what day is it again?

I have had to remind myself about 50 times today that it is NOT Saturday. I know that I am going to be confused until Monday comes around again. May messes me up with all the short weeks and obscure holidays that I can't entirely keep track of. Now, I'm sure today is something Catholic and I am actually a church-going girl, but I still couldn't tell you what it is to save my life- obviously this is a sign that I am becoming more and more French, and one of those Christmas-Weddings-and-Baptisms Catholics. Shhh- don't tell my mom and dad or they'll have me playing catch up this summer. I'm already worried because the other day ella said to me, 'Hold it- who is Jesus again?' Aiyiyi. My mother will murder me if Ella says something like that in front of her. And that will be the end of my 2-month-long vacations, free of charge.

Anyway, back to the real subject at hand- holidays. Well, in our house, we are celebrating Princess Day! If you have any experience with little girls, you know, when in doubt, dress up like princesses. I am so spoiled by full days at school and garderie that I die a thousand deaths when I have the girls all day long, all by myself. Plus, this shitty weather means that I can't take the girls anywhere other than the park on the corner, from fear of getting caught in a deluge. They are going crazy in the house and I cannot sit through another Disney movie. OK, it was kind of cute to see Georgia experiencing Baby Einstein Animals video this morning. They have nailed their target audience. Her mouth was round like donut for the entire video, she just kept up an uninterrupted string of 'Oooohs!', pointing and dancing to make sure that we were all aware of the awesomeness in front of us. I should have taken a video, it was fantastic.

But like I said, that tinkly music starts to grate on my nerves after awhile and I had to turn off the tv and find the kids something else to do. Princess dresses for everyone! Georgia was too cute with her fat baby belly filling out her dress. Ella demanded the same hairstyle as Cinderella, so back-combing her hair filled up a good 30 minutes of the afternoon. Actually, she has so much hair (a gift from her Mamie Micheline, a woman who does actually decline invitations on days when she needs to wash her hair) that it was sort of amazing to see just how big I could get her hair. Unfortunately, you can't see my awesome styling skills in this photo as she has her head tipped back; oh well, suffice it to say we are ready for Prom.

Thank goodness I had the foresight to ask the babysitter to stop by for an hour or so. I ran out of the house on some trumped up errand and got some air. I'm so in the habit of taking a nice big walk everyday, either on my own or with Georgia in the stroller, that I think I go a bit stir crazy when Ella is here all day and I can't put in a few kilometers. Plus, they must just chase in her circles the entire time that I am out of the house, because I laid them down for a small rest before dinner and they both passed out in like 10 minutes. Lovely.

I am listening to an old playlist on my Ipod and I forgot how much I like old Ray Charles. That song 'Night and Day' always makes me want to dance- and reminds me of that one episode of 'The Cosby Show' when they all sing for Claire. Oh- next song is 'Walking after Midnight' by Patsy Klein and then 'Lets Get Together' by Al Green. This mix is fantastic! I may never wake up the girls- I'll just break open a nice bottle of wine and kick back til B comes home from work.

Aaaaand done! (Not an entirely wine-related visit to the kitchen, the oven timer went off and I thought that it was the Universe telling me that wine was a good idea. Right?)

Actually, I did manage to squeeze out enough time today to make an all-homemade, all-awesome lasagna. And none of that healthy ricotta-and-spinach business. The real deal, with bechamel and bolognaise and lots of mozzarella. I just spooned up plates for the girls so that they would be cool by teh time I got them out of bed, and it looks so good I think that I could eat up the entire dish. Of course, I am still fighting the good fight with that bastard kilo that won't budge so I will be having a very small and reasonable portion to minimize the damage. Last night when I showed B the dress I had bought, I explained my dilemma about how I said I wouldn't shop til ALL the weight was gone but it wasn't and I had bought the dress anyways.... and at the point where he was supposed to say, 'Baby, you look so hot already you should just keep the dress and forget about the stupid diet.', he actually said, 'So, are you going to return it tomorrow?'

God! Doesn't he ever read the script?!

The Cleaner

Georgia is currently in a 'cleaning' phase. How cute. She likes to pick up her toys and put them in the toybox. At dinner, when I ask her to wipe her face, her takes her napkin and sort of rubs it around her mouth. Very very sweet. If she gets her hands on a sponge, she walks around the house wiping things. And she likes to put things in the trashcan.

Things she has put in the trashcan this week, including but not limited to:

1. All of our coffee spoons.
2. My Carte Vitale
3. 7 euro in coins

I should be more clear. These are the things that I FOUND in the trash. I'm not quite sure how many missing items were deposited in the trash before I figured out her new game. Or how many things have sunk to the bottom of the bag and haven't been spotted.

She also has started 'tickling' us- she grabs your bare flesh with her two little paws and kneads it frantically, while giving this little machine-gun laugh. Thats your cue to laugh manically and yell 'Stop! Stop!'. It kind of hurts but its a much cheaper game than her other one.

And she maintains the fine balance between 'tear my hair out with frustration' and 'so cute I want to eat her up'. How does she do it?

So to recap yesterdays post- I thought that I was dying and was grateful that my lovely husband allowed me to wallow in my sickness in peace. But then! He quite wisely put his foot down and called SOS Medicines. When I am sick, I really only want to lay in bed and sleep. Sorting out a visit to the doctor is far and away the last thing on my mind. Thank goodness he was there to make the call. When the doctor showed up, he barely glanced in my throat before exclaiming, 'Good God! That must REALLY hurt!' and prescribed me a giant dose of Amoxicillin (sp? I'm too lazy to get up to go and look at the box... What? I'm still sick. I am) and a few days worth of steroids. My throat is still sore, but thank god for those steroid pills. Within a half hour of taking the first one, I was feeling human again. I slept like a baby and woke up full of energy. Which, thank goodness, because Ella is now home sick.

