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!