Shopping with chiens

Late night Christmas shopping at Le Bon Marche proved to be quite the experience. Firstly, you are greeted by angels and black tie waiters serving glasses of champagne, then you are free to wander at your leisure whilst listening to the live operatic orchestra in the background.

You are walking with many furry coat muffed ladies carrying their furry dogs with their own furry coats on too, either in handbags or on a leash. A road rage fight even broke out on the 2nd floor in Sonia Rykel between les chiens, I had to laugh out loud at these minute dogs yapping at each other whilst their owners obliviously shopped for designer clothes.

Too enamoured to do any real shopping, I continued to accept the free champagne and walked around in a slight daze, soaking up the atmosphere. After my third glass I felt a bit tipsy and made my way to Le Grand Epicerie to find something to soak up the booze with. As I attempted to go up the escalator a security guard stopped me with a ‘—Non---’. About to relinquish my champagne, I thought (obviously not allowed to drink and ride escalators here I’m thinking, could be dangerous), he said ‘Descende’, and I realised I was trying to go ‘up’ the ‘down’ escalator! Giggling away I said ‘merci’ and was just so pleased I was allowed to finish off my third glass. Shopping with champagne, dogs, and an orchestra…..only in Paris!

One of my best nights here so far.

Cars, Cleaners, and Christmas

La nouvelle voiture a arrive!

Even though we’re terrified to drive it, the car is lovely, particularly when it’s stationary! It is parked a mere 5 minute walk away (why did I ever complain about parking on Trowbridge Road???) in a spot so tight with it takes me at least 10 minutes to park it, putting both side mirrors in to avoid contact. It is lovely, but to be used sparingly.

The first time driving it on my own to collect Sam from school I was stopped by the police. I was 5 minutes into the drive, just starting to feel confident, gearing up for the big roundabout at Cambronne and Boulevard de Grenelle, and voila! I couldn’t believe I’d done something wrong so soon (yet almost everything you do in this country is ‘wrong’). The policeman asks for the car’s papers and licence and quickly worked out I was not French. I did however manage to splutter out, ‘C’est la premiere fois je conduit a Paris!’ He was very sympathetic to this nervous, foreign mother and though spoke no English, attempted to explain why I was being stopped. He used the verb 'voler' which means both to steal and to fly, though I was only aware of the latter definition. Though confused, I assumed he thought I was 'flying' too fast and I was about to be slapped with a speeding ticket, but luckily he was just checking ownership for stolen cars. Sympathetically, he stopped traffic to let me back in. Needless to say it threw me for the rest of the journey but I managed to get there in one piece.
Sam’s comment at the end of journey, après police and 10 minute parking episode summed it up, ‘Mom, if we took the metro we would have been home by now!’ Cheeky monkey.

La femme de ménage a arrive aussi!

Ok, I have to put my hand up and admit it now, we finally gave in and got a cleaner (which seems to be the norm in poncy Paris). Very sweet but far too subservient (yes madame, whatever you want madame), I’m still struggling with the whole concept, cleaning before she gets here or alongside her, but the 3 hours she’s here does make a difference as I'm fed up with ironing endlessly crispy clothes, I'm in Paris for goodness sake, there is more fun to be had (all the women nodding their heads in agreement, all the men shaking their heads I have 3 words for you - CRAZY HORSE SALOON - do you think those girls spend all their free time cleaning???? J'en sais foutrement rien!!).

Paris is stunning at Christmas time. They really go for it far more than I ever expected, the decorations and lights are beautiful. There's queues outside the big department stores because the window displays are so fantastic, it's a tradition for the Parisian children to go and see them. They’ve even made our favourite Boulangerie into an igloo on the inside and out, complete with polar bears.

A lovely place to spend Christmas, but we're off to the UK.

Home Sweet Home....or is it???

Funnily enough, there is not a direct translation for this phrase in French. Although I’m sure the French feel the same way about their abodes, it is strange for us now living in neutral, foreign territory.

After an absolutely fabulous girly trip to New York (breakfast in Paris, lunch in London, dinner in NY!), it was back to Paris, back to reality. Weird coming back to this city, instead of England…. instead of Canada!! Home is becoming an ever elusive place for me, but it certainly didn’t feel like I was coming ‘home’ from NY, not been here long enough for that, although not sure if here will ever feel 'homely'
.
Sam also made the acute observation that Paris and this flat feels more like a hotel than home, not like his cosy house back in England, and the one downfall of living in a furnished flat.