I may have to work on B a bit more re: the quickie vacation to the beach to celebrate the fact that his safe deposit box was, in fact, still safe.

Funny story. He went yesterday morning to the bank to check his box, having made an appointment with them last week. He took my little Canon Powershot with him and had spent the morning practicing taking sneaky photos, because he REALLY wanted photographic evidence (probably to drag out, along with the musty old story, at every bloody dinner party for the next 30 years...) of the fire. Imagine his dismay to arrive at the bank and see a brand-spanking-new vault. The paint was fresh, the carpet had just been installed, the lighting was high-voltage fluorescent. Even the boxes looked totally new, except for one which had been half-opened with some sort of torch and they apparently couldn't find a way to 'fix' before the visitors started arriving. He opened the box, in the presence of the bank employee, a huissier, a guard, a cleaning lady (huh?) and his father. As he stared to put it all the stuff in his briefcase, the bank employee started giving him the hard sell 'Oh, you aren't leaving your things? You know, you can leave your things. Its perfectly safe now! We've repaired everything.' etc etc. He told them that he would think about it. How different from two weeks ago when he went in to speak with them and they refused to even acknowledge that there had been a break-in. Not so chatty then, huh, little weasly bank man?

In a very small gesture of celebration, he gave me the money to go and buy the ballet tickets that I had looked at for next year. I kept warning him that it was very expensive (the exact figure changes based on a dozen different factors, like how many shows you are getting tickets for, which category, which 'bundle' you choose, things like that) and so when he asked for a figure I told him 'well, for one person, it would be around x amount.' He was a bit shocked and said, 'oh thats more expensive than I thought. Well, here's x+ 30 amount of euro.' And I had to point out that I would be buying tickets for me AND Ella, so he would need to give me twice as much. He took a big gulp of air, but he handed it over.

Well, of course he did. This poor daddy can deny his daughters nothing. Lord help us all, the day that they discover this!
__________________

OK- that was a rough 15 minutes. Georgia started banging on the door to go out to play. So I picked her up, only to discover that a poopy explosion had occurred. So I took her to the bedroom to change her. While I tried to maneuver the offending diaper into the trash, she wiped her hand across her still filthy ass. As I wiped off her hands, she kicked the paper towels off the table and they completely unrolled across the room. I finished wiping her butt to discover it was quite red. So I let her off the table to walk around a minute to dry the skin, while I rolled up the paper towels. When I turned back around, I saw that she had peed on the floor. So I UNrolled the paper towels and mopped it up. I put her on the table, got the tube of diaper cream and put some on her skin, then a diaper, then I looked in her cupboard for some new pants. When I turned back around, I saw that she had grabbed the diaper cream, taken off the lid, and wiped it across her shirt. So I got a new shirt as well. Just then my phone rang. The babysitter was ill and would not be coming today.

This kid. I am not going to detail the horrific torture that is mealtime, now that Mademoiselle has decided that she only wants to eat if she can feed herself. And even then, its 'Non!' for about 90% of what I offer. It is a lesson in perseverance and patience, let me tell you. I find myself spending my free moments fantasizing about these Wile E. Coyote scenarios wherein I drop an anvil on her head, or knock her out with a giant mallet. In my version, after the stars disappear, she sees the error of her screechy ways and starts to eat like a little angel, from a spoon that I have offered her filled with lovely nutritious food that will NOT give her fire butt.

People, a few years ago, I had a normal fantasy life like all of you. I am constantly reminding myself that these are 'the good ole days'. Enjoy them.

Sick day(s)

I have not been this sick in years, quite honestly. It started with a sore throat a few days ago and by Tuesday night, I could barely lay still in bed because my entire body felt like it was covered in bruises, my joints ached, I was ice cold and couldn't stop shaking, and when I did manage to I drift off, I had crazy fever dreams. I woke up on Wednesday morning soaked with sweat but still shaking and told B that he was going to have deal with the kids on his own. There was no possible way for me to get out of bed. He is such a star. He took Ella to centre de loisirs and arranged for Georgia to spend the day at garderie. He went back and forth from work to fetch them and drop them off. Then he took them to park to give me some extra quiet time and fed them and put them to bed. All of this on top of getting up with Georgia all night long (for two nights). She was either sick as well or going through some sleep issue AGAIN so he was probably in there every hour.
I know that this is part of the job of being a parent, whether you are the mother or the father, but I just am so so grateful for everything that he did. Its hard being sick, but when I feel something coming on, I immediately stress out, thinking about how impossible it is to deal with the kids when I am not on top form. Its nice to be reminded that I'm not actually doing this on my own. Big gold star for B.
Also, the sad truth is that the only time that I manage to lose weight is when I am ill. I suppose it gives me a silver lining to look for when I am lying in bed, writhing in pain. On the other hand, maybe this is an indication that I have zero willpower and I might want to try working on that rather than having to lick My Little Petri Dishes every time my jeans get tight.

French moms have more fun

I think that they might. From what I can see, they spend less time freaking out about being a perfect mom and a bit more time out with their husband on date nights, out with their girlfriends for lunch, and on general maintenance (maybe this is the key to why French women age so gracefully? They never let things slip). I tend to feel a bit envious around my French girlfriends who seem to have mastered the balancing act and look great doing it. That doesn't happen all that often around my American girlfriends.

