Christmas at home with my Frenchie

My little Cata Crew of a family (ie Robin & moi), have celebrated Christmas for the last 5 years in France. This usually shocks people and I get a pity round of “say, it ain’t so!” from everyone (including the strangely peppy customs officer). But fear not my friends, I tend to make it home every 6 months or so and a trickle of American guests shimmy across the Atlantic to bombard us with American hugs pretty regularly throughout the year.

We always end up spending Christmas in France for two reasons. The first being that flight tickets are at least 2x more expensive at Christmas than any other time during the year. It’s hard to rationalize a holiday trip in December, when I could return three times during the year for the same price as one “ho ho ho” flight at Christmas. The second reason is that I hard-core adore Robin’s family. The mythical creature that is a monster-in-law just doesn’t exist in my current reality. I genuinely like spending time with his family, which makes the pain of missing a holiday at home, easier to swallow. Especially knowing it sets me up for three ah-mazing trips full of deep-dish pizzas, milkshakes and bagels.

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