Will return after this brief nervous breakdown

My blogging may be spotty for awhile because I'm losing my mind.  I need school to start again.  I love my son but my God...

Damn, now I feel guilty for wanting to send Lucien back to school.  French school has proven to be NOT THE BEST MATCH for our loud, excitable boy.  On the first day back, it will feel like tossing him back to the wolves (well-dressed wolves with pursed lips).  Mama's life, however, is going to be a lot calmer so goodbye and good luck, little love.

Coco was sick last week.  We hesitated (a full five minutes) before leaving her with a babysitter Saturday night so we could go to dinner with a couple new friends from Alex's work.  Al and I chose the restaurant, which we'd been to previously with Newcastle Guy and Quebec Hottie.  We told our new friends it was a great place, one of our favorite meal memories.

As I've mentioned before, everyone leaves Paris in August.  "Everyone" apparently includes chefs because we got the sorry-ass "B" team at the restaurant -- either that or the usual chef hit his head and forgot how to cook.  Whatever happened, the meal we had was a lifeless version of what we ate months before.  We now feel an urgency to see our new friends again and pick a restaurant with its "A" team intact so they don't think we have questionable taste in food.  

We had an after-dinner drink in front of the magnificent church of Saint Sulpice.  Alex angered the waiter by trying to move some chairs around so as punishment he and our new friend, Dutch Guy, were made to sit on tiny stools.  Never piss off a French waiter, fellas.

 Here's Coco taking some bottle caps for a walk in her stroller.  She will take anything for a walk except a doll.  If you put a doll in her stroller, she will cut you.

By Monday I was sick because whenever a kid is sick, I get sick.  Yesterday I took Lucien to the toy department of The Bon Marché and told him to pick one thing to occupy him for the rest of the day because Mommy felt crappy and was not going to be able to mother him properly.  I assumed he would choose another dinosaur excavation kit.  I rubbed my hands in gleeful anticipation of the several months of quiet it would buy me.

I was wrong.  He didn't choose a dinosaur.  Do you know what that kid chose, out of all the toys in the Bon Marché toy department?  He chose an umbrella -- an umbrella, a goddamn umbrella -- because he liked the "doggie" on top.  Here's how our conversation went after he made his decision:

Feverish Me:  Lucien, you do not want an umbrella.
Lucien:          Yes I do.
Feverish Me: No you don't.
Lucien:          Yes I do.
Feverish Me: How are you going to play with an umbrella all day?
Lucien:          I like the doggie.
Feverish Me: F*ck the doggie and buy a dinosaur.

But I had said it was his choice, so I bought the stupid umbrella and felt sad.  It had not gone the way I planned.  Lucien swung his umbrella happily on the walk home and miraculously avoided poking any Parisians in the belly.  Once we were about halfway home, however, self-doubt and regret began to cloud his small boy face.

Lucien:           Mommy, did I make a bad choice?
Feverish Me:  Yes, worst ever.

He tried to make the most of it, tried to play with an umbrella all afternoon.  I had to cut the "fun" short, though, because the play got a little rambunctious and the umbrella is the most expensive umbrella in the world so I will guard the umbrella with my life.

Its cheerfulness mocks me from the corner.

I also bought some celery yesterday, which in my weakened state was difficult to do.  It's tough to drag celery home around here, kinda like cutting down a tree and dragging it through the forest when you don't feel well and your kid is swinging an umbrella at some Japanese tourists.

As you can see, it's not going well.  I'll be back when I can.
Stupid umbrella,
MJ