I noticed an interesting post on Slate this morning about the book Le Conflit, La Femme, La Mere written by Elisabeth Badinter (a french philosopher/auther). I hadn't heard of this book in France but apparently the English translation has caused a bit of a stir. The author argues that current ideas about what constitutes good mothering are a threat to women's liberation. Its true that while I pretty much accept as law the idea that it is better to breastfeed, make my own baby food, and use clothe diapers (whether or not I actually make the effort is another thing...), all these things mean that my presence at home is a necessity. So long, career. But she goes further to say that in order to raise perfect children, women are ready to put themselves in second place on every level. Is this really moving forward? I've never really looked at it in that way, but I have to admit that she might have a point.

I am of two minds. As it said in the post from the London Times that I put up last week, I do think that staying home with the girls is a luxury and I think that its a waste of time all around if I don't appreciate this opportunity. But Badinter has a good point; all the time I see women who are so invested in being the Perfect Mother that they are nothing else. First of all, I think this is a catch-22. The more you try to be the perfect mom, the more pressure there is on your kids to be the perfect children. At some point, they are bound to realize all the weight on their shoulders to justify having their mother dedicate her entire life, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, to their well being and success. Result? Kids that are even more fucked up than the average, and who probably turn around and blame the poor woman for all their problems for the rest of their lives. And in a way, I guess they would be justified in doing this. Its interesting to compare this to what is going on in Germany; here's a great article by a friend of mine, who is currently living in Paris and dealing with her own struggle, balancing her two jobs (journalist and mom).

There is also the curious link between the increased competition for spots in top universities and the time that women commit to their children- specifically ferrying them from activity to activity; helping with homework; etc. While all this time investment on the part of women maybe an 'over-investment', the simple truth is that is does seem to pay off when you look at Ivy League admissions and see what sort of profile that they demand from incoming Freshmen. Kids can't do all that stuff (be an athlete, a great musician, a volunteer, a well-travelled, well-read valedictorian) if the parents are supporting them all the way.

This year I've been a bit lazy and not even bothered to sign up Ella for a single activity. I've thought about getting Georgia into the baby music class at Gymboree but with a 9:45 start time on the other side of Paris, I figured it would be a waste of money (I would NEVER be on time). But one of the main reasons that I want to move back to the States is so that the girls can get in activities since I think the French way of non-stop studying for 10 years straight is pointless and ridiculous. So I suppose I should stop feeling guilty and accept that this is just a sign of my supremely liberated subconscious asserting itself, right?

I better get that subconscious in check because apparently, this "snowplow parenting" does work to a certain extent. I would love to see one of my girls graduating from Harvard, so I better sort out this conundrum, and quick.

Spring has sprung

Wednesday is exhausting for all of us! Georgia just collapsed in bed for a nap before dinner and I am too exhausted to start dinner so I am going to take advantage of the quiet and play on the computer a bit. I never realize how much walking we've packed into the day until I get home and sit down and then never want to stand up again.

We actually got a lot done today, which is unusual for our Wednesdays. I suppose having to get up at 7 am with the girls gives me an extra hour or so that I never used to have... This morning, we did stay around the house so that Georgia could sleep. She didn't have a great night (as I predicted) and even though she didn't seem sick, I figured we must be just on the cusp of some new germ invasion. While Georgia snoozed, I wanted Ella to play something quiet, so she got out her writing paper. Its that special lined paper that we used to use for penmenship. She really likes practicing her letters and is actually getting really good at it, I think. We've started connected/cursive writing, but just practicing loops and things, not actual letters. I am always so surprised to see how well she can sit and work at something. Its frustrating to think about how much further along she would be in just about every area if she hadn't gotten stuck with this awful teacher who is just clocking in. Oh well. Atleast I have time to work on reading and writing with her.

After a lunch of my favorite broccoli and chedder soup that I whipped up, we dropped off Georgia at daycare. I couldn't believe how nice it was outside. It really truly is springtime. I even let Georgia walk most of the way there. It took us YEARS of course, but with such a lovely sunny sky and warm breeze, it wasn't any bother at all to dawdle on the sidewalk.

Ella was begging me to take her to the park, but I had one errand that I really wanted to do this afternoon. I am getting things together for Easter and I've decided that I want to make peeps. We had such good luck making the little ghosts for the Halloween party that I figured it shouldn't be too much trouble. The only thing is, I wanted to find a superfine sugar to sprinkle on them afterwards. I figured I would only be able to find this at G Detou and dragged Ella over with me this afternoon. Well, they don't have it. Worse, they didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I'm not crazy, I know that there is such a thing. I ended up getting colored granulated sugar and I'll just try to grind it up in my food processor I guess. But you never have to worry about leaving a store like that empty handed. While standing in line to pay, I also spied tubes of Tahitian vanilla beans (God! Even through the packaging, the smell was so gorgeous that my mouth started watering), giant Italian capers (I can't remember which recipe I use these in, but I do remember that I absolutely needed them for something.... OK now I am officially turning into my mom) and walnut oil which I have been out of for months and my beet salade is just not the same with this.

