collected orange

3.5, and a hospital visit

T, your half-birthday passed us by, but the switch from 3 to 3.5 must have sunken in because you’ve already moved on from the endless discussion of the events that took place on the three candle day to the upcoming four.  You’ve been falling back on this trope a lot lately: I need three cookies because I am three, three stories because I am three.  I myself prefer the balance of two: one cookie for each hand, one short story and one long, etc., but it’s all fine for now.

On our way out of the restaurant last night, in an attempt to avoid the very nice waitress who offered you a treat for the road, you performed some kind of maneuver–part tantrum, part gymnastic–that left you on the floor and then made your arm hang limp by your side.  I couldn’t tell if I had twisted your arm or pulled it as I was holding your hand at the time.  It was all unclear, but you were really upset, and what I first took as a post-chocolate crepe crash turned into a huge overnight drama.  You were up all night, complaining about your arm, searching for your ice, and causing more of my hairs to turn gray.

Your dad is out of town, but after consulting with him and considering that it’s a holiday here, I decided to take you to the hospital.  I did a quick vocabulary study and we headed out the door.  You comported yourself well in that I saw them note that you were calm, face content and rosy.  At the same time, you would not say a word to them, even when they let on that they had some English.  You wouldn’t talk about it or point to where it hurt.  Since you didn’t talk, they could only assume the worst and sent us for an x-ray.  Radio.  It has been added to our dossier, I assume along with a note that your mother is a worrier and the fact that once again you’ve outed as a coquine (read: rascal).  At least the nurse didn’t chastise me for using the services of the urgences unnecessarily as she did the mother who followed me.  Nothing was broken, just a little unspecified trauma in the end.

We had a long chat yesterday about being finished with the stroller.  I told you that I can’t carry it down the stairs anymore, that it’s too hard for me to push right now.  You were fine with it as you’re always on me to “not break your baby” anyway.  You were so fine that you seemed ready to walk the mile to the hospital before I assured you that this morning was certainly an exception.  It’s an interesting time, T.  As you like to say, you’re “big and little” and that seems to be the heart of 3.5 at our house.  You have this whole world apart from us, you speak better French than we do–in fact, today was that day, the first day you corrected my French–and I can still carry you home when you fall down and cry.  Big and little’s not a bad place to be.

…and thanks for that extremely rare and refreshingly long nap today.

Posted in child, parent, paris | 1 Comment »

Day one at the BNF

I’m back to work as of Monday, and well, it’s not clear how I ever spent my whole day away from home.  How did I leave the house at 7 with the child and not return until evening?  The mind boggles.

I’m working on a project related to C’s work, in fact, it’s for his boss.  There’s no denying that it’s a spouse job, but it’s not all coat-tails.  A librarian was needed and that is what I do (or did, and will do again).  The project is pretty interesting and has sent me both physically and virtually into the French agricultural archives.  I can explain in more detail for those who need more, but for the moment, I need to tell you about my first day at the BNF (Bibliothèque National de France).

I’m sure it’s a huge hassle to get to the goods in the Library of Congress so I can’t really compare my entry process well, but it was incredibly French in ways that have become very familiar.  First, I had an interview with some sort of access-preventer.  I presented my attestation stating that I indeed have a purpose, my contract stating that I am employed, and French-ily, my lease and a copy of my habitation insurance.  I showed off my identity card and the man helpfully pointed out the upcoming expiration date.  In the end, it was all rather fast and painless, and about 99% in French.  He completely misunderstood the nature of my project, but I think that was less about my French than about his sense of the topic.

Donc.  I get my card, I go pay for it, I exchange my stylish bag for a clear plastic box, I swipe my card, walk through a mysterious door and descend.  One escalator.  Two escalators.  All the way down to the garden.  I left my snacks behind but I shouldn’t have worried.  It being France, there are cafes scattered throughout the place.  People are sipping vending machine espresso and looking scholarly.  I decide that I will make friends in the cafe.  Eventually.  Since I need to be back in our neighborhood soon to get T, I proceed straight to my assigned seat in the reading room.

