Melanie Motormouth

Melanie may not be close to walking yet but she has quite the gift of the gab. She's starting to chant little phrases-- not recognizable words but the cadences of them. So it's not quite "au revoir" as she waves a triumphant bye-bye when we leave the creche or she is toted off to bed, but it is babble with the identical tonalities. "oh-Ah!"

And she sings along to the popular creche tune "bateau sur l'eau" with great enthusiasm: "Ba-bo, boo-bo" until she is duly tumbled sideways into a cushion as the song dictates. At bath time her favorite game is to shove a plastic toy-- most often a red walrus-- into my mouth and she repeats the same phrase every time she does it, with great glee. No clue what. But she definitely does articulate "Mama". Which is cool.

People at the creche have been commenting on this language acquisition all week ... "No idea WHAT she's trying to say," Aurore (mother of Julie) said, "but she's definitely got something to say, hasn't she?"

Julie is 3 days older than Melanie but has been walking for weeks now. We try not to resent this. But we like that Melanie is making a statement of her own, no pun intended.

Robbie meanwhile is getting on with the business of being a boy. Today I bailed him out of the Centre des Loisirs early and we strolled over to Bercy to pick up a birthday present for Louise. Now nobody can stroll like a four-year-old. He stops to pick up sticks, to scuff leaves, to swing around tree trunks, to run up every handicapped ramp that presents itself, to watch trains and identify construction vehicles. We weren't in a hurry, so I kind of approached the stroll as an anthroplogical experiment.

The 20-minute walk took nearly an hour. But I must grant that we were sidetracked for a good 10 minutes by a man doing "urban-running" on the pedestrian suspension bridge. This means using the urban environment as an obstacle course-- a bit like skateboarding only with just your body. Anyway, this particular gentleman was leaping gracefully from railing to railing on the bridge-- about a 6-foot width-- with needless to say nothing between him and the river 50 feet down.

"C'est un entrainement," he explained to Robbie. "Tu le fais surtout pas." Robbie didn't look like he needed convincing. I have to admit though, it was impressive. Very cat-like.

We watched for a while and then moved on to the more prosaic thrills of the animal store fish tanks and a Starbucks doughnut. Robbie spent some time scaling denuded hills in the park and watching him pick his way up the slope, searching for footholds and handholds, jeans getting dustier, hands coiling around tree roots for leverage, made me realize that I will actually miss the tantrums because they are truly the only remnant left of his toddlerdom. So far he's just growing up-- he hasn't realized yet that he's also growing away. I will be sad, but proud as well, when he figures it out.

A Nounou for Melanie

well, it has been a while since the last post, which is a fairly sure sign that life has been busy this fall. But today was our first true fall day-- bright sunshine, dried leaves crumbling underfoot, and that feisty nip in the air in the morning that lets you know you're alive and that you need to put your foot down on your son's love for his summer sandals, no pun intended. We got him a new jacket but I suppose for our trip to the Alps he'll need a snowsuit.

We've had no child care worries for a solid week now so life is starting to feel under control. This is thus far thanks to a stout little Senegalese woman in her 40s, Marie-Madeleine, who has taken on Robbie in the afternoons and Melanie two days a week.

We adopted her from a nearby family who had her as the nanny for their daughter Prune (yes, really) since birth, as the woman has a high-powered job as marketing director for L'Express or Le Point--I forget which. Prune having started school, they didn't wan t to lose Marie-Madeleine so they were looking for another family to share her with so there we are. So far the pick-ups for Robbie have been no problem-- I arrived last Thursday to find he and Prune playing an elaborate dinner game with about 120 pieces of a plastic dinette set spread all over the coffee table. As usual, a bit of a chore to get him to leave but on their first day together, that wasn't a bad problem to have. So Robbie has some female company again in the afternoons, though we'll try to keep arranging play dates with Livio when we can as it's nice to see them re-bonding this year.

And nice for me to see Sophie a bit more too.

Her first day with Melanie appeared to go well too. It was Friday and Melanie was pretty wiped after four days at creche. She took a 2-hour nap in the afternoon and then they went off to collect Robbie and visit the Ludotheque, a sort of indoor play center with lots of games, a baby corner, and a two-story chateau. Robbie was apparently much enamoured.

Marie-Madeleine has firm, and generally solid ideas, about her responsibilities, and she has lots of experience. Apparently she has been passed from family to family since arriving in France 12 years ago. She procured a water bottle for Robbie, since he didn't have one in his backpack the day she picked him up (though he usually does), and refused to let Melanie go out in the light coat I had selected for her.

Her son is at university in Dakar, not a bad feat for a woman who appears never to have benefited from formal education herself, and she has moved in with a French gentleman to whom she expects, she coyly hinted, to be married shortly.

I had to get all her info to fill out our paperwork for the "allocations familiale" and the "cotisations sociales" and when I asked if Coly was her 'nom d'espouse; she said "je n'en ai pas encore."

Anyway, when she first visited the apartment, her boyfriend drove her-- I think he wanted to check out her new employer. They appeared astonished when I invited him up as well-- maybe it's not the done thing-- but then, with magnificently Gallic disdain for the double-parked condition of their car, up he came.

They are a funny pair-- about 5'3" each and quite rotund. Emmanuel apparently keeps her happy by leaving boxes of macaroons around the apartment. We usually have chocolate but it's also on a rather high shelf, like everything in our place. We will have to leave the stepladder in a conspicuous location. The first day she came in, looked at the pile of dishes in the sink, and asked where we stacked them. I was more than happy to explain our the tea towel system.

Then she glanced into the living room and said, where's the vacuum cleaner? I assured her that she didn't need to do the vacuuming. But I must confess, I haven't done it since so maybe on Thursday ... I do feel that on principle a nanny is a nanny and not a maid but it was a treat to come straight home, to a spotless house and an empty sink (dishes even dried though out of reach for her to put away). So I could relax, pour myself a glass of wine, and get started on dinner on while waiting for her to bring the kids home.