Sam is really getting fed up with all the busy people in Paris. He comments on the grumpy people in the morning and we tell him to just smile at them. Once on the packed bus he couldn’t get a seat and we were moving at a snail’s pace behind a rubbish truck. He said loudly and in a very adult like manner, ‘now there’s more bloody people getting on this bus, and I never want to be a bin man!!’ Whew, what a relief!

And to lay the complete guilt trip on, Sam is also complaining of being lonely, outside of school. When I suggested playing with some of the other kids at the park I can already sense his unease and frustration, ‘but they speak french, don’t know what they’re saying, don’t know what they’re playing’, he says. It's a growing experience I keep reminding myself.

On the bright side, Funky Monkey has now taken a shine to Sam, and being that her stunning mother was a previous cover girl model Tom’s encouraging him of course.

Although the kids are getting more streetsmart, they are also still a bit too free of inhibitions and completely spatially unaware. This city is just too busy, too full of people, everywhere and all the time, and they still haven’t realised they’ve got to share the road/sidewalk with them. Numerous times they’ve been bowled over and nearly knocked down by rushed business suits who pat (or grab) their heads, trying to be nice but really just preventing their sticky faces from touching their Prada suits. Then of course you get the odd tourist who is so enamoured with the scenery that they just completely trip over Ruby doing pirohuettes in front of Notre Dame or Sam sitting in the middle of le trottier refusing to walk any further………such fun.

There are of course still some magical moments when it all feels like a dream and we can’t believe we’re here. However, the consistent reality of life in a big city with small children, few friends and language problems is not as glamorous as it seems, but always entertaining not to mention character building!

Halloween in Paris

Parisians aren’t big on Halloween. Spooky costumes are hard to find and trick or treating only exists in places like The Disney Shop on the Champs Elysee. However, this English tradition still seeps through in some places (albeit American cafes and English bookshops).

After the kids' school parties, I walked Cinderella and a grumpy Dalmatian through the streets of the posh 7th arrondissement, in front of the Eiffel Tower and finally to the bus. The looks we received were priceless. Sam even had a huge bulldog approach him excitedly, thinking he was a real dog! Sam was terrified, I was pissing myself.

Ruby’s the official ‘Poo Detector’ in the family. Fair enough as she’s closest to the ground to smell and see the offensive stuff, she happily points it out shouting ‘Poo mommy!’ so I’m able to dodge the mess and avoid getting any on her new chariot. We often have a game of ‘Count the Poos’ on the way to pick up Sam from school, the highest is 7 at the moment.

We’re now at the point where Sam’s French homework is getting too difficult for us to help him! He’s done amazingly well, always getting a few right on his French spelling test, even when the words are ‘confiture’!!! Ok, he didn’t get that one, but it didn’t help that his dad told him just to write ‘jam’ instead.

Playground Politique

It seems the ethos of French parents is that children should be seen and not heard. French children do seem quieter than our lot, and more well behaved in places such as public transport and brasseries, seemingly due to their extremely strict parents and teachers. However, the playground is another matter. Ici, they are obviously allowed to let loose after long hours of being gagged or locked in their rooms, whilst the parents (or nannies) sit on a bench and ignore them, have a fag, read the paper, chat to the other nannies, etc. In the meantime, their little French darlings have this time to get all their aggression out and seem to find les anglais enfants to do this on. Whether it be throwing sand or stealing sand toys, these little fiends are to be watched (because their carers certainly don’t give a damn!) Not to be bowled over by the little froggies, I’ve politely but firmly gone up to them and said ‘merci’ or ‘sil vous plait’, all the while smiling whilst firmly taking our toys out of their hands.

Our kids may be less well behaved, but the French have got a massive obsession with sucking well past enfant stage. I’ve seen children older than Sam sucking dummies, and one had a bottle of milk the other day on the bus, she must have been 7 or 8!!!! What is with that?? They have got some serious Freudian issues to deal with, which maybe explains their focus on sex in later years.

