Francophile

At a certain point in a marathon, your body and mind might try to convince you that a latte and the NY Times is a much more sensible way to spend your morning. So, you dig deep. You might have a bag of mental tricks. You might envision the finish line and that thrill of accomplishment. You've got a head game to get you through the rough part.

Or, you might run into a coffee shop and start that more sensible morning.

N has been a budding Francophile ever since Rockstar Husband and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary in Paris, leaving both Boo's with their fabulous Aunt. She understood that Paris is not a safe place for someone who is severely allergic to eggs. If it was just almonds/nuts, I would have stowed her away with us but eggs are too hard to avoid in France. Well, they are hard to avoid in most places but let's not get intimate with Frances emergency medical system.

Paris became a goal for her. It's been a dream for three years. She earned the elementary schools French award this year. Her kindle is full of Paris based stories. The current life plan is for her and Little Boo to become marine biologists based in France with a spa and clothing store they run for fun on the side of their restaurant.

Sounds like a plan to me.

Knowing that she would need a finish line goal in her pocket to get her through this, I asked her what her dream food was to focus on. She was quite clear when she told me she wanted eggy-crepes. In Paris.

Okay, kiddo. You see this thing through and we will celebrate in Paris.

When the fear starts icing up her veins, we head to Paris in our minds. We are at the top of the Eiffel Tower. We are on the carasoul. We are buying flowers in the market and eating chocolate croissants that are still warm. We are free of fear of food. We are living fully.




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