She seems to like taking the kids out. She has probably made quite a few friends at the local park, ludotheque, and 'baby club' during her years with Prune.

So once this seemed to be ticking along in a promising fashion, I e-mailed Gaelle at the creche to let her know we wanted to reduce our hours to 2-3 days per week. I wasn't sure how they'd take it-- I have been a bit of a grumpy camper this fall because they didn't take the kids out for a solid month, and in addition we skipped the last meeting-- but she was all amiability.

So we will have to pay for both for a month but then we should be "liberated" from our 5-day-a-week creche payments.
Better, I will get to cut back to one permanance every two weeks, meaning that I could occasionally spend a day with Robbie instead of always having to send him to the Centre des Loisirs, though he does seem to enjoy himself massively there since his old friend Etienne goes too.

More shockingly, I could even occasionally have a day to myself. There is a show of Venetians at the Louvre ... and I have only made to the gym twice since I enrolled a month ago.

So that's the nitty-gritty. There were many frustrations in the child care hunt so it's nice to have something that hopefully is sorted. We had a nanny call 20 minutes AFTER her appointment to announce she couldn't make it because she had a sore throat but could she reschedule; we had a garde partagee that the family dropped out of because the girl got a place at creche; we had a babysitter who did show up for an interview but then cancelled a grand total of one hour before she was supposed to come babysit on Saturday night; and we had a babysitter who called me at 3 p.m. on her second day with us to say she couldn't pick up Robbie at 4:30. You do start to wonder about the ol' French work ethic.

But then when you get 500 euros a month for NOT working (plus free public transport, cinema, museums, etc ...), it must be hard to get motivated to put in 35 hours a week at a menial job just to make 900 euros. And then to pay taxes too ...

But we have ONE MORE potential babysitter coming tomorrow (Irish graduate student at ENS) so maybe we will actually be able to go out one weekend before Christmas.

This all combined with 6 hours of SAT workshops over the past two weeks has left me feeling fairly flattened. But nonetheless life-- and the children-- have gone on.

Melanie is starting to stand up on her own, though when she walks holding our hands, she definitely has a pigeon-toed gait and may need to see an orthopedist but it doesn't seem to be much use until she's actually walking. She is having teething woes and I have started to mutiny against going in to console her three times a night-- she did have a whole week where she was sleeping soundly from 7:30 to 7:30 or so and I was quite happily getting used to that.

Then Thursday we got home after 7 and she was too tired to eat so she woke up at midnight for a feed; Friday she woke up at two with the dreaded Poopy Diaper syndrome; Saturday she was basically up all bloody night long.

Sunday she was back to her midnight feed but otherwise it was calm. We were all exhausted-- Robbie barely stirred all night and didn't wake up until quarter to eight. Frankly for all I know she DID wake up and have a scream at four a.m. and I just slept through it.

Today she went to bed easily; we'll see how it goes.

She evidently didn't get changed at creche today; I picked up at 5:30 and her diaper was absolutely sodden, and full of poo. She does seem to be thriving at the creche but then there are episodes like that when I am quite glad we're cutting back to 2 days a week--she'll still get the social life but she can luxuriate in having her diaper changed more than twice a day, eating her lunch when she's hungry rather than having to wait in line behind all the younger babies until she's both exhausted and starving, and being able to nap until she's ready to wake up, not until one of the other 17 children in the room does, usually with a scream.

Robbie is still a pain in the patootie some of the time but he's getting better, I swear-- he still does stuff to test the limits, but the tantrums are a lot briefer once he's been denied or rebuked.

Tonight he was poring over a toy catalog we got in the mail so I wheeled Melanie into the elevator and he sat down in a puddle of howling despair on the floor because HE wanted to get in FIRST and I just left him there and went up, then called down and said he would be truly sorry if I had to go down and collect him, and up he came, stomping on each stair and sniffling, but still, he came. That wouldn't have been the case a year ago.

And when Melanie is not around, he's basically fine. We have been going to the swimming pool in Maisons-Alfort once a month as a mommy-son outing; it has a great lagoon like pool for kids, with fountains and bubblers and a slide; the water is warm enough that he can stay in for 40 minutes without turning blue, and there are tons of floaties to play with. The first hour is for kids under 6 only and it is a madhouse.

I was thinking this might be a nice place to move to-- it's right on the metro to my school, if we enrol Robbie there next year, right on the river with a district of genuine houses with gardens, near the Bois des Vincennes-- plus someone got stabbed to death last night in a bar there so prices are probably dropping as I write.

Not much else new. Melanie has been eating tiny pasta shells without having them mixed up so sometimes she gets a plate that looks like a real meal not just a bowl of paste. The future beckons. And Robbie has been introduced to the Wonderful World of Winnie the Pooh. He also has a new pair of dinosaur pajamas from the Marimekko store and they simply exude Quality. I am thinking of getting a bicycle soon.

Tomorrow Melanie goes back to the hospital for her prise de sang to see if her new dosage is working. We have patches to numb her inner arms so it will hurt less. Still, it's psychological-- she's old enough now to know what to expect so she starts trembling the minute we get inside. But mostly she is still a very relaxed and cheerful little girl. She is starting to have a Will of her own-- screams in protest when Robbie snatches a desired object away, or even when we do it a bit more gently, dextrously swapping it for something less lethal, because of course her favorite play items are all banned for the 3-and-under set. But she doesn't seem tempted to put them in her mouth so if we're in the room watching her, I let her happily paw the Legos. Mostly Robbie takes them out and she puts them away. Robbie knocks down a tower of blocks; Melanie tries to build it up again. Sometimes she takes one off, but only from the top, very carefully.

They are quite a team.

Robbie is kind of obsessed with swords, and killing people with swords, these days. And putting bad people in prison. This has not made him any less cuddly, but I am concerned that he is spending way too much of the night in bed with Mommy-- this seems a dangerous habit to fall into.

His mattress is on the floor but he always falls asleep in the big bed. I transfer him when I go to sleep but he worms his way back in between 2 and 4 a.m.(I suspect when he pees and wakes himself up-- diapers are definitely not part of his past yet). We've got to get another bedroom one of these days.