Les Francais Impolitesse

The following excerpts are based on true stories:

Matt's Doormat

Our bus friends bought a doormat for outside their flat and one day found it missing. Asking around they soon found out their upstairs, elderly and slightly nutty neighbour had thrown it away because she doesn’t like doormats, they are not aesthetically pleasing!? So, determined to have a doormat they decided to purchase another, only to find it go missing again!! Confronting her this time, she confessed to the crime without regret or apology, which led them to phone the police to report the theft! So, the French don’t like doormats, yet they like treating you like one ….voila!

Headmistress de Café

One afternoon Ruby and I thought we’d try a more Parisian café instead of our usual Americanized Columbus Café. Slightly aware that you’re not always welcome with children, I was prepared for an icy welcome. I was not, however, prepared for the frightening waitress who firmly told me where to leave ‘la poussette ici!’ and directed me to a particular table. Ruby climbed up the chair and leaned over the table to reach something which nearly caused alarm bells to go off, obviously she had crossed some laser line which she wasn’t supposed to cross. We got our food with the expected aggressive efficiency, at which point Ice Woman physically tried to move Ruby to sit on her bottom instead of her knees. Ruby wasn’t having any of it and moved back to where she was insisting, ‘My want to sit on my KNEEEEES!!!!’. That’s my girl, I was thinking, don’t take no merde! And then she committed her final crime before we left….she picked up a knife and tried to cut her pizza. Well I thought Ice Woman was going to have an aneurism, the look on her face was either pure terror or maniacal child tormentor, I knew she was desperate to get the knife away from this wild child, but luckily for Ruby a customer came in and distracted the nutter from attempting to, for the end could have been bloody.

Ronnie’s Rude diner

This one tops the lot. An American friend was at a café/brasserie with her 3 year old son and husband. Her son was having a tantrum of some kind so she took him outside to try and calm him down. Nothing was working so she was about to leave when a diner said to her in broken English (with a French accent), ‘Excuse me madam, I have children too, but I am here trying to have a quiet lunch and think you should leave now’. Children should be seen and not heard, either left with the nanny or gagged in public, apparently.

What We've Realised

We can survive without telly, but I’m afraid the children will not survive without dvds. French telly just doesn’t cut it and as we all know, some tv is imperative to any mother’s sanity and thus most children’s safety (remember, I don’t have a garden to shove them out to, and obviously sending them to the balcony to play is not an option).

Living in a flat is quite nice really, firstly there are no creepy crawlies or slugs in my kitchen to contend with, and the views are better than Esso. Being up high I also enjoy the voyeuristic aspect, looking into other peoples windows and watching lives go by. As I climb the 97 steps to our flat however (there is a lift, just working on those thighs shrinking), I realise that there are no fire escapes in French buildings which is slightly disconcerting and consider googling where to buy some parachutes.

There’s something so comforting when you live near a church; the bells, the singing, the weddings we can hear and see from our balcony are so lovely and calming, and can bring a sense of tranquillity after our crazy days. There seems to be more funerals than weddings, a sign of the times I suppose.

Attempting to get your hair cut for the first time in a foreign country is quite nerve racking. Tom finally went to a coiffure recently. He was unsure of what he asked for as he just saw old ladies around him getting a wash and blow dry, and was convinced he was going to get just that, a big tarzan coif! Luckily he managed to communicate that he wanted ‘un peu coupe’ and came home looking decent. It’s my turn next and I’m terrified as I require ‘balyage specifique’ and other scary sounding things which cost a lot of money – watch this space.

Sam has realised that the French are quite grumpy, especially in the morning (can’t blame only this nation for that though), so now attempts to make them smile with funny faces pressed up against the windows of the bus, it works rarely.

Sam has also realised the value of familiarity and practically forces us to make friends with any English speaking people he hears. Luckily one time it worked in our benefit, and we made some ‘bus friends’ at the bus stop one day – so nice to be socialising again! I’ve had to draw the line at befriending American tourists, I mean, what is the point if they’re leaving tomorrow? We need to make some friends with a bit of longevity.

Ruby’s brilliant observation tops the lot; first time she sees the Concorde she says, ‘My see big pencil Mommy’. Classic.