It turns out that the materials I ordered would take an hour to come out, at essentially the moment I needed to leave, but now I know that I can pre-order next time.  While I wait, I look around, I search the catalogue, I browse what’s browse-able on the shelves, and I feel really psyched about this new endeavor.  Eventually, my first materials arrive.  I open the cover and smile when I see the excellent 70s graphics:

Library, I missed you.

Posted in books, librarianing, work | 2 Comments »

introduction to knitting

T has been showing an increasing interest in my knitting of late.  It’s gone from help feeding me the yarn, to interest in manipulating the needles, to a somewhat maniacal scissor experience on Tuesday when she really wanted to snip the tangled part.  After the blood-draw, I started thinking about safer ways for her to participate, and then I remembered this little gizmo that I bought during the summer sales.  I intended to save it for Christmas–and I really don’t know how anyone “saves” purchases from these sales for more than a few weeks–but the time was right yesterday.

I wish I could have taken a picture of her doing it, but my fingers are still essential for the process to work.  We worked on the chain for almost two non-consecutive hours yesterday–clearly a hit.  It’s a bit too much for small hands to master so I hold the spool and do the initial wrapping around the prongs and she lifts the loops with her “needle.”  We changed colors a few times and waiting to see the new color emerge from the bottom of the spool proved to be a big motivator.

It’s started me thinking about other fiber-related skills she might try at this age.  Perhaps one of those potholder makers?  As for me, I might have to get one of these for myself, or possibly start amassing a collection of vintage ones.  I’ve always hated making i-cords and wrapping yarn around a cute mushroom will be a good solution.

Posted in art with t, child, knitting | 1 Comment »

some months later.

The great Internet black out of summer ‘09 is over.  I’ve never been so glad to leave an apartment before.  Without the Internet, there was time for sewing some back-to-school projects.  They will follow as soon as the all of the appropriate hardware is reconnected.

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In the meantime, last night at dinner:

T: Mama, after you eat dinner, your belly gets big?

Me: Yes.

…pause…

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

T: Mama, is there a baby in your belly?

Me: Yes.

…dinner resumes, but 20 minutes later, while brushing her teeth with C….

T: Dada, there’s a baby in Mama’s belly!

C: Yes, are you excited?

T: YESSSSSS!

Introducing the proto-sibling.  Here we go.

Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments »

one more chance

I’ve hit a blogging wall.  This post will not come.  I feel the need to produce some sort of “year in france” summary, but it. won’t. come.  And so, someone who says better than I ever could.

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I am glad we did this.  I am glad I won’t wonder what it’s like to pick up and move to Paris.  I am glad to have had the opportunity to step outside myself, my world, my familiars to feel discomfort and anxiety and longing.  Why?  Because along with the general unease brought about by those feelings, there is also the creativity that strangeness brings, the new friends, the adventures, the rewards of stepping out of the system (or at least sliding into a new one) for a while.

I’m still amazed at how much of this city I saw in one week back in the 1990s on a trip with my parents.  Perhaps I’ve had a handful of days as ambitious as those were, but there hasn’t been any urgency.  And that’s the point to one year abroad, right?  One takes it slow, embeds in the neighborhood, meets the corner baker and rarely leaves the little quarter like the locals?  Yet we are far from being locals and that is apparent everyday.

There’s the way I thought it would be, the way it is, the way it still might be.  I have high hopes for year 2, but they come with a dose of nostalgia.  We have been pulling off the industrial sized bandage that is home millimeter by millimeter all year long, and it feels like this upcoming trip to San Francisco will be the final tug–wrenching yet freeing all at once.  We will pull some treasures out of the heap in the basement, pack the rest away, eat burritos and give lots of hugs.  Then will we fly back on T’s silver airplane and give Paris one more chance.

You’ll know where to find us.

Posted in home, paris | 3 Comments »

success at the vide grenier

Well, we now know how much chocolate ice cream she can handle before all circuits break down, and we also know that she cannot operate any sort of machinery (particularly a bicycle) after such consumption.  Apparently she ran right into a vegetable cart outside the huit à huit and despite the helmet managed to cut her forehead and lose a lot of red.  After she was all cleaned up, we saw only the faintest scratch and once again the Hello Kitty bandaids cured all.

But, to start at the beginning…  This morning we went to the vide-grenier (group yard sale?) for the petits enfants and their associated peuriculture, held in the main square in front of the town hall for our arrondissement.  In a word, it was excellent.  The clothing selection was incredible, but T doesn’t really need any clothes right now.  Instead we focused on toys and footwear.