Shopping done, I agreed to swing by the park at Chatelet, and we bumped into some friends of ours! Not very surprising, really. Who could bear to stay indoors on such a nice day. We caught up on news from our vacations while the kids rolled in the sand. They are waiting to hear if their son got into EABJM, one of the nice bilingual schools in Paris. Only downside is that the campus is buried somewhere in the deepest darkest corner of the 15th and its impossible to commute there from central Paris. If he gets in, they are going to move, which will be sad for us. Ella LOVES their little boy and I've been friends with the mom, meeting almostly weekly, since our oldest kids were born, 5 years. Anyways, once the kids had sand packed into every nook and cranny, it was time for a gouter. Ella and I went off to find some ice cream and on the way, I bumped into another old friend. This was a bit weird, as it was a guy that I knew before Ella was born and hadn't seen since. He was sitting on a terrasse and I caught him looking at me. I couldn't place him so we had this bizarre conversation (I don't think that he actually remembered my name, either) and it was only on my way home that it all clicked. Still can't remember his name though (did I mention that I think I'm really turning into my mother?)

I'm glad that the weather has finally decided to turn into spring. I have plans for tomorrow night- I'm supposed to meet a girlfriend at the Hotel Meurice for a defile of purses and shoes, which really means, we are going out for free champagne and canapes. I don't think that there will be a repeat of last week's pathetic attempt at reviving my social life. Between the warm days and the evening sunshine, I feel like getting out of this house and enjoying myself. I might even go out shopping tomorrow and have another look at that DVF dress. I need to finally hang up my all black wardrobe and start looking a bit springtime.

A generation of women bred to work

I just wanted to post the link to this article from the Sunday Times of London. I think it is such an excellent discussion of how the work/home balance for women really operates. And it makes the excellent point about the fact that previously women considered freedom the ability to have career and work outside the home. I love this line, 'Our mothers hoped that we would be more independent from men — but they equated independence entirely with money. So while we no longer rely on men for cash, now that we are working, we need them in so many more ways than before.' So true.

Something that I often remind myself of, especially on those days when I feel like I am 'missing out' by staying home with the girls, is that this lifestyle is a huge luxury- the luxury of time at home with my children. Quite frankly, this is probably what annoys me most about French people (read: fonctionnaires. I got caught in the middle of ANOTHER manifestation on Friday afternoon and had to walk home 3 km because there were no buses running. Arg.) who complain about their underpaid, under-appreciated work. When you have a 35 hour work week and upwards of 5 weeks paid vacation a year, you are in a very enviable positon. They work so very little that they actually have the luxury of time with their family, time to do other things, and yet they completely do not appreciate it.

The article also makes the excellent point that modern families have so devalued the skills that our grandmothers took for granted that we've lost all those skills. We now sit rapt before our televisions to watch programs that teach us how to cook, clean, and raise children.

I think that the most interesting point that the author brings up is 'now what?' What do we teach our children? I'm glad that I have daughters but they do make you have to think that much harder about what you want to teach them about a subject like this. I kind of flipped out over Ella's 'Princesse Parfaite' book about coquetterie the other day because she was so enamoured with the idea of being a little princesse who only wore pink dresses and never rolled in the mud, playing with the boys, or went out with messy hair. But then, where is the line between what I want her to be and what she wants to be? I suppose, the best answer is that anything she wants to be is cool. If I want her to be something else, then I should be that way first- I think children definitely definitely turn to their parents example first when they are trying to make-up their mind about things- and if my example is convincing enough, she will be that way. I don't have to say anything. So the question is not, how do I make Ella and Georgia into awesome women? but how do I make myself into a really awesome woman that they can look up to and aspire to be?

Just a normal weekend full of fun...

We had a nice weekend- but it just seemed like it flew by! Its getting to the point that I long for Monday mornings, which is a sad state of affairs.

Saturday, especially, was a complete whirlwind. I made an appointment for Ella to get her hair cut at that kids place up in the the 11th, Mum & Babe. I think I've mentioned it here before. Well, we got off to a bad start when we left late and I couldn't find a plan de Paris to throw in my purse. Then I thought, 'Well, I've been there before two or three times. I'm sure that I can find it without a map.' Yeah, famous last words. As soon as we got on the bus, I knew that I was in trouble. I couldn't remember which stop. I was watching out the window for something familiar but no luck so finally we just jumped off when I knew that it couldn't be any further along. We wandered around, asking people if they knew where the street was but no one did. On the other hand, it might have been because of my bad pronunciation- Keller, is one of those stupid names that looks English to me and so I don't know how to pronounce it in French. Arg. I couldn't find a kiosk to buy a map so I ended up having to go into a Monoprix and search for one. When I finally looked up the street, I realized that I hadn't a clue of where I was headed so atleast it was money well spent. Despite all that, we ended up only being a few minutes late. You would have thought it was an hour, by the reception we got. They were HORRIBLE to us, even though there was only one other person in the whole salon, and she was downstairs getting a facial. They barely acknowledged us when we walked in. They didn't offer to take our coats or the pousette. They didn't ask the kids names. There was no chatting while we were in the chairs. I was going to party so I wanted a brushing that was a little more 'going out' and she said 'no, your hair is far too short. I'll just blow it straight.' And the one who cut Ella's hair didn't even look at me when I was trying to explain to her what I wanted done. When they were done, no one came with us to the coat closet or the front desk so I had to stand around with two antsy kids while all the staff stood around in the back chatting. They acted a bit nicer to the people who came in after us, since clearly they knew them better. I used to always tell people to take their kids there for a haircut but I don't know if I would do that anymore. It is nice that Ella's cut only cost 12 euro (and I'll admit, that it turned out very nice, which is better than the Camille Albane downstairs does for 25 euro) and that the baby can go in the playroom, but still. This was French customer service at its nadir. And this time when I didn't tip, I did not feel the least little bit guilty.