And that's all from us. Hope that makes up for a month of missed missives. We continue to enjoy our mornings at Bercy, and we wish we got out of the city more often, but the weather has been pretty morose recently anyway.

Robbie's New Passport

Being only two weeks old when he received his first passport, Robbie was due to receive a new one so we made an appointment with the Embassy for this week. I dutifully collected the necessary materials-- his passport, my passport, two photos, the application form, his birth certificate, Phil (complete with clipboard covering in mysterious symbols), and Phil's passport, to prove I had his father's permission to provide him with a document to leave the country. I had read the instructions pretty carefully; I had an Amex card to pay the $85 fee-- I thought we were set. After all, we'd done this before, haven't we?

But when we arrived, the young man reviewing our paperwork first asks for identity proving that my maiden name is what I said it was. Fortunately I had my carte de sejour, which in French tradition contains my "nom de jeune fille", although nothing I read prior to coming said I would need it. Then he asks for our "transition photos".

"Our what?" We look politely confused. He holds up the passport with a barely repressed sneer, points to the goggle-eyed infant in the photo, then the handsome if surly four-year-old at our side, clutching his monkey. "How are we supposed to know that he --- is him?"

We dunno. He says we are supposed to bring photos that chart the transformation in sufficiently close continuity that he is recognizeable from one photo to the next. This is news to us, and nowhere in the paperwork, although it does say the proof of identity must have a "likeness" to the bearer.

But what other proof of identity does a four-year-old have? Do they want us to bring in his baby album? How official is that? Well, it turns out that is exactly what they want.

Phil hopefully extracts the worn photo of Robbie at about 18 months that he carries in his wallet. The man curls his lip in scorn. We are sent off to meet The Consul, to whom is reserve the right to rule upon our fate.

As I wait for our turn, I listen to the consul's interview of the family before us. Children's appointments are only offered on Wednesday afternoons between 1:30 and 2, and given the five-year deadline, the place was predictably packed with kids exactly Robbie's age. Such was the sprog ahead of us.

The consul asked his name, his age, and his birthday. I knew right then we might be in trouble because Robbie can barely be coaxed to say "au revoir" to his own teacher. Nor does he have the slightest notion of his birthday beyond that it involves Presents and Bonbons and is thus a Good Thing.

So I gave him a little coaching in the waiting room.

"How old are you, Robbie?"

"Three?" he offers.

Off to a flying start.

When it's our turn, the consul duly asks him for his name. Robbie is exactly the height of the counter, so he sucks on it thoughtfully for a minute, extracting the maximum germ count in the midst of the grippe epidemic, and then whispers "Robby" so quietly I can barely hear him. But evidently they have a powerful microphone. "Bobby?" the lady repeats, and he nods.

"How old are you, Bobby?" she asks. Four, Robbie mouths, having given up any attempt at vocalization. The lady holds up four fingers. He nods. "Who is this lady next to you?" Robbie stares at her like it's a trick question, then lets slip a triumphant smile. "Mommy," he says, like he's claiming me. "And who's this man here?" Points to Phil. Robbie pauses again. The suspense builds. "Daddy," he finally announces.

Phil looks visibly relieved. Father-son relations are not at an all-time high these days. Neither, however, are mother-son relations, nor brother-sister relations. I've watched him have a grand time playing with Livio, Yelena, and Louise this week, but we walk in and it's Oscar The Grouch time.

The consul didn't ask his birthday. I think she knew she was already pushing his limit. And then she asked about the photos. We have no photos, but, Phil said, a little less hopefully than the first time, we DO have a web address.

No curled lip. And why should there be? What modern-day parents DOESN'T? She pushes through a piece of paper, Phil writes it down and the consul, after being unable to find the little squiggly symbol on her keyboard, patiently clicks away as Phil walks her through the ENS pages to the secret address of Phil's Photo Albums. She takes a quick glance what I assume are Years 2005 and 2006, and appears convinced. We are to expect our passport in two weeks' time.

There's just one little thing. He's got ANOTHER BLOODY passport set to expire next year (one reason we started early on this one). Dual nationality has its downsides.

Anyway, we rewarded ourselves for this ordeal each in our own fashion: Phil vanished into WH Smiths, Robbie rode the carousel in the Tuileries, and Mommy bought herself a vanilla caramel brownie Haagen Daaz ice cream cone.

Sheep at Sceaux

We headed out to Sceaux on Sunday; perfectly beautiful sunny morning and both children in reasonably good humor. There were sheep nibbling the lawn in a sort of portable pasture, and there were spiny spheres under the chestnut trees, waiting to be stomped on to make the glossy horsechestnut spurt out. There were giant plane trees leaves of varying hues to be collected, and a game of frisbee generally enjoyed by two of the four members of the party. The picnic lunch was appreciated by all, though Robbie managed to sneak three cookies. Melanie did some standing up, Robbie did some dribbling, Phil did some snoozing, and all in all it was quite a pleasant time. We didn't do a lot of walking and headed back fairly early. As it turned out, it was a gray afternoon so we caught the best of the day.

Robbie now has his own train tickets so he quite thrills to the responsibility of pushing them through the little slot. I am terrified that he's going to get trapped in the sliding doors but so far, so good. He is getting pretty casual on the escalators, which also makes me nervous. But overall he's becoming a solid little traveler, though inclined to shoulder rides whenever he can whinge his way into one.

A fair amount of Sturm und Drang at the creche because the educatrices have decided that they can't do any outings at the moment so for the past two weeks the kids have not being outside at all and this situation appears set to continue for another two weeks. The justification is apparently that the new staff is settling in and has to be trained in "le deroulement de la journee"-- it would seem to me that they would also need to be trained in park procedures as that's theoretically part of said deroulement but apparently, no. The other argument advanced is that new kids are going through their adaptions, which only begs the question of why we don't simply schedule those in the AFTERNOON? Basically it appears they'd rather not take the kids out because it's a hassle, and to be honest, I doubt Melanie minds much because when they do take them out they just leave the babies strapped in their strollers. But we will definitely be looking for another solution for next year because the idea that it's in any way reasonable to keep bustling 2-year-olds pent upindoors all day is simply batty.

