My Kids are Rock Stars

Wrapping it Up, Part 1:

 

I am not one to FaceBrag. You’re not seeing my kids going to LAX jamborees or making it to Allstars. Having attended small Montessori schools, there’s no concert pix or spelling bees. 

No, for some reason, despite two go-getter parents, my kids seem to opt out of most organized efforts to get them out of the house. 

But my kids are Rock Stars nonetheless and this trip has really made me aware of how awesome they are. They have made big efforts on this trip, ones that I know have helped them expand their horizons and lift their confidence. It’s not just early trains and busy travel schedules. In Antibes they spoke another language and made friends. They learned their way around new towns and adapted to new schedules. In Paris and London, they overcame their anxieties about getting around in big cities with lots of strangers. They learned how to wander a little without knowing what would happen next.

They have also learned to rely on each other. I know we all say that we want our kids to be best friends with each other some day, but waht are the experiences that form those bonds? On this trip, we’ve all had to help each other out, stick up for each other and get through challenges together. Making mistakes on this trip had real, immediate consequences. I am not sure how I could have given my kids these lessons at home. We have very few “sink or swim” moments in our cushy lives at home and the risks are never perceived as that grave for them. I didn’t intend for them to suffer on this trip, and of course I managed their risks, but this was real. 

Back when Cooper was really little, he would get confused about what was from TV or from a video game and what was real. He would yell at us (because he always yells like a belligerent drunk man) “wait— is this in THIS world?” It became a code word of sorts with my kids. We can say this trip happened in THIS world.

It’s interesting how things come full circle. In my early career, I championed experiential education. I could never have dreamed that I would live that out through the education of my own children.

There are more things I appreciate about my children.

Of course they are total bookworms. The main thing dragging us down on this three month campaign to "live with less" has been books. Despite the kindles and passing books off to every English bookstore we encounter, we are carting around about 30lbs of books. I sent a bunch home with Taylor. I bought another one yesterday. I cannot keep these kids in books. I thought buying books in French would slow them down- Nope. Even Cooper was reading a French language Asterix book the other day. These kids!

They love history— and what a great place to feed that interest! Like most kids, their minds are like sponges, but then they’re so extroverted that they walk around everywhere we go talking about facts and stories about each place so much that people start following them around like tour guides. Cooper was talking to the guide on the Tourist Bus so much, the guy started repeating things Cooper told him on the microphone. At first I dissuaded them, I thought my kids were annoying other people. I don’t want my boys to think all the world is a stage and everyone wants to see them perform. But now I don’t get so upset about it. People don’t seem to mind, and when they are sick of my kids, they let them know. 

They are smart. I remember after one of our doctors’ appointments where Samuel was tested AGAIN, and they were going over the results with me, I downplayed the findings on intelligence and focused more on the behaviors. "No," I was told, “this is part of the behavior, this is different and you need to pay attention.” I never wanted to be one of those parents who talks about how smart their kids are— all kids are smart, or as I once told Samuel, “yeah, there are a lot of really smart people in jail”—but high intelligence is a blessing and a curse. I spend an inordinate amount of time mitigating behavior rather than nurturing their intelligence. As a parent, that’s easier, less intimidating. This trip provided so many opportunities for my kids to “fill in the blanks” with their observations and learn in a non-linear way. 

They are fun. They have great imaginations and love to play. Nothing makes them happier than some sticks and a little room. They have accused me of not having enough fun with them, and yeah- that hurts a little. I have always wanted to be a fun mom. I have tried a little harder to let go, be imaginative with them and laugh more. And though I have had a lot of fun, this hasn't exactly been a vacation for me-- I think they'll understand that more when they get older and look back at this trip.

My friends wondered if I would need a break from my kids after all of this time. My boys don’t drive me crazy, it’s everything else; that’s why I called this blog “A Short Trip FROM Crazy.” It was quite a luxury to spend this much time with my kids.