After all that, we still had to get lunch in a restaurant (MacDo, which was a first for Georgia and after she spied the Chicken McNuggets and fries, there was no question in her mind about eating pureed baby food.), go to a first birthday party, go shopping for a PACS present for B's friends, and buy/order a big bed for Miss Ella. I was running so behind schedule that the babysitter was at the house before us. Thank goodness, actually. She ended up feeding our over-excited monkeys while we threw our party clothes on and hustled back out the door. Good thing there was a big glass of chilled champagne waiting for us on the other end of that car ride or I don't think that we would have made it!

Once we got to the party, I discovered that I was not the only person there who had no idea what the deal was with the Pacs. We did bring a present and weren't the only ones but they ran the gamut from a bouquet of freesia to an engraved silver picture frame from Christofle (I'll let you guess which one we gave...) I'd say that the bigger mistake was dressing up in high heels. There were far too many people in a very small living room, so I spent all but 15 minutes standing. I still have sore feet! To think, I used to be able to spend an entire day dashing around Paris in a pair of heels twice as high. Now, I am so used to my ballet flats and Geox that I can't even make it through an evening without needing to pull out my crutches and heating pad the next day.

I am an old old woman.

On Sunday, we were shattered despite the fact that we were home and in bed at 12:30. The people downstairs went away for the weekend so, per the usual, their son had his friends over. At 3:30 in the morning. I got woken up when they came in but drifted off again. By 4:30 I had had enough, as they were only getting louder and I banged on the floor. They quieted down, but then a girl in heels starting walking around their living room and the tap!tap!tap! of her heels on the floor woke up Georgia. Who woke up the upstairs neighbors and Ella. So then at 5 am I had to go down and ring the door bell to ask if the noisy girl could possibly remove her shoes since she had inadvertently woken up another 4 people. This kid was clearly horrified (by the fact that he woke us or the looks of me? Hard to say. I didn't dare glance in a mirror before going downstairs and I can only guess how scary I looked...) and apologized profusely. But I HATE having to ask them to be quiet since Georgia is a such a noisemaker.

That kid, honestly. If she is not screaming at 5 am because she was woken by a bad dream or a sudden noise, she is screaming for her bottle. Or screaming to get out of bed. Or screaming for Ella to come and play. Or screaming at some food that she spied on the counter and would very much like to eat, if you don't mind. There is no volume control on her. Yesterday afternoon, we all laid down for a nap after our turbulent night and I ended up getting up first when I heard Georgia waking. But she wasn't actually ready to get up yet, it seemed. EVERYTHING was making her mad. And so, her natural response was to scream at me. No! I don't want water! NO! Nothing to eat!! NO!!!! I do not want to look at a book! or my toys! or a movie! or your stupid face! Finally, because I wanted to let Ella have a bit of nap, I ended up clamping my hand over Georgia's mouth and hauling her out on the balcony. She calmed down almost immediately. I'm hoping that I have found a magic cure for this problem but I worry that it is only temporary. I put her out there 2 more times before Ella was good and woken up. So you can see why I feel like the last person in the world with any right no complain about noisy neighbors. I just pray that she outgrows this. Some kids are just noisy though. Am starting to wonder if we are going to be forced out of apartment dwelling and into the suburbs because we never manage to shut her up. And she was such a calm baby.

I also managed to clear out our old dishes from our cupboards yesterday and put the new ones in their place. We decided our old orange Fiestaware had to go. I've been looking around for plain white round dishes but all I could find was stuff basically the equivalent of orange Fiestaware. Most importantly, I needed to be one hundred percent certain that it was dishwasher and microwave safe, since I've had a horrible experience with some mugs that I bought at IKEA.* Finally it dawned on me that I should just use my wedding china which was Louvre, by Bernardaud. We've had it for 11 year and use it fairly often, for nice dinners and parties, and not a single piece has chipped. Its not too fancy looking for every day, I figured, so we are going to give it a trial run of one month and see how things go. Then, if we decide to go for it, I'll think about getting another set of dishes for parties, something a bit fancier (maybe this , or this, or this, or this!) Anyways, I hesitated as put the dishes in the kitchen, thinking that it would be a shame to see them all getting chipped over time when I like them so much. But then I stopped myself. If you're lucky enough to own beautiful things, you shouldn't waste your good fortune by hiding it away in a cupboard. You should use them and enjoy them everyday. How it can it be anything but good to enjoy beautiful things, right? Right. So the dishes stay.

Which still leaves me with the conundrum of what to do with the Fiestaware which is in perfect condition, after I don't know how many years of use. Amazing. I suppose that I should try and Ebay it or sell it on Craigslist, but I suspect that B and I will be making a trip up to Emmaus this week to drop it off as a donation. We still have the dishes from our first apartment sitting down in our cave and we've never needed them so they will go as well. Thats one thing about apartment living - it teaches you not to get too sentimental about your stuff. If it isn't being used on a regular basis, its got to go. I'm sure someone else out there will enjoy having and using all this stuff, as well, so that it makes it even more stupid to box it up and store away for some imaginary future life of mine when I finally need it again. I've been thoroughly heartless lately and that Emmaus has been the lucky recipient of a mountain of stuff. Anyone out there looking to stock up a new apartment should definitely head over to Emmaus on boulevard Beaumarchais :-)

* I needed some coffee mugs and I just picked up some nice simple ones at Habitat one day, without checking that they could go in the dishwasher or microwave. After a few months, I started noticing that the handle on the mug was hot when it came out of the microwave- even when the contents were still barely warm. Then, one morning, I reached in to grab my mug of warm milk while Ella was running around underfoot, and the handle was scorching hot, so hot that I ended up with a blister over the entire surface of my thumb. I was just grateful that I didn't drop the mug of hot liquid on Ella when it happened and thats when I decided that I couldn't possibly use those mugs anymore, because they were too dangerous. Someone finally explained to me that when the pottery is not dishwasher safe, it can 'absorb' water. Then, when you put it in the microwave, this water heats up and if it gets too hot, can actually make the pottery explode!