Nous Sommes en Cours (Our French Progress)

Ruby can count to 10 in French and says ‘bonjour’, ‘au revoir’, and ‘merci’ very comfortably now. Very funnily she’ll say, ‘Mommy let’s talk french’ and reel off ‘un, deux, trois, etc…’ repeatedly, doing the same on her pink mobile phone on the bus – something which actually makes the French smile.
Sam can count to 10 as well but not as keen to practice as Ruby. Like us adults he thinks he sounds silly, so we just keep encouraging him. Doing pretty good at his French ‘dictee’ (spelling tests) and is very good at both English and French maths (is there a difference, apart from the metric system???) However he has, unfortunately, also picked up the English pisstake of the French already, and loudly copies the voice on the bus at each stop (with a very good French accent), giggling wildly afterwards, NOT making the French smile so much.
Tom and I – the competition is rife. We are apparently at the same level yet he got the ‘intermediare’ exercise book (flirting with his teacher) whilst I’m flying through the ‘debutant’. Ah, if only my teacher was Marcus instead of Marguerite!
On a practical level, I’ve successfully purchased ridiculously expensive shoes and boots for Ruby (getting the right size), ordered contacts and got Sam’s ‘lunettes’ repaired, and have directed 3 people in the right direction in French…….nearly a local! Tom on the other hand is not keen to talk French with me at home and it is therefore difficult to discern how he’s getting on as he’s too absorbed in year end at the moment. Le Francais continuez….

Rocking Rollers

Our six week Paris check gets the thumbs up. Less tears, less fears, more friends and more fun. Weekends are quite sacred, we don’t rush out anywhere after our hectic week and have relaxing mornings, the kids appreciate it too. When we do go out it is non-stop entertainment in this city. So far they have visited Jardin Du Luxembourg, Parc De Floral, Jardin de Tuileries, Jardin D’Acclimatation, Aquarium, plus much more.

There’s endless fun things to do and next on the agenda – family rollerblading. One Sunday a month some streets of Paris are closed for group rollerblading around the beautiful city. Sam has already started in school and loves it. Will send video footage of Tom when we start – guaranteed clips for ‘You’ve Been Framed’.

Un Mois Complet & Le Famillathon

We’ve survived our first month and feel triumphant. We have overcome many things whilst being faced with new challenges all the time, on the work, home and school fronts. Having nearly mastered the public transport system after a month of just missing buses, or waiting endlessly for them and then sprinting to the metro, I have finally worked out the best system which doesn’t drag my tired kids all around Paris before getting home, we can make it in a record 45 minutes.

Such a contrast and mix in day to day life here; one minute you exprience horrid things like the continuous smell of urine in the streets (NOT from dogs), teenagers with limbs missing begging for money, and daily acts of road rage on Paris's congested roads. Then you walk into a boulangerie and smell freshly baked baguettes, see ladies riding old fashioned bikes in skirts and heels with usually a tiny pet companion riding along in the basket, hear piano music being played from apartment windows, and flowers flowing out of balconies of beautiful buildings. You can’t help but feel you’re in a place so alive and vibrant, yet the underlying stench of real city life for some people is always under your nose. I just keep looking UP (with one eye down for merde), at the beautiful architecture and stay firmly on my very own Cloud nine.
School has a nice feel to it, have met a few American parents who seem friendly. Nursery is starting a mom’s social group of coffee mornings, dinners, Walk n Talk around Paris. Have met a New Yorker and fellow Canadian so far who seem nice, so social circle is slowly widening!
oSam is making a few friends too, though they are mostly English speaking. School is a bit more difficult for him as he's skipped a year ahead of the UK curriculum he should be in, on top of learning how to read French alongside English (when he’s only nearly cracked the English). But the activity side of school is great, loads of field trips to the museums, they go swimming every week and are going to start rollerblading in gym class next week , (have bought lots of plasters).

Tom’s ridiculously busy at work with it being the financial year end and French Tax inspectors coming in, it couldn’t be a worse time to start a job. Hopefully this will calm down end of October. Apart from being so busy he does seem to be enjoying it, being the Big Cheddar in Le Palais de Tabac.
Had déjà vu on Sunday from the London Marathon; we were at the Champ de Mars for a Famillathon which was a huge sporting event promoting families doing sport together. I convinced Tom to enter a stationary rowing competition, longest distance in 2 minutes wins a great prize. So he goes for it full hog, misses the longest distance by 10 meters, and turns a deathly shade of grey, very similar to how he looked after the marathon, but this was only 2 minutes exertion! Needless to say, I’m sure we impressed our newfound friends who joined us on the day and found it very entertaining. Sam on the other hand, tried out kickboxing, tai kwon do, and fencing.

