11.19.17

This tastes like ASS.

We had planned to go to Versailles today, but the thought of roaming rooms without trampolines, ice cream, zip lines, or baguettes filling each and every square inch of them sounded like a really boring day.  

That, and the bikes in the gardens closed last weekend and we were really looking forward to some cruising South Bay style through some Louis XIV shrubbery.  Without bikes, no point really.  

Somewhere in the middle of the night, we were awoken by loud returners and cigarette smoke wafting up from the courtyard below our room.  Apparently, the girls then decided this was a good time to play with their new bunnies for about an hour beside us in this double bed.  I do not recall any of this, but I woke up at 5:30 like it was time to work and laid around in the dark trying not to wake any of the sleeping beasts.  

At about 8:30, I got moving and the rest of the fam joined me in the land of light and grumbling tummies.  

All you need is bread.

We had two missions today:

1. Eat breakfast sitting down.
2. Find me a sweater to wear under my jacket.

Nothing else filled our docket, so we set out to the Luxembourg Garden to find a cafe to eat breakfast sitting down.  Before this though, we had our normal, put on your jacket, zip your jacket, how about gloves, wear your gloves, hat, hat, hat, scarf, put it on conversation with both girls.  H2 pretends she is never cold now because she likes to pet soft things and has this lil’ rabbit that she gets to tend.  Can’t wear a glove on one or both hands if you wanna pet soft things the right way.  Better to be cold.

We hit the second cafe we passed because we saw a solid looking omelette being eaten, and we made a good selection.  

It had a resident cat named Roxanne.

The food could have been Alpo, but when that cat ran by me and I was initially afraid it was a huge rat but then pleasantly surprised it was a beautiful cat, we wouldn’t have cared how bad the food was.  We were getting to stare at a cat.  

My favorite moment was when a little girl tried to pet her and the older man in charge pushed her hand away sternly without a word.  She just looked up, confused and sad.  

H1 had a giant plate of bread.  

H2 had bread and eggs - but can’t bite very well without front teeth, so we had to rip up her croissant like feeding a bird.  

The highlight by far was the French salted butter which we all vied for, smearing it onto every available edible surface.  

One cultural note I would like to make is that no one is ever in a hurry to get your money.  I don’t know if this is some sort of commie hold over, but it is sometimes longer to get the check with your food finished in front of you then it is to eat the food in the first place.  I wouldn’t mind if I had some kind of real conversation to make, but mostly we are talking about why you have to hold your cup when you drink from a straw and why you can’t just stomp your foot to cover up a fart in a restaurant.  It’s pretty important stuff, but I wouldn’t mind talking about it outside after paying the bill either.  

We headed off towards the Seine and the Tuilleries, with the idea that we’d stop before crossing at a few shops and then at the Orsay.  

First stop was the dog park where the girls watched a tiny dog try to hug every other dogs’ rump while the harried woman kept trying to fight him off.  He’s just trying to give hugs!  

Then, we stopped and watched a hook and ladder try to rotate its huge ladder in the boulevard, but only I was really interested to see if they’d remove some poor Parisians balcony.  

Next, we stopped at Pierre Herme where I felt tremendously under dressed for pastry.  We ended up with a variety of macarons for later consumption.  H2 then asked/demanded every 5 minutes can I have my macaron?  And tried to make seats out of every ledge for a picnic.  We skipped the caviar and truffle and went for some of the classic flavors.  

Seeing a GAP and figuring they would have a sweater for me and gloves and a hat for S, we headed down a side street.  At this point, I was trying to smoke screen S to avoid getting a sweater.  To be honest, I was concerned that this would be another episode of BIG BOY DON’T FIT, ESPECIALLY IN EURO CLOTHES.  

But we passed a nice looking store, and I realized after S prompted me again, I’d better get a sweater to avoid having this conversation everyday - a conversation prompted by love and my being cheap on myself and being cold rather than smart.  Basically another example of S’s compassion and my stubbornness.  

S tricked me by calling a sweater a Hemingway sweater and then I was hooked.  The nice salesman said non non, he is an XL not an XXL (at this point I felt great), then when I removed my jacket, he said actually, he may be…(with super wide eyes - I felt LARGE again).  He was really helpful and got me set up in some sweaters, even matching my green eyes - so attentive here to my shopping needs in Paris.  

Anyways, I wore my sweater out like I was 12 again at Foot Locker and we headed off for the river.  

A few streets down on Boulevard Saint Germain, we see the police blocking an intersection, and then we looked up to see a troop of period costumed horsemen tromping down the boulevard.  It was a surreal moment seeing the horsemen ride passed Les Deux Magot and a really exciting moment for the girls.  

The girls kicked giant yellow and brown leaves all down the pavement as S and I enjoyed the architecture and the little shops along the way.  The girls made it a habit to attempt to use every pole at every crossing as a pole vaulting practice session, and sometimes this become a pole dancing practice session, swinging around as quickly as possible on these maybe 3 foot poles.  

Down a narrow side street, and we arrived at the front of the Orsay.  

On a bench overlooking the Seine, we sat and opened our box of macarons which H1 had been giving a nice rattling similar to that of the paint shakers at Home Depot the entire walk over.  We dug into the beautiful cookies and their interesting flavors, hitting one that according to H1, it tastes like ASS.   I can’t really disagree, but dammit nothing is going to waste so I crammed it inside of me.  

