Les enfants

Yesterday, during one of my many vacances (vay-kans: vacations) afforded to me from being a teacher, I found myself in a minivan stock-piled with ski gear, diapers, and Valentine's Day candy (not to mention two toddlers and a kindergartner) headed up to les Alpes yet again in order to be in the presence of six enfants (onfont: children) all under the age of six and their parents while they ski, play, and inevitably cry, scream, and fight in the way only children can.

I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to escape to the mountains and away from my crazy neighbor, public toilets, and lesson planning.  But it seems that, even on vacation, I can't escape being inundated by kids.  French kids, to be more precise, who already speak French better than I do, dress more fashionably than I do, and can whip out insults at the tip of a hat better than I can due to their witty, unforgiving French gènes (jen: genes).  

After spending the past five months acting as a fille au pair (fee oh pear: nanny) to these children, I've come to call them les animaux ( layzan-ee-mo: animals) rather than les enfants, which the kids seem to find hilarious and love.  Probably because they all know that, as savage (sav-aj: wild) as they all act, they're closer to wild animals at this point than they are domesticated and civilized French members of human society.  Or perhaps they act so uncivilized because they are French...hmmmm...