Friday favorites

I tried to get a nice photo of Georgia when we were playing with bubbles the other day (she goes CRAZY if she spies a bottle of bubbles, all other activities must come to a screeching halt until I am woozy from lack of oxygen and she is covered with a fine layer of soap suds). Every shot, she had her tongue sticking out like this, or her eyes were shut like a little drunken geisha. She clearly takes after her father and therefore will never ever be elected Miss Photogenic. I've always thought that she was her father's daughter- from the chubby cheeks to the bottomless pit of an appetite, no worries about babies being switched in the nursery at the maternity clinic.

So after my lovely little nap yesterday, I was in a great mood. I ended up calling up a girlfriend to meet me at one of the galeries last night. Except I called the wrong girlfriend. The one who ALWAYS changes her plans at the last minute. So there I was, hair done, make-up on, undressed in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear when I get an SMS. She had decided to go to different vernissage in the 8th off avenue Montaigne and wanted me to meet her there, after I saw my friends. I did really feel like a girls' night out and I should have just sucked it up, because we probably would have gone out afterwards and had a great time. BUT but but. I didn't have enough enthusiasm for the change of plans to get myself out the door on my own, on such a miserable night. I told B, when I came out of my room wearing my pyjamas, that if it had been a nice spring night, it would have been totally different. On a cold March night, I much preferred cuddling up with him on the sofa and watching TV. So that is what I did.

Which in the end was good, because Georgia had a bad night, after a fairly great week of sleep, and did her patented sleep torture move (I like to call it 'Going Guantanamo'). She woke at 5:30. We went in 3 times to give her her pacifier, start her music box, settle her down, til finally giving her a bottle just before 6. 10 minutes later she yelled hard, so I went in and saw that she had lost her pacifier. Again. Then she yelled again, every 10 minutes for another 40 minutes, til it was time for us to get up, more or less. That, my friends, is a hard night. She collapsed into bed at 10 a.m. for a morning nap and I imagine will sleep for 2 hours. Atleast I am getting good naps out of her on a regular basis. Thank god for small favors.

And now i wanted to post a photo of another beautiful bouquet from my favorite florist on rue St Antoine, Christian Collin, but I think my camera has died! It got knocked on the floor the other day and landed with an ominous 'thump'. It did turn on right afterwards, but now it's dead dead dead. Maybe I just need to charge the battery but I fear my little Canon has moved on to that big camera shop in the sky. I'll miss you.

Hmmm. Wonder if this means that B will let me get the Nikon D-3000 now?

This weekend my biggest disappointment is not that I missed the Madonna concert, because really? after seeing at the Zenith while sitting in the VIP section (talk about crazy good luck), jumping around with the sweating hoards at Stade de France did not sound like fun to me. What I am bummed about missing out on is the afterparty with her dancers! Saturday afternoon, I bumped into a friend and I was teasing him about not being at the Techno Parade with all the kids. He said that the Techno Parade, and the post -parade party, were for losers. He had an awesome plan for that night. He was going to a party a friend of his had organized for after the Madonna concert. All the dancers were supposed to be there and while Madonna was unlikely to go, you never know... He was like, why don't you come? It'll be awesome. Hi! Let me introduce you to my life. I'm a mommy and need more than an afternoon to organize for a night out. If I had known ahead of time, maybe I could have sorted it out, but there were a million reasons that it wasn't going to work for me so I had to say, maybe next time? It would have been so so so much fun! I'm still bummed about it.


Atleast it was sunny all weekend, right? I was at Luxembourg Gardens with Ella and kicked myself for taking my camera out of my bag that morning. The flowers are so beautiful right now! I really love all the bright pink dahlias and zinnias. Well, all the plants are so lush that it makes it look like a paradise around that boat pond. Hopefully, Wednesday will be nice and we can go and do a little photo shoot for the grandparents. Its so easy to manage Ella when we are there because there are so many things to bribe her with- the ponies, the boats, the ice cream. And of course, when I do bring the camera with me, Ella grabs it and then I end up with a disc full of photos like this:

Obviously, to drown my sorrows over the Madonna party and also inspired by the gorgeous figs at the market, I decided that I needed to bake a tart. I think once a week for the last two weeks I've said the same thing and then been too lazy to bake anything so I just ate the figs plain with Greek yogurt and honey (which as far as fallback plans go, is actually alright). This time, Ella was down for a much needed nap and I had the afternoon ahead of me, so I very ambitiously attempted this tart, with the addition of a yogurt/cream cheese/honey filling. It turned out beautifully although maybe its a bit rich. Plus, Ella is highly sceptical of figs so will have nothing to do with helping me eat it all. But look at that photo! Doesn't it look just scrumptious? Oh well, all for me then.