Into the Orsay to see the Impressionists, the girls armed with newly purchases sketchbooks and pencils.  It start promising with intricate architecture drawings but soon degraded into a page full of booties and penis, which H2 later described as her favorite part.  We literally stopped at every naked ass to sketch.  Luckily there were a lot so we saw a lot of the museum.  

We’ve learned about time limits, so we rushed to the things we really wanted to see, said au revior to Vincent, Claude, and the others, grabbed our bags, and headed across the river to the Tuillaries.  

S was feeling peckish now, we marched across the middle of the park to reach Rue de Rivoli and some hot chocolate there.  Of course the need to hurry only encouraged the ladies to walk slowly and attempt to jump off of every surface.  

EVEN WATER LILLIES BORE ME

Spot on.

Passing Angelina and the hot chocolate and seeing the line, we bypassed and went further, ending up at a patisserie and tea room.  I sat on a rickety chair while my children laid splayed upon a 1865 era couch, and we eat croque monsieur and this crazy ham and cheese croissant covered in cheese and baked thingy.  H1 even ate a bite of GRILLED HAM AND CHEESE.  

I managed to extricate myself from the cozy environs of this little shop, and it was finally time for playgrounds.  The girls played on a fun little one with a big slide, climber, wiggly lilly pads and teeter totters, and as the sun went down almost completely, we headed next door to the carousel where they rode a tea cup that they could spin as the carousel spun.  I just would have turned the whole thing into a chum bucket.  I can’t even face riding the horse anymore.  My old age has blessed me with significant motion sickness - yay!

Beyond that, I could see the famous in ground trampolines, so for a few Euros more, the girls jumped for 5 minutes (timed to the second) and worked up some body heat and worked out some of their energy.  H1 then announced she had to pee, real bad, but there are few public, easily accessible restrooms around.  We kept telling her it was super dark and we could just pee in a bush, but she wasn’t having it.  Wasn’t having it until the wave of necessity hit her and I held her squatting in a push begging her not to pee on my, my pants, or my shoes.  

It was H2’s turn to get the Eye of Mordor turned upon her because as soon as we finished she asked for more and then got mad when we said no.  She asked for a soccer ball and jump rope, while in Paris, and got mad when we said no.  And now, S asks her to put on a hat and gloves, so as to not be shivering, and she gets mad.  So now H2 is on the list for needing to work on gratitude and self-evaluation.  

I’m definitely next.  

The dark falls quickly and deeply here, so as we walked back through the garden towards the Louvre pyramid, we didn’t have to look at H2’s sulking, except that I was afraid we’d lose her in the garden and the park would acquire a new troll.  

With dinner reservations at 7pm, we needed to make our way back down the Seine towards Notre Dame in about an hour’s time.  This turned into a relay carrying each kid until H1 got smart and faked an injury so I’d carry her most of the way.  I didn’t mind too much because the effort made me nice and warm.  We made it with 5 minutes to spare, and we were quickly shown to our table.  

At Rotiesserie d’ Argent, the chicken was incredible, the steak fantastic, the fries, the mashed potatoes, etc. etc.  With their attached boulangerie, you’d better believe their bread basket was amazing - we must have had 3 baguettes while sitting there.  I have transitioned from requiring protein to function to requiring nothing but baguettes.  

Having coached H1 up all day, she did pretty well.  She knew she was getting chicken, so she didn’t need to freak out, and she ate without complaint.  I give her top marks for a quick turn around.  She scarfed radishes and at least a baguette and a half herself, while H2 was super pumped on the little cornichon pickles and salami.  

Again, we had an excellent time waiting for the check, all of us beginning to fall asleep at the table while staring vacantly out the windows at the lights of passing cars.  

H2 mused about her coca cola: why doesn’t caffeine work on me? I’m falling asleep, experiencing many of our Monday morning existential questions when the giant tumbler just ain’t cutting it.  

Restaurants are super expensive here.  I’m going to tell myself it is the quality ingredients, but even a place that doesn’t have tasty grub cost a pretty penny in comparison to at home.  The price difference between a run of the mill place and tonight’s is so small that you might as well pay more and eat a little better.  I guess that is why there are so many good places to dine because the competition is so fierce and the price difference so small.  

Feeling very bourgeoise, we asked the valet if he could help us hail a taxi, and he did with great style, running out into the street to point him to the curb.  We loaded up and road up the little hill back home in minutes, and of course, had to get…

ICE CREAM #1

Just around the corner, I made an executive decision, and we had GROM.  As we stepped outside, H1 miraculously tossed her scoop against a sandwich board sign against the wall, and started laughing, so with great dad style, I bare handed her scoop back into her cone, licked off the dirt, and placed it back in my first born’s hand.  

Without complaint, she happily began licking her Parisian street cone.  Apparently, the one step down had defeated her and caused her terrible accident.  

Back up the stairs to our room, where the giggles brought both girls to the floor, laughing hard, but managing to keep their cones upright so as to not lose any more precious gelato.  

You’d think the coca-cola and the gelato would have created enough buzz to stave off sleep, but once pjs were on and the light off, we could hear the girls snoring almost immediately.  

I wasn’t far behind, falling asleep at the keyboard.  If you find anything exceptionally bad grammatically - I was typing in a haze, please don’t judge me too harshly.  

I finished up this post in the AM, just before breakfast and heading over to the Louvre for a scavenger hunt tour.  Catch you later!

Living well in the land of bread and wine.