So, I did the French thing.  I went to the pharmacist on the corner of the Place.  I handed my form from Allie's doctor and I was asked my name, number, and address.  Luckily, I brought my neighbor who speaks French and was able to function, and we left with what I needed.  Anyone who has ever tried to look, pronounce and generate numbers in French knows my pain.  

(ACTIVITY) Everyone, quickly look up how to say 91 in French and you will see what I'm talking about when I have to give my address.  It's kind of like saying "four twenties and an eleven."  It just does not make sense!  Don't even get me started on phone numbers.  Anyway, I digress.

I was filling the little monkey's prescription for her four year old shots.  You take it to the local pharmacy, buy it... they put it in a great stay cool bag... you bring it home, put it in your fridge and when it is time for your appointment you take it out, put in in the bag and take it to the doc who then injects it into your child's arm or leg.  The visit is five minutes, no chatting about the health or well being of the child.  The visit is strictly 5 minutes for shots and if you drag it on you pay for a full visit.  No appointments necessary, no hoopla, just the shots.  Sounds sterile and stand-offish but it works.  Seems strange that I bring dead viruses with me in my well-traveled backpack but hey it seems to work.

Addendum:  Allie received shots, got fever and threw up in span of 2 days.  This has never happened before.  Could be 1) Because the Monkeys have a planned trip to Bordeaux with good friends.  2) She's picking up on nervous vibes of mom regarding school and shock that awaits her.  

Addendum number two:  As of night before fun wine country trip, Allie tucked in bed, no fever and looking forward to the swimming pool that awaits her at the chateau.  Wish us luck once again as well as luck with round number 2 of four year old shots.

School is a coming!

Countdown to school!  

Anybody who has talked to me in the past year knows that my main concern moving here was what to do with the little monkey as far as schooling.  She is a quiet little girl around strangers and an all time queen talker at home.  I like to think she is the brighter one in the family. She loves to play, she loves friends, she loves to be in her own home with her family. So, come Sept. 2nd,  9:30 sharp she will be dropped off at the door of the Ecole Maternelle.  Dropped off at the door simply because her momma with the tight grasp on her only daughter is not allowed in to the building!  Welcome to France!  She starts the Moyenne section with the other 4 years olds in the French Public school system.  And she goes all day!

My point in all this is, this will be a true test of the strength and courage of Allie who does not know a lick of French.  A test for the nervous stomach of her mother who although has so much faith in her little girl has to bear the next few weeks as she navigates and eventually takes on the French language and school for all it is worth.  If we make it, sorry, if I can make it through what other expats say is the rough first month, then she will be enriched with another language, she will be able to participate in after school activities since they are all taught in French. Allie will broaden her horizons at the ripe young age of four.  

So, I will keep you posted.   I will keep a strong and united Monkey front and stand behind her. (Ok, maybe across the street from her school at the cafe, waiting with bated breath and my English to French dictionary.)  After all, at age four the fact that they can use scissors in the class room now is more important to them than saying Merci .  

Say a special "you go girl prayer for me...I mean Allie on Tuesday" .   Much Appreciated!

We are the Monkeys

I allowed it.  I actually pushed the enter button to order it online.  We are the Monkeys in Paris.  We have been one form of monkey for the past 12 years either as email or other good stuff.  So, I threw caution to the wind.  I figured who would judge us by our shower curtain.  The other part of our house is calm, cool, I like to think somewhat fashionable. So to be truthful to the blog and let you in on an otherwise secretive room.  Here it is.  Monkeys in Paris do exist.  Hopefully, the reading of the blog is as good as the fun we are having here.....and the fun we are having ordering online!

Ook Ook.

Good things in France

There are lots of good things here.  The French are pretty damn good at quite a few things.  Here's just four:

1) Bread.  Very important here. It's taken seriously and purchased daily.  There are lots of varieties to choose from, and the baguettes and loaves have a nutty freshness with a crisp outside and a just-chewy-enough inside. When Marie Antoinette supposedly said to "let them eat cake" when told the peasants had no bread, the biggest example of total cluelessness and out-of-touchness was born. And she got to look at her own neck without the help of a mirror as a result.

