People keep asking us if we're happy to leave Paris. The answer is no, we're not happy to leave Paris -- in fact, we're quite devastated about it -- but at the same time we're ready to leave Paris. Paris could never be forever for us; it takes too much energy, mental and physical, to live here, and we are quite sloth-like by nature.
But we're going to miss it. My God, we're going to miss it.
This is where we lived. 42 rue Dauphine.
Someday there will be a plaque next to this front door telling awestruck tourists I lived there.
Or maybe not.
This was Lucien's school
This was "my" cafe on rue de Buci. Cafe de Paris.
This was the supermarket from hell on rue de Seine
If you come to Paris and happen by these places, blow them a kiss for me. Even the grocery store. I've come to peace with that place -- it helped my skin thicken like no other and that is truly a gift.
Photo by Chloe Lodge
goddamn tiny elevator
Thank you, posse. Thank you for sticking with me through three years of making a jerk of myself and being sick and getting yelled at and learning French and traveling and seeing penises and having unanticipated babies named Coco and struggling through the French system with a loud kid named Lucien. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support; there were many days it made all the difference between laughing and crying.
I'm going to post here again when we get back to Seattle, just to let you know I am once again an American mom in America. I'm also going to start a new blog in Seattle but I imagine since many of you were here for stories of Paris, I'm going to lose most of you. To those who are moving on to the other bazillion Paris bloggers, thank you for sharing the ride. You made it so much more fun. To those who are coming with me, prepare yourselves. I am going to make fun of Americans and spy on my supermodel neighbor. If we ever get the goddamn house, that is.
I'll start the Seattle blog as soon as I find my way out of Costco. I hear it's big and scary!
So there it is. Three years gone. Holy motherf*ckin' balls (one final swear, for old time's sake).
Merci, Paris. And thank you, thank you, thank you, posse.
how perfect is it she's screaming her head off for the heart-wrenching goodbye bow?
I was An American Mom in Paris and it changed everything.
Au revoir, mes choux...