Decide to brave the busy streets one quiet Sunday morning and go for a run. Got a tip that people tend to only run only round parks with the streets being so busy, so I head to Lambert Square, our local park. It’s not as big as Champ de Mars, but true enough many people jogging round the square, round and round and round. I feel like I’m doing laps in my school gym class so veer off into the streets for variety. As I trod in my first merde I realise it was not such a good idea and head back to the square. The women jogging here are hilarious, they run very slow and with light, hoppy steps, almost like Bambi bounding through a field of daisies. I felt very smug as I raced by, with extra tracking from my dog merde on my shoe.
o Sadly, with the arrival of cooler weather, Naked Man has withdrawn into his flat, not to be seen sans vetements until spring peut-etre? Pathetically I peer through his red sheer curtains everyday for any sign of movement, but alas no, il fait disparaitre!

Swimming, Strollers, and Sex appeal

Being in the city of culture, I'm determined to show my kids everything I can. I took Ruby to the Rodin Museum and explored the lovely gardens with the best parenting intentions of pointing out prominent statues and stunning works of art. Unfortunately she slept through the whole thing, but it was very peaceful for me. We're off to see the Gorilla exposition at Le Palais de la Decouvertes this weekend, plus there's a Walt Disney exhibit on Snow White at Le Grand Palais to see, and also unpublished naked pictures of Marilyn Monroe at Musee Maillol (on my own I think!), and of course Hot Wheels Monster Trucks is coming in October, an absolute must see of course!
Had our first French swimming experience. Speedoes and swimming caps are ‘obligataire’. What a sight seeing my family in their get-ups; Ruby in her too big red and white cap and goggles with Ariel costume halfway up her bum, Tom unsuccessfully trying to tuck his now very long hair in the cap, Sam fully yobbed up with Pirates of the Caribbean tattoos on both arms. I’ve decided I’m allowed to be exempt from swimming as my huge head of hair certainly would not fit in a cap! The pool we went to was like Cell Block H, with security measures to match. Not hugely enjoyable, so we're off to Aquaboulevard next week, the biggest waterpark in Europe and only 10 minutes away!
We have been told off countless times here for various reasons, the French love to tell you off! Firstly, the nasty bus police on Day 2, then a park warden shouted about kicking a ball on the grass (when there were others doing the same around us??), swimming pool security checking for locks of hair coming out of swimming caps, Ruby climbing trees near Grand Palais, walking on the wrong centimetre of grass!! Living on tenterhooks a bit, and when you don’t always understand the language things are easily misinterpreted, or maybe it’s just a case of regular foreign abuse in a control freak country. I mistakenly got very annoyed with an older lady who I thought was telling me off for something on the bus but she was actually explaining that she was going to hold the door open for me…getting too paranoid!
The kids are a nightmare on the metro, officially. Ruby’s pole dancing is causing a stir, complete with gyrating and tongue licking pole action, and Sam just torments his sister til she screams and steps on other people’s feet, to the delight of the other travellers. They are however, better behaved on the bus…..just.
Our diets seem to consist of gazpacho, apples, baguettes, wine and pistachios (too knackered in the evening to cook most of the time!) Once we’ve mastered the French language we’ll master the French cuisine, but for now this diet combined with all this walking means my thighs are shrinking, hurray! We’re both not in a hurry to join a gym, let’s put it that way. And we’ll be the full French Tarzan and Jane if we don’t find coiffures soon!
It is amazing the different effect pushing a pram has on the sexes; for example, I get far more ‘Bonjour madame’ s when I’m not pushing one, but Tom gets far more sexy smiles when he is pushing one. He’s even gone so far as to get me to put Ruby’s hair up all cutesy because he gets more attention that way – the nerve!!!
Saving grace – have not stepped in merde du chien as of yet.
What we’re missing – cheddar cheese (tres expensive!), mashed potatoes (cannot find a masher anywhere! Have only seen instant mash in grocery store), and surprisingly, NOT telly. Have attempted watching ER in French, but it’s confusing enough in English, I couldn’t handle the already hectic dialogue in French.

