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'
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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.