I explained my husband was out of town --
I explained my babysitter hadn't shown up --
I apologized --
I asked if any parents had taken notes? --
I asked if she remembered how to blink? --
I think it went pretty well, don't you?
It's a shame I'm back on the school sh*tlist. Things were going so well. Lucien is being a calm, studious little boy in class. We're not quite sure what he's up to, but so far he's really surprised the crap out of us. The teacher has been very pleased with him and very smiley with me.
Then I went and missed the most important meeting in the world and screwed everything up again. At least I'm back in the ole comfort zone.
I'm also officially in a transitional funk. With three months to go, we've had to start planning and organizing for the move, and for our lives back home, all while trying to live full lives here. We don't seem to be doing a particularly good job of any of it. As depressed as I'll be to say "Au revoir, caca boudin" to our Paris life, a part of me can't wait until the whole move thing is a done deal. I don't do well living in the in-between. I don't feel connected anywhere. My in-between is full of staring into space and obsessively making lists.
Let's forget all that burdensome crap and talk about Coco for a minute. Thinking about Coco always cheers me. I especially love the part of her that is so thrilled to be her, so thrilled to be alive, she runs around the apartment with her arms raised in joyful triumph yelling "COCO!" Can you imagine being so pleased with yourself as an adult you can't stop running through your house repeatedly yelling your own name? Go ahead, try it, see how it feels. I tried it and my answer is "very foolish but kinda awesome."
Where Lucien is loud and obvious and you can see his mischief coming a mile away, Coco is calm, cool stealth. She know what's off limits and watches around corners to see were I hide forbidden things. When I'm not looking, she retrieves them, often building towers of other forbidden objects to reach them. She'll walk up behind me as I'm doing laundry or whatever with the precious breakable or poisonous substance held over her head and yell "COCO!" Her smile is big and her message is obvious -- Coco wins, Coco will always win, because Coco is the best.
How would you write that, South Park peeps?
All right, I'm out. I have hours of staring into space to do and important research to conduct such as where we can donate our old nastyass couch because that thing is NOT coming home with us. (Old nastyass couch not to be confused with crazy nastyass honey badger -- though much like the honey badger, our nastyass couch doesn't give a sh*t).
Gotta break out of the transitional depression, or all blog hope is lost,