Shopping and more

Fed up with the commute, after picking Ruby up I decide to cross Franklin Roosevelt Bridge and visit Champs Elysee. The Seine, Eiffel Tower, Arc De Triomphe, Concorde, Grand Palais, are all around me, with the Louvre in the distance. To view all of these sites within ten minutes walking distance from my daughter's school is mindblowing.
Amidst the fashion elite of Paris I am feeling a little underdressed in my jeans and skechers. Trying not to look too obvious the American tourist, I try my French out every chance I get and find the men appreciate it more (apparently zit is very sexee to try to speak Fraanch to zee Fraanchmaan, think of how sexy we find them trying to speak English!)
I find myself in Zara, (the only mother with a pram I might add), whilst all the other coiffed French girls look at me with disgust as I repeatedly say ‘excuse-et-moi’, so tempting to run over their pointy toed shoes with my pram in the process. Then I successfully manage to ask for a different size in French, but they immediately know you’re not French and answer in english.....tres annoying!
Then I visit what has to be the most expensive shopping mall in the world, Champs Elysee 26, with marble floors and fountains and shops that only Michael Jackson's eclectic taste would cater to, the wealth is staggering......I've just gone in to use the public toilettes which are very chic indeed, too good for our peasant poop surely.
Walking back around the corner from Champs Elysee, I see a very tall, thin, model esque brunette stop to take her heels off and put flip flops on, stuffing her Manolos in her huge handbag. I smirk, hah, they’re feet aren’t made of steel after all!!
· Saving grace - Retail therapy definitely works, and I've discovered a home away from home on our very own street; a Parisian version of Scallywags called Bambin Troc, a lovely looking restaurant called Lucas, and a funky jewellery shop called Lotty!

Week Two

Could things possibly be getting ever so slightly easier??? I hear a thousand ‘I told you so’s!’ reverberating across the world, but hey, the first week was always going to be hell and it’s very difficult to look past that when you don’t know what’s ahead.

Things that have made it a bit easier are:
- Tom doing the first school run (which means I only have 2 to do instead of 3!)
- Sam scooting to school has helped his whinge factor but increased Ruby’s as she wants to scoot too.
- Picking up every leaflet and bit of info on how to survive in Paris. These will be my bible and I will study them every day.
- Getting to know my way around a little bit, not getting lost as much, realising that the best place to get on the bus with a pram is in the middle to avoid terrible accidents.
- My French classes are giving me a little more confidence, Marguerite is going to take me out next week to get some hands on experience shopping, etc..
- The stunning scenery around us is hard to miss, even in stressful moments. Ruby is mesmerized by the huge statues of knights on horses outside the Grand Palais.
- Reading all your emails, even though I get a twinge of sadness each time I hear about the kids at school, still feels like Sam should be there.
-My new mantra as I do the commute is ‘Embrace change, embrace change, embrace change’.
- Naked man and wine, of course.

Sam says today that he likes Paris now and will be sad to leave to go to England, how much can change in a week! Somehow I think this is just the beginning of our rollercoaster ride.

Naked Man

Our first weekend in Paris was memorable. As I opened the shutters in my bedroom one sunny Sunday morning, my bleary gaze locked on a toned lower torso teasingly positioned behind a sink in the flat across the way. I had to put on my glasses for further inspection. Yes, it was male, only slightly hairy, very toned, and it was doing the dishes!! I was unabashedly staring as he was casually scrubbing, seemingly oblivious to me. Whether he was just refreshingly uninhibited or a bit of a show off, it did not matter, I couldn’t tear myself away. I won’t deny I was waiting for the full frontal view which he soon graciously supplied, followed by a brazen bottom view as he turned around to put his dishes away.

My personal Parisian Diet Coke moment…oh la la, I could get used to this.

School Commute

The commute to school is officially horrific. For those of you thinking I'm just swanning about in cafes and museums, THINK AGAIN! I spend nearly 3 hours a day on a bus, metro, sprinting alone or with a pram, getting repeatedly hit with bus/metro doors, or getting the pram caught in them. Today the pram was so stuck halfway up the bus entrance way the doors shut on us and nearly drove off with Ruby hanging out the door in her pram.........kid friendly, hah!


School mothers are equally scary. We've got a varied mixture of nannies/au pairs and very posh American and French mummies arriving in their luxury cars and high heels as I arrive all sweaty and dishevelled from my daily sprint. So far I'm aware of a Belgian rock star and a French football celebrity with children here, not to mention various vineyard owners. There's also a former covergirl model, a Naomi Campbell/Grace Jones lookalike who calls her daughter 'Funky Monkey', not sure if I'm going to bond. All the local French moms seem to end up at the local Tabac after school drop off for coffee and a fag. Maybe when I master my french I'll hang out with them.