Shame on me for being so self-indulgent- and I don't even mean the 2000 calories worth of cake that I ingested last night. I let myself go on and on about my disasterous weekend, almost forgetting that our Sunday afternoon project was planning and booking our holiday next month. First thing in the a.m., B's stepmom called and said she was willing to take Ella for the week. We had put our planning on hold to hear about this because a vacation with a toddler was going to be a much different affair than without. It would have been fine, we would have probably rented a villa or two (in different locations) and stayed for two full weeks so that we could just take it slow and hopefully manage to relax a little bit. After I put my foot down about the destination (ie, do not counter my proposition of Italy, with Club Med Tunisia. We are going to the Amalfi coast, end of the subject.), we could move forward with the hotel search and price comparison on airline tickets. So the final plan is to fly to Rome, spend two nights in a lovely suite with a view of St Peter's (although I am still wondering if maybe we shouldn't try for something more central, near the Spanish Steps...) followed by 5 nights on the Amalfi coast in this hotel. Once you bite the bullet and accept that you are going to be paying a fortune no matter what, it seems like there is an endless choice of amazing hotels from Sorrento to Amalfi. This hotel was the first to answer our email request re:availability so that is the place we are going to stay. I'm really excited. We are going to spend a day at Pompei, a day on a boat going along the coast and visiting other villages and probably a day on Capri, doing some shopping. I don't think that the water will be warm enough for swimming at the end of October, but I'm not too bothered about that. I just pray that it is sunny. By the end of October, the Paris grey will be wearing on my nerves and I'll need at bit of a break.

And just for fun, here is a picture of Ella's "lady", riding her cat. It cracks me up every time I stumble across the two of them, posed in some corner of the house. I don't know what it is exactly- the saucy look on the Barbie's face? The way the cat is absolutely the perfect size to be a Barbie horse? The juxtoposition of the slightly pornographic doll and the innocent little grey kitten? I can't put my finger on it; but I think that I might take this photo and blow up it to poster size and then hang it on the wall, claiming that its some expensive modern art I picked up on a voyage abroad.

cooking lessons

Last night while making dinner, Ella wandered into the kitchen and seeing me with a big pot and a big spoon, immediately wanted to help. Or I should say "help". As I cut up the vegetables for the soup, she dumped them into the pot and stirred it while they slowly cooked. We ended up with a fair bit of food on the floor and of course slops of broth all over the stove, but overall, I thought it was an excellent moment of quality time through which I transmitted my love of cooking to my daughter, giving her a memory that she will look back on fondly.

Then this afternoon, as I sat eating the leftovers for my lunch, I bit into something hard. At first, I thought it must be a small rock that had managed to sneak in the pot with the leeks, despite my thorough washing. I stuck my finger in my mouth and dug out the offending lump from between my teeth. As I examined the chunk of partly macerarated food, I saw a bit of a sparkle and realized that it clearly wasn't a rock. Closer examination revealed it to be the earring from Ella's new fav toy, her Disco Sparkle Barbie. Obviously, my cooking lessons were not thorough enough as I failed to tell my small assistant that the only ingredients going in the pot were to be pre-approved by the head chef. I'm not sure if the addition of the earring was deliberate or if Ella's ever-present companion just leaned over too far and accidentally dropped it in.

This sudden Barbie obsession has got me half laughing, half grimacing. Ella doesn't like the dress the doll came in, so she carries her around naked. She doesn't have a name for the doll so instead she calls it "my lady". As in "Maman? Can my lady take a bath with me?" "Where did my lady go?! I can't find her!" She walks around the house talking to the doll and giving her little monologues. When I listen in, I just want to die of laughter. Clearly, she has hit some sort of developmental milestone and her creativity and imagination have gone into overdrive. And while I support any direction her creativity make take, I have to admit that I was slightly more happy to see her spending entire afternoons this summer entertaining herself with a magnifying glass or a piece of rope. Keeping bugs in clear plastic containers squicked me out a bit, but atleast there was an educational side to it. I even grudgingly supported her obsession with birds by buying a picture book on bird identification and spending hours wandering around the yard with a stick, flushing birds out of the trees and bushes (a game brought to an abrupt halt when I nearly knocked a giant wasps nest out of tree).

So, if I can not run screaming from the room when she shows me a giant spider in a poorly closed Tupperware container, surely I can control myself when it comes to playing Barbies, right? So long as she keeps them out of my kitchen.

Paris addresses for moms

Saturday mornings, there is no laying around the house in our pyjamas. Ella and I are always up bright and early to get her to her dance class. I don't know if I have mentioned here what a great little dance studio I found over in the 5th. Its called the Atoll de Danse (35 rue Galande. for info, call Cleo at 06 26 82 41 45) and its a run by a trio of women. On Saturday morning, they have a class for 2-3 year olds. Calling it "danse class" is probably exaggerating a bit. Its more about movement and music, with a bit of tumbling thrown in. There are only 4 little girls and Ella just adores it; she spends all of Saturday wiggling around the house, repeating the exercises that they did. This week, it was apparently something about "Marchez, marchez, marchcez, saut!" ("Walk walk walk, jump! ad infinitum...) Its a bit expensive but it suits Ella so well, that I don't even worry about the price. If anyone would be looking for a class, I could not recommend this place highly enough.