I’m really excited about the tape recorder, though less excited about the upcoming goose-chase that will be required to locate some cassettes.

Then there is the petit bateau puffy winter coat, (in prune which seemed close enough to purple for T to give her consent) and some boots.

We also scored a spirograph, a snoopy puzzle (snoopy fait du jogging!), lite brite and some crocs.  She’s been freaking out about all the kids and her teacher wearing crocs at school lately.  I happen to find them very annoying–somehow they encourage a little voice inside me to say [to myself], “wear some real shoes,” but what with wading pool season being upon us and all, I relented.  Also, they were the only pair around, in her size, and in green, not the ghastly rose.

Perhaps all of these acquisitions will help make the apartment decision easier?  We’ll see.

Posted in child, gear | 1 Comment »

of two apartments.

I would not wish a Paris housing search on anyone.  We knew when we arrived that we’d need to find another place, but my shitty French and fear of the telephone postponed the search for a while.  Now the search has entered deadline mode and after suffering some of the most ridiculous rejections you can imagine (”no you can’t come see the apartment as I don’t think the staircase is safe for a three year old), we have honed in on two possibilities.  I present them to you now, in no particular order.

Apartment F:

This is our connect.  Our current landlord really wants to free up our place so that her son can move in.  Somehow she has a lead on a place around the corner (perhaps she also owns this one?  it’s not clear).  If we don’t leave in time, her son will move there.  She has proposed a swap.

The apartment is 1 bedroom, half the size of our current one, modern building, same neighborhood, same school assignment for next year.  Key features include: storage, secured parking for velo or stroller.  Huge savings on rent.

Apartment B:

Also 1 bedroom and half the size.  Also big savings, though slightly more expensive than the other one.  Small old building with “charm”.  In this case there is also an alcove, essentially a room without a door that could be T’s room.  This one is in a different neighborhood, different arrondissement, so new school assignment for the fall.  The drawbacks here are the lack of storage (no real closets or basement storage), and lack of oven.  The oven was key for me, but since so many apartments here don’t have one, that I don’t care so much anymore.  At least there are four burners on the stove.

Comparison:

Both places are furnished.  We haven’t actually been inside “F” yet, but will see it over the weekend.  My sense is that it will have a more amenity-filled kitchen, but we will either have to share a bedroom with T or sleep out in the living room.  I’m a little hesitant to leave our neighborhood, but the other one seems nice too.  So, bottomline: B has essentially two bedrooms, but no place to put a suitcase and a potentially limited kitchen.  F gives us the pleasure of having a connect and using it.  It has storage, probably a better kitchen (tbd), almost definitely less squeaky floors, but only one bedroom.

Votes?

Posted in home, paris | 7 Comments »

two wheels

Maybe you’ve heard about the free bicycle program here?  For the most part, it’s super-easy to do and a fun way to get around town.  I haven’t used it too often because: I’m lazy, the weather blows, or I have my kid in tow and there’s no kid-carrying option.  But, today was different.  What do you call a perfect storm when the various factors don’t conspire, but cooperate (other than a fucking great time)?  This was today.

Dropped T off, had coffee with a friend, launched my afternoon en Velib.  I passed this pretty house:

It was located on a round-about, so I went around and then back to have another look.  Then I came to these houses which reminded me of San Francisco:

And I saw this bike in the window of a shop that was closed for lunch:

Can you make out the lettering?  Bicycle frame font, a new obsession.

This path seemed promising, but then it wasn’t:

Eventually I made it to my destination.  I looked for a parking spot, remembered one over by the National Library, but was totally shut out.  All the spots were full except for these:

The orange things are blocking the lock mechanism that allows you to park the bike and walk away.  I watched a velib’er ahead of me wait for someone else to fetch a bike so he could park.  This seemed silly so I started circling the neighborhood looking for a spot.  They were all full.  I came back to the first stand just as someone was leaving and soon after a guy pulled up behind me.  He wanted to cut me.  He spoke French.  I didn’t understand him so I answered with something that seemed relevant.  Then he said this was his fourth parking attempt.  I said it was mine too.  We swapped stories.  We had tried completely different stations and they were all full.  The guy I was waiting for left.  I didn’t let the chatty guy cut me.  I locked my bike and then went, um, bicycle shopping.

