The days before Christmas were fun with all the family in the house. It did not really feel like Christmas time for me because so much of that feeling comes from being at home with my house decorated, but I was still excited for the day to come. I made my famous quesidilla lunch for the family and a guest from town, and they loved it again and felt very full. My step-host brother (who I played games with every night, the father of the 3 kids) wanted to make sure that I did not leave France without experiencing fancy french food, so he made me try oyesters, snails, and fois gras. I did not really like the oyesters (huites), the snails were delicious and buttery and garlicy, and the fois gras was almost too difficult to swallow (But in France you eat everything on your plate, so I used a lot of bread to help me get my portion down). Most of the time we went back and forth from our house to the other family house a few minutes away (I think my host family and their extended family own at least 4 houses in the small town). The other house was filled with even more cousins and we played cards and hung out with the older cousins. The little cousins remembered me from my previous visit and they ran around singing "Preston est gentil!" (Preston is nice). I gave the girls silly bands and played games with the boys (I would do anything to win the hearts of the entire family!).
For Christmas eve, after our late 9:30pm dinner, we went to mass at a cathedral nearby which started at 11pm and did not finish until 1am. The service was filled with french hymns, a little Mary and the angel skit by some kids from my host family, and prayers over the creche. It was cold enough for me to see my breath during the songs, and my extended host family took up 4 whole rows of pews with their large numbers. That night after mass, each person in the family set out one shoe around the living room, and all the gifts were placed by each person's shoe. It was a fun tradition, and my host mom thinks it works better than having 17 people's worth of presents packed under the christmas tree for days until Christmas morning.
On Christmas morning, I woke up to the little kids jumping on my bed and telling me to come downstairs, exactly how I thought it would happen. From my spot on the couch, I could see the entire room and I spent most of my morning watching the family open their gifts. My host family was extremely generous and so my shoe was covered with little gifts too. I found my christmas stocking from home hidden under the couch which my mom had sent to France. That was such a great surprise! I had been talking with the other American girl staying with us about what our families put in their stocking, and we both agreed that it was usually little candies and snacks along with personal hygeine items. When I opened my stocking in the morning, we saw that our predictions were correct. My host family gave me little treats typical to Nantes and Bretagne, a Nantes Soccer shirt, a french book, and a new card game. I was blessed to be with a family who took such good care of me. The rest of the family received some big gifts and most of the kids immediately started playing with their new gadgets. One of the little kids even got a hamster (On the subject of rodents, in France when a child loses a tooth, a little mouse comes in while they are sleeping and gives them some coins. I thought that was a little less sanitary that the tooth fairy, but also more realistic).
After Christmas day, we made an American brunch for the whole family. We served southern-style scrambled eggs, potato wedges, and French toast (We could not find Texas Toast obviously, but they tasted just fine with thin white bread). We set the table American-style (cup to the side of the plate, spoon on the right of the plate) and they were surprised that we ate all three foods on the same plate at the same time, mixing the sweetness of the syrup with the salty potatos. It is funny how breakfast is "the most important meal of the day" in the States while most people in my host family just munch on bread and nesquik to hold them over until lunch. One day we went to watch a family friend play Boule on a court that was curved rather than just flat. Everyone playing was over 70 years old, but they were very skilled at this version of the traditional French game. But mostly my final days with the family were spent like all the others: card games, settlers of catan, video games, movies, and playing with cousins.
When it was time for me to leave, it was so bittersweet. I was leaving my family but not leaving France and not seeing my real family for a while still. Saying goodbye to all the host bothers and families was not too sad (although I genuinely enjoyed being around each one of them and I hope I get to see them all again soon), but finally leaving the house was hard to do. I felt content when my host mom said "say goodbye to your son" to my host dad as I left. At the train station, I said goodbye to Paul and Constance (she was teary) and finally to my host mom with goodbye bisous. The train pulled away as I waved goodbye from the window, and then my life with my host family was over. Sitting on the train was when I actually felt sad to be leaving my host family and life in Nantes. I will be back as soon as I can to see them again.
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