do they know....

It's day three of camp now, and every five minutes I have been checking the camp blog for photos of my kids, preferably holding today's newspaper so I know they're still alive. I even called the camp yesterday like a neurotic mother (which I am) just to get assurance that no one was sick, and yes, yes, the kids were having a good time.

Check in to camp was quite an experience I was told by my MIL, who along with my FIL escorted the kids from the airport to camp (with a stop at the head waters of the Mississippi river in the Itasca State Park). The kid's luggage wouldn't fit in the rental car and had to be trucked to camp directly by camp counselors who were at the airport picking up other campers. If they'd arrived on Sunday, as originally planned, I'm not sure what they would have done with the two tons of luggage I sent them with.

Oh my God I don't understand anything these people are saying to me.

According to my MIL, William was a bit overwhelmed that they were actually all speaking nothing but French to him (Really? William, how many times did mommy say this to you? Oh wait, maybe I was saying it to him IN French). In William's words, these people were "all speaking gibberish at me and I kept saying YES." I guess this explains why my son is now signed up for Bread Making. 

There was a little interview with each child to assess their French. Catherine pronounced she'd done quite well and had gotten as far as describing what was happening in some comic strips she was shown. William, my little monoglot, no so much.

Checking in to exchange dollars for Euros. Yes Euros.

 By the time they'd gone through all the check in stations, William was trying to convince my French-speaking MIL to not leave them: "But we need you to translate!"

I'm convinced in two weeks he'll be a beret-wearing, cigarette smoking, red wine drinking Frenchie!

I don't know what the hell I am singing.