The Loosh is back in school and I'm blogging again. The two things are related.
The whole family went to drop Lucien off on his first day. He greeted the director of the school respectfully (unlike last year, holy sh*t...) and his kind, smiley teacher did not run away screaming when she saw him enter the classroom. I admit, I expected her to because Lucien is infamous at preschool for his loudness and his Chris Farley-like physical comedy routines.
Yesterday, however, The Loosh was quiet and nervous. That's normal behavior for him on the first day -- it's the second day through the last day of school that everything really goes to hell.
All the other parents are a deep, dark tan-ish color from their month-long vacations in the south of France. Alex and I, however, continue to be ex-pat rebels by sporting our standard ghostly pallor. We received a few wrinkled, confused brows when, in response to the vacation question, we said we summer vacationed in the Czech Republic and a German Kinderhotel, where we were vomited upon multiple times and hugged by a hippie.
And sacré bleu, I have sad news -- Hot Thing One and Hot Thing Two have moved away. My sorrow knows no limits. Who's going to be my eye candy at the preschool now? Oh....everybody else in the whole damn school, you say? Yep, that's a good point...true, true...
The Loosh will not finish the year at this school, probably not even the semester, and for that I admit I'm relieved. French school is an impressive thing. Lucien has a nice group of friends and speaks effortless, accent-less French. People have been kind to us and it's been our most profound cultural experience in Paris. Still, it's not the best place for our son. We need less rigidity, more "hey, anyone have any creative ideas about how to peel Lucien off the ceiling?"
Since my last post, we had a couple more days of crap weather so were stuck in the apartment. We tried to play ball but it got stuck between the beams in our ceiling. That was pretty exciting.
We also went out for an overwhelmingly successful family dinner last week. It's rare we enjoy a dinner out all together because Alex and I are usually stressed about keeping the children at the table and without forks in their eyeballs. But this dinner was a winner, probably because Lucien was exhausted from a long outing with Alex and Virginia Dad, which Virginia Dad barely survived. Lucien's energy can kill people, we're pretty sure.
I'd like to say Alex helped me fend off the pineapple attack but he was laughing too hard to be useful. I would have been mad at him but his laugh sounds like Fozzie Bear's and I like that.
Coco and I trailed way behind the boys on our walk home because she wanted to walk all by herself. It takes forever. Lucien would occasionally run back to visit us, then double back to join his dad. One time he returned to Alex and said, "Coco fell down real bad in the middle of the street with cars but it's OK -- I think she's still alive."
On our stroll home, we passed many things, such as the guys below performing "Rockin' Robin" with all their hearts and souls. We also passed sidewalk cafe tables full of laughing people, and people strolling arm-in-arm through the narrow streets eating ice cream, and people just staring up in awe at the buildings around them. In that moment, as my husband chased my son to our apartment with the intent to strangle him, I felt complete Paris contentment. As difficult and claustrophobic as it is sometimes, it was our best decision to live in the 6th, right smack in the middle of it all.
Rockin' Robin, tweet, tweet, tweet, whatever...
Probably should have stopped on that poignant note but nope, pressing on.
We went to see Dr. Michel for Coco's vaccinations. I got yelled at on the bus on the way there because a woman thought Coco's socks were too tight and were cutting off her circulation. Coco's socks weren't even a little bit tight, as I tried to demonstrate by easily sticking a finger down the side, but it didn't sway her -- I was a bad person and horrible mother and there was no convincing her otherwise. She complained about me to her friend the rest of the ride. This is also known as "just another day on the bus."
I haven't been approached by the Cold Baby Police in ages but have now encountered their super stealth unit, the Tight Sock Investigators. Be careful out there, everybody.
Funny what a week away from the blog does to my head; it's just full of weird crap. I would stick around and share indefinitely but I've got to go. I've got to go get my American boy at French school and it's Day Two. Things probably didn't go well. I will soothe his battered soul with nutella.
The Loosh on his first day back to school. I said, "stand still" and got dancing. It's gonna be a long few months at French school.
La rentrée is here, mon chou,