No purchases.  I made my way home on foot/train.  I attempted to position my phone to take a picture of myself in front of the library.  There was this one:

And this one:

And in this one, you can see my new stockholm dress:

sometimes this town delivers.

Posted in paris | 1 Comment »

monday

We visited the school on Saturday and while I have some hesitations–the process (not the curriculum) makes me feel like I’m about to send T off to kindergarten–mostly it was great.  The principal was as welcoming as before and kept her remarks brief in appreciation of her audience of two and three year olds.  Fortunately, since she’s used to speaking to the small set, I was able to understand everything she said.  She set me at ease as she said that the point of the whole endeavor is to make them love school, to start things off right so it’s essentially nothing but a good time.  That works for me.  Oh, and there’s a pet escargot in the class.

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I don’t know if there’s a word for this.  Let me describe.  A few weeks ago, step into my thimble shared this bit from craftzine, about making a laundry bag from an old pillowcase.  She remembered the pattern from childhood.  I remembered it from Albany, CA goodwill.  I snagged it and several other sheets back in the early ’00s.  It eventually became part of my first and not entirely successful quilt which has come here to Paris, you know, for that touch of home:

(It’s the brownish square with the orange and pink flowers…)

Then Friday night, C returned from Stockholm bearing presents–a super-cute dress for me, a little cup and lunch box for T, and a tie for himself.  I couldn’t believe it when I saw the tie, and then I turned it over, recognized the name from my blogroll and remembered why it’s always so hard to find local souvenirs.  It’s this tie, from Brooklyn to Stockholm to Paris, with the same hot 70s pattern.  The world is small and we Americans, temporarily adrift in Paris, seem to need reserves of visual comfort from our childhoods to steady us.  C’s packs a little easier, but my iteration is much better for jumping.

Posted in child, finds, sewing | 2 Comments »

conversing.

I had my longest conversation ever with our corner baker yesterday.  She has a daughter the same age as T and she asked me about our school plans for next year.  It turns out that we’re assigned to the same school, there’s an orientation meeting on Saturday, and I hadn’t properly enrolled T yet.  These are things I would have never known without my rocking “11 months in Paris style” French.

Yesterday was a holiday here, so this morning I called the school.  The directrice answered her own phone and I immediately began to weigh my expected conversation against the one that was happening.  I heard “can you come down right now?” but I didn’t believe it, that is, until she repeated it five times, progressively slower each time.  We scheduled a rendezvous for 2, or um, 14 as they say here.

She was in a meeting when I arrived so I sat on the low bench outside her office, feeling small and vowing to flee and force T’s way into the private, bilingual, international and montessori preschool across town.  I really wasn’t prepared for the crappiness of the school.  It’s very, well, institutional, but the key feature is the price tag: free.  Before I could get myself too down on the situation, the directrice arrived and was so freaking nice, possibly the nicest person I’ve met since we arrived here.  Okay, in the top ten at least.  The conversation went quite well.  She asked if T would stay for lunch (the most minimal option is 4 days/week 8:30-11:30, but at most the day runs until 4:30 and no school on Wednesday) and I said I wasn’t sure.  She placed the “point d’interrogation” next to that question on the form and we moved on.  She eats lunch at her school now, but it’s such a little place with only 16 kids.  I peeked into the lunchroom today and it was a slightly smaller version of the one I remember from grade school–it’s so hard to say how my big, yet very little girl, would manage there.  As far as I understood, we can leave the question mark for a while yet.

She asked me if I had any questions.  I do, but I said no.  How do you ask a question like: how French will you make my daughter behind these doors?  Or, there’s a rumor among us anglos that you make them sit in rows right from age 3, is that the case?  So, I left it at no.  She said it’s okay, it’s always that way and I can call her if I think of anything later on, or I can ask her at orientation on Saturday.  We said goodbye and I suffered my typical moment of panic as I wondered whether we had to kiss.  No, just a handshake.

Anyway.  All of this might be moot as we’re in the process of looking for a new apartment, or if life goes my way, a petite cottage in the country.  More on that later.

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