2)  Cheese.  Charles deGaulle is said to have claimed that a country with --- 200+, or 350+ or 246---take your pick--- variety of cheeses is ungovernable.  Don't know about that, but we definitely enjoy the various cheese, whether from goat or cow or sheep or opossum or giraffe.  OK, I made up the last two.

3) Ice cream.  Didn't expect that one, did you?  You'll have a hard time finding that sissified "light" ice cream, made with bizarro skim milk product. The French don't pull any punches with ice cream. Full fat, full flavor, and real vanilla.  Vanilla ice cream isn't the basic flavor that serves as the point of departure for other varieties here, it's it's own taste with a proud and vibrant tradition. To me, going to Haagen Daaz and ordering vanilla ice cream was like going to a bar with 200 beers on tap and ordering Budweiser. I've revised that stance in my 3 months here.

4) The metro.  Relatively clean, on time, and most importantly, it goes almost everywhere you want to go. One flat fee.  

Note that contrary to the expectations of some, wine is not on this list.  That, of course, is a story for another day.

I live here now!

It is funny how lost you can feel and then have an encounter that makes you feel that you are doing just fine.  I welcomed our new neighbors and Troy's new co worker today.  Saw the same scared and lost look in the wife's eyes that I saw in the mirror when I first arrived here.  She has just the same amount of questions I had and still do.  She was worn out and nervous about her young kids and how they were going to take the move as I did.  I answered some questions for her.  Some I still can't answer being still fresh in the country but now have many more resources to help in the process.  As I left her empty new apartment she thanked me profusely, as I did my sponsor, Cheryl.  

Bottom line is, we all still need friends and a bit of attentiveness. Some one who cares how we are feeling even though we as military move a lot.  Be it Boston, California, Virgina, or France, just a friend, maybe not for life but someone with a commonality, someone who can help us get our feet wet in a new place without stumbling to much.  Someone who knows what we are going through and will face.  I had other plans today with Allie but explained to her that this is important to welcome and help a new friend as someone did for us.

As we left, I thought I might actually LIVE IN PARIS now.  I knew way more than I thought and I even new a little more French than I thought as well. All in all a rewarding day.

Tomorrow......the monkey family goes shopping in Belgium!!!!

Some things you and your kids take for granted.  How many folks have seen a swing in the past day or so?  A swing to learn how to pump and work yourself.  A swing that teaches you the science of gravity, push and pull.  Being rewarded by going sky high.  Learning that hard concept and reaching your feet up to the sky.  Well, that accomplishment for Allie has gone unlearned. Being only three when we left Virginia, she was just beginning to get the concept of swinging.  

However, PARIS DOES NOT HAVE SWINGS!  Accept for one measly little odd swing right out side of Notre Dame Cathedral.  I have accepted this but have learned something else.

Again, present day.  I take Allie to a park that is close by.  We live in the sixteenth arrondissemont.  They aren't hip to kids' play areas, just diamond watch stores.  I park myself on a bench like either the nannies or the grandparents do.  I watch Allie play in the sand then I watch her some paces away at the jungle gym...no swings of course.  All of a sudden I see her hopping in a fashion kind of weird yet familiar to me. I watch some more.  What the heck is she tossing?  What is she doing hopping to silhouettes in the sand?  It dawned on me.  She is trying to play hopscotch on her own.  Now, we in America know the good ol' game of hop scotch!  My baby girl was trying to show the French kids how to play hopscotch even though she barely learned the game to begin with.  I think back and realize I have not yet seen a hopscotch grid on the ground.

You can take the girl out of America but can't take the America out of the girl.

God bless hopscotch and those who pursue it!

Laundry DAY!

Laundry day today. And when I mean day I mean DAY. Three loads of laundry will take no less than 5 hours. I have five loads today. Because of space saving, we have a tiny little washer and a tiny little dryer. It may be the answer as to why some Europeans tend to have a ripe smell to them.

So you at home with all your sparkling fresh clean new GE super washers and dryers don't worry about me. I will be just fine. I get a great workout trying to stuff king size bedding in to that sucker.