Besides by then I think I'll have dished up enough gouters, refereed enough toy tug-of-wars, and attended enough 4-hour meetings to last me a lifetime. Like so many things about parenting that are great for a while but you can't say you're really sorry to see them go.

Other news? Melanie turned one, though I would estimate this fact was 99.9% lost on her. We were proud, though.

Robbie is back at school and a bit mournful that Mommy never comes to pick him up anymore. I do have to ask myself whether taking on another class was really worth it, especially since some of the kids I've got are real plonkers. But I think it'll be all right-- it's more than a 50% salary increase and that includes, of course, vacations including summer!

Mostly I'm having a good time at school and it's nice to be back. But it's been pretty frenetic trying to take care of everything else at the same time-- Melanie's medical visits, Robbie's need for new shoes and pants, Phil's desire for dinner sometime before quarter to nine at night, etc ...

The kids were pretty much a bust at sharing a room. Some nights went smoothly but they were the minority and now that they're at creche/ school all day I really don't feel we can risk a tumultuous night of non-sleep. So Melanie has now taken over the bedroom and Robbie is ... sleeping with me. Which is mostly okay; I mean, it's a big bed. Only he does tend to sleep perpendicularly in it, for reasons best known to himself, and so I tend to find his feet stealthily relocating on my pillow at random intervals of the night.

He is also known to snore, as previously established. But Melanie is sleeping pretty well, though teething sometimes makes it hard for her to fall asleep. We haven't had any four a.m. wake- up calls in quite a while. She is eating HUGE meals, and shows less interest in breast-feeding so we may taper off completely in a few weeks. Which is kind of sad but well, if it's time, it's time.

As far as development, she's doing a lot of standing up and then she lets go and tries to balance on her feet for a second, chortling when she, inevitably, tumbles back onto my shoulder. I'm glad she's having a good time. Her buddy Philemon has started walking, as has Julie, born three days before her, but my guess is that she's a month or two from that, and given how nervous I get watching them totter around, I am perfectly happy to see her continue on all fours.

She spends a lot of time swinging the doors back and forth with a thoughtful air, and she has mastered the "put the film capsule through the hole cut into the lid of the formula canister." I recall this creche activity captivated Robbie for much of his first year at the creche. She also enjoys rubbing two pieces of Clip-O together to make a zippy noise. She is generally speaking a good-humored bootle as always. At meal times, she gets really excited and starts to wave her spoon, bob her head, and jounce up and down in her chair. This is quite cute. When I arrive at creche to pick her up, she gets REALLY excited-- starts flailing her arms and yelping like a puppy-- and then she dashes over to clamber into my lap and rest her head soulfully on my shoulder. Sometimes she gives it a bit of a chomp too, just to latch on as tightly as possible. She is extremely huggable just now. So we hug often. Five days a week is tough. I really don't feel like I see her much the days when I'm working at school. But then, only five more weeks until the next vacation ...

Goodbye Monkey

Robbie's first day at the new Centre des Loisirs and we lost Monkey. I mean, he insisted on carrying him instead of putting him in the backpack and then he threw him at Melanie in the elevator-- this much we remember. And then? We were at the Centre des Loisirs and he wasn't there. No idea where he got left. Retraced my steps, no monkey. Robbie appeared entirely unconcerned about this development and has neither inquired into the Monkey Mystery again nor requested another doudou. So, I guess that's one fewer thing to pack on Monday.

The first two days at the Centre des Loisirs were quite joyous because Yelena and Noah were there (without Noah of course they might have been even more joyous). I asked him if he'd met any other kids and he looked at me like I was crazy and said, "no, I don't need to because Yelena and Noah are there and they go to the same school as me so we are copains."
Clearly the tribal spirit manifests itself early. Of course this may be a peculiarly French phenomenon-- people DON'T, by and large, just make friends with random strangers here. You either went to school together or had summer houses next door in Brittany or your PARENTS went to school together, but something, always something. Kids at Massillon in primary school report having a very tough time integrating because everyone is so hostile to outsiders, as though on principle. The lycee kids who join us don't seem to have this problem.

Anyway, on Thursday and Friday Yelena and Noah WEREN'T there and I feared this might lead to a certain amount of general dismay but Robbie seemed to accept it equably, though he continues to affirm that he hasn't met anyone there. I am not quite sure I believe him. He lamented often that he didn't know anyone in his gym class but I saw him cavorting with other kids on the bench while waiting for me to pick him up. I guess those are just acquaintances and even at 3, we make the distinction. Friends are a separate, hard-won, category.

The Centre des Loisirs is on the way to the creche so it's a much easier morning trajectory (and suggests how much simpler life would be if we'd just moved him to the maternelle next door as well). It has been a pleasant place to park him for the week. They went to the park every day but it turned cold so no "jeux d'eau" much to Robbie's disappointment. Anyway he didn't protest about going so I imagine that we will continue this in the fall on Wednesdays and vacations. Of course, he gets a small plastic baggie of Bonbons on the way home so it's not surprising he likes it. Like Burt, the kid will do ANYTHING for food.

The other appealing attributes of the Centre des Loisirs: they have a dozen of those giant rubber balls with the handles that kids sit on to bounce around the courtyard, and they have a Really Great Three-Story Garage. In the evenings I was guaranteed to find Robbie engaged with one of the other.

He's still got a scar above his eyebrow from his fall in the courtyard a month ago. It may be there to stay. Otherwise, he has scraped knees and bruised shins, the typical little boy look, and he seems in fine spirits. He and Melanie enjoy many moments of complicity during the day, and he seems, dare I say it, to be "maitrising" his tantrums better. He grumbles and whines more than he screams, which is at least a start.

