I knew it wouldn't last...

Last month was warm and sunny -- unseasonably so. There was so little rain that I wondered how the May flowers would ever come. Well...the rain came in May. I knew it would. I knew one nice month was as much as we could possibly expect. Now it's chilly and rainy and not May-like at all. I'm not moving to Oregon. It would be like this all the time, and I would possibly jump off a bridge. Vitor wants to move to Quebec . . . ha! There's no way. I wish, but man, the winters last most of the year! I couldn't bear it.

I did plant some bushes in my front yard last week, but I've been hiding inside since then. I have flowers waiting to be potted, but I don't feel like digging in the dirt. I'm lazy and drowsy. I need sunshine.

Saturday was my birthday. According to my friend Lindsay, Saturn is now beginning its return to the degree it was at when I was born, so I'm officially entering adulthood. I'd never heard of the Saturn Return until she told me about it, but I guess I like the idea that the stars are aligning to help push me into a new phase in my life. At first I thought that if I'm just now becoming an adult, then what the hell have I been doing for the past nine years? I became an expat just after graduating high school, got married at 18, had babies at 20, 22, and 25, suffered the loss of a child, moved across the country, and tackled college with three kids . . . am I not an adult???

There is, however, a great deal of difference between doing grown-up things and being a grown-up. And I have changed, no doubt. I have even noticed myself maturing within the past year or so. I'm more concerned with stability, tidiness, health, etc, than I used to be. I used to be very go with the flow, and too relaxed about most things. I'm still like that in a lot of ways . . . but it's true, I do think I'm really becoming an adult.

I will not recommend that my children get married at 18 and have babies before they can even drink legally. I feel that I skipped over an important part of my life by rushing things like I did -- that period of transition between adolescence and real adulthood. I didn't have it. It's no one's fault but my own, but I wouldn't recommend it. Of course I have to be happy about the way things turned out, because I would never trade my children for the freedom to drink copious amounts of alcohol every weekend or to backpack across the world unhindered by my tiny companions. My life didn't end because of my children. But it did get harder, and I think that I probably didn't give them all that I could have if I had been more mature at the start.

Sorry, kids.

There's no "I" in Oliver.

Maybe I should have named him Oliver, then, instead of Olivier. Maybe that extra "i" really screwed him up. My kid has issues!!

Being half-Brazilian, my children have soccer in their blood. Olivier has been wanting to play for a long time now, and we finally got him into a rookie league this spring. But he expects the whole world to revolve around him. He's all smiles and rainbows when the kids are practicing, each with his own ball, but then when the game starts and a bunch of kids are fighting over the same ball, he freezes up and stands there sulking in the middle of the field. He says, "They won't let me score a goal!" No shit, Sherlock. (No, I do not say that to him. At least not to his face.)

He's a special little person, to put it nicely. He's a character, but his big emotions can cause problems. Terrible twos? Pshaw! Three was baaaaaaaaaad, and four's not much better.

At least he's cute.

I have to admit that he comes by it honestly. I had a reputation as a little kid as being rather difficult, I guess. They called me the Tyrant. I sometimes overreact...sometimes...

This is me in Paris, pouting because my camera wasn't working. Except it obviously was working, because this picture was taken with my camera.

This is me in Paris, pouting because...well, you've heard that story already. Yup. Same exact situation.

And just for fun, two of the best Paris pictures ever taken:

We went up in the Eiffel Tower, and just as we got to the front of the line to buy our tickets, they closed the uppermost level. Bastards!! This is how I felt. And then...

We bought metro passes, which was marvelous. The Paris Metro is a dream. But it hated me, for some reason. It would never let me through. Only me. Everyone else would breeze through, and I'd get the wind knocked out of me when it wouldn't open for me. I started jumping turnstiles. I hold a grudge.

My son might get his attitude from me.