Paris hasn't always been my favorite place, as the last time Mike and I were there we had a horrible time and have since had a running joke that we could write a screenplay called "You Ruined Paris." So going in, there was some trepidation.
This trip was much better, yet not without its snafus. Cancelled reservations, mistyped train dates, cold weather that I had not prepared for, and an Airbnb apartment that made both Mike and I wonder if the host knew we were coming....
Despite these bumps, we still managed to remember where we were and the good fortune we have for the opportunity. "Sometimes you plan a picnic and it rains--what are you going to do, not eat?" was an ongoing conversation I had with the kids in an attempt to keep them focused on everything amazing rather than their goosebumps and general exhaustion.
Thankfully, it warmed up every afternoon and we discovered a playground at the base of Notre Dame. The swings earned way more Oohs-and-Ahhhs than the architecture and I was relieved to sit for a while under an old shady tree. The kids made friends immediately noting there are zillions of English speaking people in Paris. "They're everywhere!" Celie declared, though this didn't stop Fionn from doing his tongue-wagging "fon-fon-fon" impression of speaking French.
Together with the students we saw some great architecture, but the big highlight for the kids was catching our first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower. Fionn couldn't quite make it out through the fog so Celie did her best to give him a boost.
Making it to the top took some serious stair-effort and for me, a conscious decision to put "sharing life moment with family" above "terrible fear of heights." And I'm so glad I did, even if both of them spent only a total of only 30 seconds at the summit, declaring it was too cold to stay and besides, "I have to peepee." I'm convinced there is something about crowds and inconvenient situations that triggers the child bladder.
The following morning started out rough, as multiple midnight bedtimes tend to scramble all of our constitutions. But put my family in a room full of bones and all is well. Throw in a few cheetahs with their skin still on and bam! Heaven.
The day rounded out with a wonderful dinner at our friends Phillipe and Winnie's apartment where they hosted us to an amazing spread that included, among other things, the best wine and cheese plate I've ever tasted. The perfect way to begin an evening that concluded with another midnight in Paris for the Fetes des Musique. I hope I never forget the picture of Celie and Antoine dancing with abandon to the sounds of a brass band that Mike expertly detected from 3 blocks away. For most of the trip she'd stayed close to me, holding hands and a bit frightened of the crowds--her cautious nature amped up. But for some reason, this midnight, she let loose like a gypsy, wild and free...
Then again, maybe she's just like her Daddy when it comes to brass bands. Like the potty-trigger instinct, I believe there may be something inborn into all New Orleaneans: dog-like hearing that can sense a trombone and tuba from miles away, sounds they can't resist.
Finally, though, it was time to go. After Mike triumphantly solved one final issue with our tickets (more than once I've recalled Jill's hilarious advice: "just throw money at the problem--eventually it will go away") we boarded the TVG for sweet, small Montpellier. And while Mike finally caught some time to relax and the kids busied themselves with workbooks, I waved Au revoir to the City of Lights. At least for now.