Melanie. Continues to be a Welly Bootle in many dimensions. Always good-humored, cheerful, smiling, contentedly engaged in her toys and explorations. She can do a bit of crawling now but she doesn't seem to see this as a particularly interesting pastime. She goes just as far as she needs to-- straight to the DVD player and computer, of course, or to investigate a shoe or peer down the hallway when I'm in the kitchen. And of course to try to fling herself off the bed.
But she is not scampering around the apartment or the creche. A reflective girl, perhaps, not the kind who will decide that she has to climb Mt. Everest just because it's there.

Her new game is to drop something into a box and then take it out again. Like Eeyore with his balloon, she can do this for many many minutes. She also enjoys beating on the table with her palm, airplane rides, and sucking soulfully on the straps of her new Ergo Baby Carrier. I know, HOW MANY baby carriers can one family have? This is our fifth to date, although I note that we only purchased three of them. But this is the best. Everyone said it was the best. My friend Sarah let me try out hers and you know what? Everyone was right. She can ride in front or in back, the weight rests on your hips, it is easy to put on and to wear and easy to extract her for a short rest. In theory I should be able to put her in the backpack mode by myself but so far the logistics of this have defeated me.

Anyway, I figure that when traveling for six weeks solid, you need the Right Stuff and this fits the bill. This week I took her to creche in it because Robbie's classroom at the Centre des Loisirs was upstairs so I had to take her out of the stroller and carry her in my arms which felt a bit unsafe and was definitely inconvenient.

Melanie's sleep patterns, to use the term loosely, continue to be a challenge. Thus far I haven't been ready to go head to head with her on this one but I feel that tonight, suddenly, I am up for it. Wednesday she did manage two good naps at home with very little fuss, one hour in the morning and two in the afternoon, and it gave you a taste of just how sane life could be when you didn't have to rush her into the stroller at 10 a.m. before she melted down, didn't have to walk her around until she nodded off, didn't have to sit in a park (okay this is not much of a punishment in July ... ) because she'd wake up the minute you rolled into a cafe. Just pop her into bed and go back to your coffee ...

but Thursday and Friday naps at the creche were disasters and her nights are definitely a mixed bag. On the plus side, she was sleeping for nearly 12 hours. On the minus side, this was punctuated by at least two feeds, around 11 and again at 2. And even if she falls asleep easily at 7:30, she always wakes up an hour later and needs to be hushed and sung to to get her back down, only to wake up AGAIN an hour later for the same ritual or, more likely, to be breast-fed. So our evenings and nights have not exactly been the moments of relaxation that you feel a parent of a ten-month-old has a right to expect. She's only gotten away with it because she's such a downright pleasure to be with during her waking hours. But it's been hard to go out knowing that she's inevitably going to wake up and that Phil is going to spend his evening tiptoeing in and out, trying this and then, but unable to do the One Sure Thing that will be guaranteed to get you some peace. And it seems a shame to let a summer go by like this when there will be so many willing babysitters on hand! Well, more than we have in Paris, anyway ...

So tonight I decided to let her scream for half an hour before going in, and that when I went in I would only pick her up and try to calm her for a few minutes, then leave. In other words, no booty. Melanie, not consulted about this new resolution, matched it with the impressive resolution that is her own and screamed, fussed, and fumed for two solid hours. She is now unconscious but who knows for how long.

Still, it seems that once steeped so far in screams, one must persevere or we'll have tortured ourselves for nothing. So she'll get her 11 p.m. feed and then that's it until morning. Quick cuddle, back to bed. Naturally this means she won't be in Robbie's room, where I've been depositing her after her 11 p.m. feed so they at least get used to each other's Night Noises. It seems to work; at least she doesn't wake up any more often than she used to and Robbie either doesn't wake up when she rouses or falls back asleep easily.

So we've got three nights before we leave-- perhaps we can crush her into submission by then. In any case, Phil has a babysitting date for Tuesday night while Abby and I wallow in Chekov so it would be nice if the neighbors at ritzy Circus Lodge aren't beating down the door to complain by 9 p.m.

On a similar note, Robbie has decided that he no longer wants to wear diapers at night. He'd had several dry ones so we let him try. First two nights, success! Last night, a very damp bed. But he slept until 8 a.m.-- he was fine at 6:30 when Melanie woke up. So I think if we rouse him at 7, we should be okay. Another development that could simplify our summer.

Did we fail to mention that Robbie had a birthday party? Many presents, many tantrums, strawberry frosted cupcakes for the kid and lemon bundt cakes for the grown-ups (thank you Nigella Lawson), paper party hats, and horns that were too hard to blow or disintegrated after four uses, the whole crazed Children's Birthday Party extravaganza. It's all worth it for the moment when your child's face lights up as everyone starts singing and he leans forward over the candles. The frenzied ripping-open of presents and gobbling of handfuls of candies were hardly an edifying spectacle but hey, as another parent tolerantly said, "aren't birthday parties supposed to be about crazed excess?"

Bedtime and Bike Rides

Bedtime remains a mixed bag. Sometimes Robbie manages to slip between the sheets without awakening his sister. Usually not. And then she is so patently horrified at the thought of going to sleep in the same room as the Rampaging Robert that she has a screaming fit and needs to be relocated ... back to the bedroom where she promptly falls asleep with no problem. Given Robbie's behavior at times, you can understand her concern. Yesterday he threw a bottle of water at her and poked her head with a plastic fork. This morning he pushed her backwards to the floor while I was getting their breakfasts and this evening I came into the bathroom to find that he was sitting on her back. She appeared resigned to it. Now that she's moving about more, we can't leave her on high surfaces at all so it's the floor or "les bras" and the floor means she's easy prey for her brother's somewhat rough-and-tumble idea of a good time.