The only problem with her class is that it lasts one hour and I am always at loose ends, trying to find something to do while I wait for her. Its just far enough from our house that it is silly to come home; all I have time for is a quick coffee and I have to get my coat back on to fetch her. Over in the 5th, there isn't really much to do in the way of shopping, unless I want to buy groceries at the market. I thought I had finally hit on a good plan- I would spend the time getting my nails done! I love having a manicure. When I try to take care of my nails myself, they are always a mess. They are too soft so I can't let them grow long and I can't seem to paint them without smudging atleast three nails in the first ten minutes. I feel a bit embarrassed to have my hands out sometimes when we go somewhere nice, my nails and cuticles are in such bad shape. But its not really enough of a priority that I would go out of my way to schedule a manicure. Thats why this is so perfect.

Except that there are apparently ZERO places in the 5th where you can get your nails done. I spent 45 minutes wandering in circles trying to find a place near to her danse studio where I could get a quick, cheap manicure. I gave up on that idea and would have gone anywhere that even offered the service. Finally, I asked at a pharmacy and they sent me Sephora at 79, Blvd St Germain in the 6th. Its not too expensive at 26 euro and its not too far from the studio, but generally, I prefer to go to small local places than big chains like Sephora. I made an appointment for the next week, since it was nearly time to go pick up Ella, and headed back. Then, when I was about 100 meters from my destination, what do I spy wedged between two giant cafe awnings? Why, a small beauty salon! I had peaked around the corner earlier, but hadn't noticed the window, hidden behind chairs and umbrellas from the cafe on the corner but in fact, it was exactly the type of place I had been looking for. Its called L'institut (88, blvd St Germain) and for 35 euro you can get a thorough manicure with hand treatment. Its a bit more expensive but they were really helpful and said that they were rarely busy that early on a Saturday so I wouldn't even have to make appointments- which, for me, is perfect. Its silly, but I HATE making appointments for things like that. Since I always seem to be running 10 minutes late due to little miss E, I'm already stressed out enough about being late for important appointments. No need to stress out about stupid things like my nails. Now hopefully next week, I'll be reporting on what a wonderful job they did. But then, its kind of hard to file nails badly, right?

The plague descends on our household once more

Good lord- once again Ella came down with a stomach flu and spent the hours between 10:30 last night and 3 am alternating between a coma like sleep and a surprisingly accurate re-enactment of The Exorcist. Poor B will never learn and for the umpteenth time managed to position himself right in the line of fire. How does the man do it? One of these days he will surely realize that it is far more intelligent to go for the bucket first, baby second. He gets it backwards, every single time, and ends up having to stand in front of her, catching vomit in his bare hands, unable to even move for fear of spreading the mess. Great Dad, just no sense of self-preservation. And not only does he not care about getting covered in puke (or atleast, not enough to avoid it), but he spent the night sleeping on the floor next to her bed so that he could be close to her if she got sick again. I tried to get Ella to come sleep in our room but she didn't want to and B volunteered to just stay with her. How sweet was that?

I was nearly convinced that it was the gastro once again but I was thinking about it and I wonder if she didn't get sick from the green grapes that she ate yesterday at playgroup. Can't you get salmonella or something from unwashed fruit and veg? I suppose it doesn't really matter now since she seems to be on the road to recovery but it does make me wonder a bit.

The most disturbing thing wasn't the amount of vomiting that she did, although it was prodigious. She dirtied nearly every single sheet and blanket that I own, and today was a steady round of washing, drying, ironing, and folding. Always fun, but even more so when you are managing on 5 hours of sleep.

The most disturbing thing was not the way the pasta that she had had for dinner turned to paste and stuck to the fabric of her pyjamas and the sheets, requiring a thorough scrub before it could be thrown in the washing machine and thereby working its way under all my nails so that I couldn't even enjoy a relaxing half hour in front of the tele without gagging from the stench of my own hands.

No, the most disturbing thing was the enormous chunks of food that came up. It was quite clear that her last meal consisted of green grapes and tortellini pasta, washed down with a bit of milk because squished into her sheets and piled up at the bottom of her bucket were halved grapes and slightly gnawed tortellini (and large chunks of curdled milk, ugh). Ella apparently eats like a starved wolfhound. It was quite clear that she had barely chewed any of her food, which I hadn't noticed while I was eating with her. I don't know what is more shocking- that she doesn't chew or that she managed to get those enormous chunks of food back up her esophogus?

Peeka-blue

I have to make a note of this because even though it is evidence of my rather subpar mothering skills, it is very very funny. I know that the picture is really blurry, but basically all I want you to notice is that my child has been dyed blue, from the tip of her nose, all the way to her knees, backside as well. Now, I'm sure that you're thinking that I will tell you a story of ella dumping ink on herself, or making a pen explode, or something like that. Nope; this was all me. Or rather, all due to my stupid pediatrician who suggested that this might help her rash disappear. B tried to make me stop, but I didn't want her going away to the grandparents house and getting more sick so I just went for it and covered every thing that looked even vaguely rashy. I don't know if the rash actually looked any better afterwards, but you certainly don't bother noticing it when the child is covered in indelible blue ink. OK- and maybe I didn't realize immediately how much this stuff stained skin, and maybe it was good intentions that made me paint it all over her face, but it was simply not nice to laugh so hard that I had tears streaming down my face when I realized that Ella was going to have to go to school, to the park, through the streets of Paris, and to her grandparents house looking like a Giant Blueberry. Ella didn't mind, though. She kept lifting up her pyjama shirt and shouting 'Boo! Ella boo!' Look that happy little face, while she does her little nekkid blueberry dance. How can you not laugh?

(side note: Ever since Ella was a baby, B has called her Peekachoo. Its too early to tell for sure, but I think from here on out, she will officially be known as Peek-a-blue)