Finally get to Le Bon Marche and it is frighteningly posh. So many well dressed, perfumed up staff about adjusting Louis Vitton handbags, trying to look busy but positively bored. I ask a lady in the lingerie department where the café is, she gives me ‘the look’ and says something ‘gauche’. As I walk away I’m sure she’s thinking ‘fat American tourist needs more food….hmph’.


The square near our school metro stop is full of drunks and handicapped junkies with various body parts missing, luckily Sam hasn't noticed yet to say...'Look at that funny man mommy...' Another gritty reality of city living which I'm still getting used to.


Our particular street is comprised of antique furniture shops, dry cleaners and a pizza place. Around the corner is buzzing, nice shops and more of a Parisian family atmosphere in our residential arrondissement.



Saving grace – our shipping boxes arrive today so the kids finally have toys, only thing is my heart is saying, ‘take the boxes back to England, and take me with you!!!’.

And wine, thank god for wine.

Premier Jour D'Ecole

We all do the ten minute walk and take the metro to school. It is quite busy and getting pram up/down stairs is sweaty work, but we make it on time.

I still haven't quite accepted that we've traded our lovely, neighborhood school for a few rooms inside a large building complex, mainly housing businesses and apartments. This is city living I remind myself.

Sam is quite shy when we arrive, but makes his first friend quickly, thank goodness. Alexi is bilingual and they both have tattoos which gets them talking. I then drop Ruby off at the beautiful American Church on Quai D'Orsay where her nursery room is situated on the second floor overlooking the Seine. She walks in confidently and says goodbye without a fuss.

My first taste of freedom is a coffee on the Champs Elysee followed by the Disney shop, however this is preceded and followed by major screw ups with map reading where I end up sprinting half a mile to pick up Ruby who is literally just over Pont D'Alma. The rest of the week is filled with taking metros the wrong way or getting off at the wrong stop, walking for blocks in the wrong direction.

Sam and Ruby both happy after school so we celebrate with a milkshake on Rue St. Dominique. Not as fun as the boat on the Lock Inn but semi-child friendly. Then we attempt to go to the park by the Eiffel Tower, get lost some more, finally get there, make a friend from New York who looks as bewildered as I do (she just moved here last week).

Sam tells me his play area at school is just rocks and trees and he likes his old school a little bit better. My heart aches a bit.

Take the wrong bus and end up miles from home, have to jump on the metro cause the kids just won’t make it otherwise. Get home and all collapse with tiredness, huge meltdown from me for messing up so many times, pounding the pavements of Paris and dragging my children along through it.

o Saving grace – Dog has been found and is flying unaccompanied to Paris to join his owner, THANK GOD! Spot the very tip of the Eiffel Tower all lit up from our balcony as I’m sipping my 3rd glass of wine – beautiful.

It will get easier eventually, but at the moment absolutely every single thing is an effort. I won’t have to worry about keeping fit with all this walking, and the Parisians aren’t as rude as you think.

Nous Arrivons!

After many tearful goodbyes we have one more which proves to be the hardest of the lot – Dog. Sam forgot him at the airport and is inconsolable.

The flat is lovely and contains a few precious things which I’m terrified of wrecking; 17th century real gold mirror and very expensive wooden side table. We meet our gay landlord Tristan who ‘likes zem very much’, in other words, ‘don’t let you’re little weapons of mass destruction near them’.

We attempt our practice run to school on the bus. Somehow we have an invalid bus ticket and the bus police randomly check and want to fine us 70 euros! We talk them down to 35 and have learnt a grave lesson.
Sam is whinging incessantly about his dog and walking, results in three huge meltdowns on our travels, we’re both at breaking point with stress and tiredness. Everything is so spread out and far apart we give in and get a taxi home as Tom needs to go back to work.
Haven’t had a chance to get food yet, kids are munching on breadsticks and water for tea, I’m convinced they won’t starve. Decide to brave the grocery store with the kids and they are amazingly helpful, they know mommy's hanging by a thread and I let them choose their own cereal. Superwoman succeeds! Tom comes home to kids happy, eating tea and to a glass of wine.
o Saving grace – Dvd player works, vin is cheap, sun is shining.