That said, he really does seem quite fond of her. He loves clapping his hands or grimacing at her to make her laugh; she is the first person he looks for in the morning; he snatches toys away from her but also delivers them in heaping handfuls. It's sort of the same mix of affection and bullying you'd expect a little boy to bestow on a newly-acquired puppy. It doesn't seem malicious, and he does entertain her to the point of making her quite giddy. But it does get harsh. So some nights they go to sleep together, some not. Whichever, she inevitably has to be extracted at some point in the proceedings, either at midnight after her final feed, or a 4 a.m. when she typically has a chatty spell. Which makes one wonder precisely what the point is. Well, it's a foundation for the future, we hope. Other families at the creche also put their kids together around this time and they report it is generally a bit rocky while the babies are still babies, but it works out okay by about 18 months when they become more solid sleepers, and at least it accustoms the older ones to the idea that they will be sharing their room before the young one is able to start messing with their toys.

So whatever. Frankly, we're quite simply content if they're both asleep by nine p.m.-- they could be in the bathtub or out on the balcony for all we care.

Today we split them up-- Robbie went on a bike ride to the Bois des Vincennes with daddy, and then on a hike (picnic lunch provided courtesy of Mom & Co.) while Melanie took a long morning snooze and then spent the afternoon at the Parc Floral with my friend Sarah's family and one of their former neighbors back when they lived in the 12th. It was heaving with people and quite a trek to get to on Sunday-scheduled public transport. Not something we'll do in a hurry again. But it was pleasant and Melanie as usual did her sit-and-smile routine. She was quite fascinated by the cherry tomatoes. It should also be noted, for not particular purpose, that she is extremely Partial to Pears. Plus parsnips, corn, and carrots. Anything labelled "legumes verts" leaves her cold. Anything with "morceaux" makes her gag and stare at me aghast as though I'm trying to kill her.

We had a bath together tonight. Much fun. She's starting to try out a bit of standing up, putting her weight on her feet, so she may well skip the crawling stage, which she appears to find undignified, and go straight to walking in a few months. Which would have certain advantages for this summer's travels.

The Children's Room, Take Two

If you adopt the "two steps forward, one step back" mantra, this shared-bedroom business is actually working out quite well. On a good night, which is maybe half of them, Melanie goes to bed at 7:30 and does her fussing while Robbie is pajama'd and tooth-brushed. Then I read him two stories in our bedroom (we've built up quite a little library) and then he can look at other books on his own in our room until he's ready to go into the bedroom and fall asleep quietly. Once he realizes that he has to sit alone in our room with no toys, just Boring Old Books, he is suddenly quite amenable to the idea of going to sleep. And in fact, after that first night, I've never had to remove him again. He goes in, snuggles up, and falls asleep. In a way it's an ideal method of removing the distraction of all his toys.

Once asleep, he proves an imperturbable sleeper. Melanie will wake up for her midnight tetee and mew loud enough to wake me up-- Robbie doesn't crack an eyelid. When she cries out at 3:30 or so, as she does without fail, he does stir but immediately falls back asleep.

I usually transfer her to the living room at this point-- I know she'll fall asleep within minutes but it doesn't seem fair to Robbie to have to put up with howling at all hours and I feel like moving her effectively sends the message that It's Not Morning Yet. At any rate she conks out abruptly after ten seconds of enraged protest.

So, it's not perfect-- we could really cut out the midnight feeds, I think, and it would be nice if she could weather a night without the early morning serenade-- but it's a push in the right direction. Most importantly Robbie doesn't appear to resent it. The fact is that they don't really use the room for much besides sleep and storage, so shrinking the floor space by one crib unit doesn't make that much difference. Robbie might putter around for a bit in there, but he'll usually come out to the living room where the action is. Most of his major toys are in the cupboard and Melanie's clothes are still in our room, so they are sort of spread amongst us anyway.

When they get older, they may retreat to the bedroom more but they'll have a bunk bed by then. In any case, during the week they aren't playing at home much anyway, and we are generally pretty diligent about getting them out on weekends.

We visited Lison and Philemon's house (another creche family with kids exactly the same age but the genders reversed) and I was happy that Robbie noted that they too share a bedroom. Practically everyone we know in Paris does. If there's an extra room going in the house, it gets turned into an office or dining room. Parisians keep their children in their place.

Tomorrow Robbie is off to visit a chateau with his school. The kids seem less excited about the chateau than the picnic to accompany it-- we all have to pack lunches and you have to put in goodies so your kid doesn't become an outcast.

What else is new? Melanie continues to thrive at creche though naps remain hit-and-miss. All the other babies are on the move so she seems a little lonely planted on her mat, watching wistfully as her former playmate Julie heads off on great adventures. But I'm probably just projecting. After all, she has all the baby toys to herself, and everyone stops by to say hi. She is about as active and mobile as a baby can be without achieving any form of forward locamotion so she will probably start soon and after a few days of chasing her around and disentangling her from computer cables, we'll regret it intensely. This weekend we had a picnic at the Bois des Vincennes-- there were bees swarming all over the clover-studded lawn but as Melanie was happily ensconced on the blanket with two spoons to bang together, we could go off and play Frisbee. Robbie meanwhile, who usually throws fits when he's ignored, seems relatively content because he had Melanie to "play" with. He knows that if he makes her cry, he's gonna get it, and thus he's developed a quite refined awareness of exactly how far he can push her. Quite literally. He pushes and she bobbles. He pushes harder and she tips. And screams. Once I saw him put his arm around her back so she wouldn't fall, and THEN push her on the forehead. What a sweetie. Well, she's a sturdy little cookie and mainly he's quite friendly with her, just in a sort of overly affectionate bear cub fashion.

The point is, we had a nice picnic. Robbie does persist in injuring himself--he'll be walking along a perfectly flat sidewalk, turn to look at something while continuing to walk forward, and go sprawling flat on his face. His elbows and knees will, I think, be sporting scabs until he hits adolescence. Today he walked into the house and pushed the door so hard that it somehow sprang back and pinched his finger. At least once a day he runs down the hall and goes flying. We tell him again and again to SLOW DOWN in the house but obviously it has no effect-- it's like telling him to stop screaming. You need to tell him right before he does it or it doesn't register and one can't precisely predict when he's about to scream or go hurtling down the corridor (although one could just say it every four minutes and call it a pretty good guess ...).