Lazy day at the monkey house.

Supporting her papa!

Proud day for our family and thank you to our NATO friends for such great support.

Lack of postings - editor's note

Some have wondered what happened to our pace of postings. We have indeed flagged a little, but with very good reason. Please see the letter from our editor below.

Greetings. For those unfamiliar with French life, the month of August is the designated vacation month when Paris becomes a ghost town and the villages empty toward the coast. As editor, I too am entitled to go "en vacances."  Therefore, I will not be editing Monkeys in Paris posts for a while. Maybe a long while. I am entitled to 30 days of vacation, and I intend to use all of it. You Americans are jealous, aren't you?  Yes, I can see it in your shiny little eyes and your pouting, moist McDonald's-"freedom-fry" eating lips.  Well, "HA" I say to you. HA! I will come back rested in a way you will never know with your piddly two weeks a year. And when I do come back, the posts will be superior. They will put Voltaire to shame. Victor Hugo himself will wish he had written them. Not that I have much to work with, mind you, these Monkeys, but I am a professional.

I have written too much. I am tired. I must return to my holidays now. Au revoir!

Sorry for the delay in postings. We will have something out soon, and maybe a new editor to boot.

 

Crab update

The Truck of goodies came.  All three hundred boxes and furniture to boot.  Allie spent the day with her friend, came home and two days later is not asking for any sort of hermit crab.  Thank heavens.  Do you think she will bring it up again?  Nah.......

You go girl

So Funny.  I tell you.  Living in a whole new world here.  I took EIGHT years of Spanish yet we choose to live in France.  I digress.  

We named my darling daughter right out of the womb.  We named her Alexandra Rae.  What a wonderful name we thought.  We loved Alexandra because it wasn't in the top names for 2004 and we just loved it.  We decided on her middle name because it is Troy's father's name.  Then gave it a feminine twist, Ray turned into  Rae.  We knew we would shorten her name, we would give her a nickname.  I always wanted to call her Allie.  So we did and we do.

Now, present day.  I have an almost four year old only knowing quiet suburban streets.  I move her to the big city.  All the things she used to do to explore the suburban streets come in to question and is chastised here in Paris.  No, Allie don't pick up that dirt clod, it is poop.  No, Allie, don't pick up the feather that the icky scrap eating pigeon just left.  No, Allie don't go in to that tree well to climb it, that is where the dogs go poop.  She has had to learn all sorts of city living.  In the meantime,  I just constantly yell her name.  "Allie, Allie, Allie, Allie"  NO NO NO NO.  Stop Allie, Stop Allie the light is red, look for the L'homme vert to cross the street.  She has probably heard here name more in the past two months than ever.  All the while I yell her name in the city streets of Paris I get looks.  I didn't understand the looks at first.  I chalked it up to me being an American mom and concerned for child. Maybe yelling a bit to loud for fear that she might touch some poop or get run over by the constant traffic.  I received a lot of looks directed at me when I yelled her name.  It wasn't until one man indignatly looked at me and started to hustle away from me when I yelled, "Allie, Allie", that I decided to look in to it.  He gave me such a look that something was off as he picked up the pace a ran from me.

The kicker is, are you ready....Allie is my daughter's name.  "Aller" in French means to go.  If you say Allie in such a french accent type way it is a command ...Go Go Go Hurry Hurry.  That last man was so irritated with me for telling him to hurry when I was actually telling my daughter to stop picking up sticks with pigeon poop on it.  How funny is that.  I asked a French friend and sure enough the French think I am using "Allie" as a command to hurry up.

I have now been teaching Allie her true first name, Alexandra.  It makes life a bit more bearable for all involved.

Proud

As I finally got a chance to breathe and relax a bit from all the unpacking there is one thing I realized.  It is August first and Troy has now achieved a goal he has had since I met him.  An almost 17 year old goal.  August first is quite a day for him.

I am so proud of Troy and to be an Air Force wife.  (Kind of ironic given the fact that I spent over 12 hours unpacking reluctantly today thanks to another AF move!) 

Congratulations to my hubby, the new lieutenant colonel.