Well, it's his body and I suppose this is just what kids do. We will be packing band-aids and antiseptic cream at all times this summer. Really we should take out travel insurance.

On a final note, Melanie is really getting into Peek-A-Boo. And Pat the Bunny.

A Room of Their Own

So ... Robbie was very excited. We somehow managed to persuade him that it was going to be a privilege to "get" to have Melanie sleep in his room with him. He helped move the crib and rearrange his furniture. Melanie appeared to take the transition in stride and it was nice to be able to tuck her up in a truly dark and quiet room. She fell asleep almost immediately. But then she rarely puts up a fight at night, only for naps.

Pajama'ed and toothbrushed, Robbie read stories with me in what is now, we hope, again to be reclaimed as "the parents'" bedroom, and then he watched a bit of the news with me. After the footage of the Iranian demonstration ("why they throwing tomatoes, mommy?") ended, it was back to guys in suits and Robbie announced he was ready for bed.

"You're going to have to be quiet," I cautioned him. "Are you sure you're ready to go to sleep?" (because it was only 8:15).

"Yes," he intoned gravely, curled up on my lap in a convincingly relaxed fashion. "I want to go to bed."

So he gathered up his blanket and doudou and trundled off. So far, so good. Melanie mumbled something about noisy neighbors, scrubbed at her eye with the heel of her hand, and drifted back to sleep. I went to do the dishes.

Then the mattress started rustling. Granted this is partly our fault for not taking the plastic off Robbie's mattress on the grounds that he will at some point make a damp transition out of nighttime diapers and there is no point ruining a 100 euro mattress over it. But it does crunch. And crackle. And soon the room was sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies.

And then I heard him get up and collect his plastic truck. So I hauled him out and made him sit in the living room with me while I read the New York Times online and provided zero entertainment in an attempt to convince him that Bed was a Better Place to Be. 15 minutes later I let him go back.

5 minutes later I heard him shout "Hallo Melanie!".

Ousted again. It is now 9:15. He has just returned for round 3. Phil is due home from Grenoble at 11 and I nourished the (now fast-fading) hope that upon his return I could present him with three entirely child-free rooms to wander through at will. But you never know. Bobs has surprised me before.

Melanie was supposed to sleep in his room last night but she never woke up for her 11:30 p.m. final feed / transfer. She slept straight through until 6 a.m. Which impressed me so much that I didn't even much mind getting up at that hour, not that I had much choice being pretty much all in a puddle.

She then fell asleep in my arms at the creche at 9 a.m. while having a farewell nip off the boob. So I sat in the corner for half an hour so she could have her nap, as other parents came and went with vaguely puzzled looks. I may in fact have nodded off myself. Fortunately I didn't have anyplace to be until 11:30.

Oops. Melanie is now screaming. Pause.

Unpause. I went in, cuddled the bootle and sang a lullaby. Robbie curled up under his blanket and I thought I might send him off as well. Then the minute I stooped to lay Melanie down, he sprang up as though propelled from a Jack-in-the-Box. "I want to kiss her goodnight!" Melanie's entire body did a sort of frenzied jerk at this announcement but as she was still up, I brought her over. Robbie, with a gleeful grin, blew a raspberry on her cheek, launching the sleepy baby into a second startled spasm. Expelled again.

So now she's back to sleep and Robbie is in my bed waiting for a GENUINELY sleepy feeling to overcome him. As in, I will carry him in when he is actually unconscious. Not a promising start ... and it's not even 10 p.m. yet.

Of course on most nights it takes Robbie an hour or more to achieve unconsciousness and it makes no difference whether we try to get him to bed at 8 or let him linger until 9-- he falls asleep sometime between 9:30 and 10:30 almost every night. No wonder he has so many tantrums.

He does usually wake up on his own (again, springing forth from his room spot on 7 a.m. to assault Melanie with a howl of eager-brother love) but still ... he's gotta be tired.

According to Micheline, he has started to have tantrums at school as well, just last week. "Il ne supporte pas la moindre contrariete," she marveled. "Il court vers un coin and se jette par terre." Like, she's had him in her classroom for a year and she is surprised at this? What kind of front has he been putting up all this time?

"Yes, he does that about ten times a day with us," I reassured her. "I suppose he's starting to feel at home."

"Mais apres il revient," she said consolingly. "Ca passe vite."

"Oui," I said. But how do you say drama queen in French?

And yet, that's not quite it. I really don't think he's doing it for anyone's benefit. I think he really can't help himself. Whether it's due to lack of sleep or his inner wiring, it's not an attempt to get us to change our mind, because we never do and this is going on two years now. Nor is it that he is just unreasonably deprived or some of life's more precious treasures because he'll have them over such trivial crap, things he didn't give a hoot about an hour before-- who pushed the elevator button, what color cup he drinks from, whether he gets raisins in his cereal, the seat on the bus, etc ... It's like a power surge that short-circuits him momentarily, and then he or we find the fuse switch and all is well.

Still, he is almost four. You'd think this could wrap up soon.

Ten o'clock. I realize that the apartment has fallen silent. So now we have achieved the feat of two children, asleep, one in my bedroom and one in Robbie's bedroom. Which was ... exactly what had been achieved by this time last night, and the night before, and the night before that ... (not that we take this for granted, mind you).

The fact that the position of the children in question has been reversed could only been seen as a step forward by a woolly and wild-eyed optimist. But then how can any parent survive without such blind faith? Without the conviction that albeit scant evidence, we are, we must be, making progress toward that foursome of family bliss that is the nuclear family. I mean, I teach teenagers. Who are smoking at age 14, having screaming fights with their parents about not being allowed to go to parties just because "there might be drugs" and who seriously tried to convince me in class today that taking money from their mothers' purse doesn't count as stealing because "it's basically ours anyway."

I mean, we have THIS to look forward to? Plus eyeliner so thick they could model for posters on domestic violence? Or pants so baggy their belt is holding up their butt cheeks? All THIS ... for THAT? We must be crazy.

On the bright side it appears that some of them do come out nicely in the wash by age 18 and turn into the sort of people with whom you might actually enjoy a dinner conversation.

At which point, of course, they move out.

Our Wounded War Hero

Thursday it was Melanie's fever. On Tuesday, the secretary at school pokes her head into my classroom to inform me that Robbie's school has called to inform HER that "il a fait une chute" which I naturally construed to mean he fell off the jungle gym, but no, he just tripped while running but he managed to land on a bicycle and cut himself across his eyebrow- not deep, they insisted, but bleeding profusely enough to require an impressive wad of bandaging. So we really have no idea what it looks like but there's sure a lot of dried blood around. Robbie takes his wound very seriously and is careful not to get it wet in the bath nor to fall asleep on the wrong side.

Of course, since Robbie manages to injure himself at least four times a day, I suppose he's glad that at least he's racking up some sympathy for this one. "Regard, maman, ce garcon-la, il est blesse," a little girl whispered in awe and pity at the mall. Robbie stiffened his shoulders and put on a look of stalwart suffering, like a soldier home from the wars.

Melanie meanwhile is back to beaming happily at everyone. She is truly a remarkable child. She wiggles about a bit and can now sit up on her own, but mostly she doesn't seem in a hurry to go places; she's more interested in looking at things. I'll be sitting on the sofa reading, she'll be happily engaged in tearing apart a magazine, or playing with a remote control (we have toys too but she know them too well by now), and every time I glance over and catch her eye, her face erupts into this radiant grin. I smile back and we both go about our business. Some baby.

She does have a few awkward moments-- like Robbie, she seems to think that I can and should change her diaper while she lies on her tummy. She also wants to feed herself and it's a major challenge to maneuver the spoon past the pudgy hands defending the gateway to the Bootle Belly. If the spoon is delivering spinach, it's basically impossible.

Not that she's a hugely enthusiastic eater, at least not with me, but then that's probably because she cozies up with her boob (are they mine? were they mine? don't remember) every few hours. She's not particularly hungry. It's just kind of like a cuddle with a cherry on top, a reassuring pit stop back at home base amidst all the craziness of this world. Like college students bringing home their laundry and settling down with a box of corn flakes in front of the TV.

It's hard to deny her, especially in public, as she then starts frantically pawing my breasts while emitting eager puppy-like squeals. Feeding itself is less conspicuous because there's no noise to make everyone look.

Now that she has three teeth, biting has become a problem but not, thankfully, while feeding. Evidently she's not stupid. But when I hold her against my right shoulder, she helps herself to a sharp nibble, sometimes on the collarbone and sometimes on the neck. I've tried to explain that this is unpopular behavior but she just chortles.

As in the classroom, somehow I fail to inspire fear in the younger generation. I can't really worry about this. The fact that my darling children will someday turn into those sarky teenagers-- now that's a far more troubling thought.

The bath toys were getting really black with bathroom mold around the edges so I bought a new set of little plastic sea animals, since Melanie will shortly be putting anything and everything in her mouth. Thus far, however, it is Robbie who is ecstatic. He insisted on taking them all to bed with him. Hopefully he is asleep because he was wiped out this afternoon: day at school followed by trip to the mall to buy sandals, followed by trip to the park With Swings! Then a bus ride home. The best part was that at the mall there was a group of drummers and jugglers. They were really loud so I thought Melanie would freak out. Instead she watched with an air of tranquil enjoyment as though attending the ballet.

Robbie watched open-mouthed, his hips shifting slightly. The performance was so exciting that Robbie clean forgot there was a manege in the mall. Very convenient.

Melanie in a Mix-Up

Went to the creche to pick up Melanie on Thursday afternoon because she was reportedly running a fever. She was wearing a smart pair of pink checked pants, which I put down to a diaper malfunction. Only I couldn't find her clothes tidily tied up in a baggie per usual. Then I spotted another child in a pair of beige overalls that looks surprisingly similar to Melanie's. But heck, they were bought at Monoprix, anyone could have picked them up-- but wait, I did put them on her this morning, bit of an extreme coincidence that -- a polite query to the staff revealed that in fact, the intern had swapped Melanie's outfit with that of Julie, the other 9-month-old girl who has newly arrived at the creche.

The kind of thing that could happen to anyone. But it was quite funny to see another baby decked out in Melanie's duds. The only cheering news to report regarding Melanie recently, as the doctor determined that she had an ear infection and has dosed her up with Advil and amoxycillan, which gives her horrific diarrhea. So we have been doing quite a few costume changes of our own these days ...

Took Robbie on the Batobus yesterday, which he much enjoyed. He was fixated on the wake for the first leg of the trip, but Matthew reported that he "managed to get him to glance at Notre Dame." Then he scarfed down a saucisse-frites at the Eiffel Tower, barged around on the playground for half an hour, repressed his bitter disappointment at not receiving a manege ride, the weekly quota having been achieved on Wednesday on a trip to Bercy. He was a bit less enthusiastic about the boat ride back to the Jardin des Plantes, and though he'd walked the whole way from home on the outbound journey, we picked up the bus on the way home.

Which happens to drop you right outside Starbucks, so I casually suggested a donut, mainly because I was dying to use the bathroom. His face lit up like I'd flipped a switch. "Donut donut donut donut" he chanted, charging into the store and clustering in worship before the glass counter, hands clasped. "Donut donut donut donut donut."

Unfortunately the bathroom was occupied for the long term, as often happens with Paris public toilets, so we had to rush off to the local public park because at that point Robbie announced solemnly "I have to do a caca." NOT what you want to hear when you're 20 minutes from home even though he did manage to hold back a pee for 15 solid minutes on the M25 on the trip from Ebbsfleet to Sevenoaks.

Melanie appears better this weekend but she has regressed into 8-week-old newborn mode, where she howls every minute that she's not in someone's arms, or in the stroller. Which is probably partly due to a lack of sleep-- if I'm feeling pretty grisly after a succession of 4-hour nights, she must be noticing it as well, given her ineptitude in napping.