It was an intimate time that reminded me of those first weeks of their lives when you are at home with them all of the time. You don’t go out with your friends, you don’t take on projects, you just stay home with your baby.  If the world is kind to you, they don’t expect that much of you because you are supposed to do nothing but stay at home with your newborn. I had no other obligations beyond the immediate needs of my kids for three months. Taylor was kind to me and didn’t expect much more from me than that.

I will be forever grateful for this time I had to reclaim that intimacy and devote my attention to them.

It will be interesting to see how re-entry goes after spending so much time together, giving my children my undivided attention. I won't be in total control anymore (I'll have to share that with Taylor again), I won't be in constant planning mode, and I will finally be in familiar surroundings. My kids will return to their coveted routines that they missed so much and I wonder if they'll like it as much when normalcy is their only option.

As far as closure goes, I've more to post. But as I pack for the last time, repacking all of the tangible baggage we've picked up along the way, I am feeling a little less crazy and very proud of my boys. No matter what the world has to say about what they've done, how much they've learned or who they are, I know that they are rock stars and I am their biggest fan.

Last (American) Meal in France

Since May 3 when Taylor left us in Nice, it was travel day to Paris on Sunday, then four days in Paris, a Thursday travel day to Caen and Bayeux, and Friday at D-Day beaches, then Saturday at Mont St. Michel, a travel day back to Caen on Sunday and today, we go back to Paris to go to London. 

And yes, I planned it this way.

Add to all of this a late train, a hotel disaster, a broken down rental car and reservations screw up and it’s made for a hell of a trip. 

I do this in my life a lot, but so far in this trip, I had resisted the urge to stretch myself too thin. At home, I’ll plan everything down to the minute sometimes with no room for error. If one thing goes wrong, the dominos fall. Usually they don’t. I am pretty lucky; even with this latest string of episodes, we were pretty fortunate. Still, that schedule was pretty grueling, even if everything had gone perfectly.

Yesterday in Caen was pretty terrible, but I tried not to let the kids know. Caen was only a sleepover stop for us to catch the train after our Normandy tour, I had heard about the great museum in Caen, so I looked it up and was relieved to find that it was pretty close to our hotel. Even after the rental car battery breakdown, we had two hours to see it before closing time.

We threw our bags in the hotel and followed the map- to a lovely museum in a medieval castle that was dedicated to Normandy- the region in France, not the World War II landing site. 

We stepped inside and I immediately knew we were on the wrong place— samples of lace and pictures of cows Leaeverywhere. The boys were so polite to the guide when we told her in French that we were “just looking,” but they were quietly pissed at me for rushing them up the hill to the castle. 

Samuel had a smirk on his face because earlier when I told him I wouldn’t buy him a toy machine gun at the museum gift shop, he announced “then I’m not going;” to which I of course said in typical mommy form, “oh yes you are!” Bennett and Cooper were relieved because they didn’t want to go to a museum anyway; plus, there was a cool playground inside the castle walls and you could walk the ramparts. It was the perfect win-win-win-lose situation. At that point I could care less. 

The museum we wanted to see was actually 30 minutes from our hotel and not easy to get to at all. I would say maybe next time, but I’m not sure we’ll make it to Caen again. After wandering the streets on an Sunday night, we had two choices for our last dinner in France. One, a TGIFridays sort of place, complete with random crap on the wall and blaring Rock music and the other was called Dolly’s and it was also sort of old-time American themed. 

I hate eating out when I’m forced to do so, but since we were at a hotel, we really had no choice. We picked the generica-inspired TGIFridays place and the kids ordered fried whatever.

I mentioned previously that Taylor and I do not eat at restaurants with our kids. They’ve gotten much better on this trip (thanks Taylor for letting me be the ones to break the wild ponies) but here’s a picture of our dinner table at Mt. St. Michel- they play with their silverware, so I take it, they use too much salt, so I take it, Cooper puts the bread basket on his arm like a cast, I take it, Samuel is blowing tunes with his Sprite bottle, I take it, Cooper plays with his pasta, you get the idea. Extra glasses, sharp knives, sugar packets— all must be placed outside of arms reach of my boys at restaurants— they simply cannot stop playing. 

This isn't even my plate! 

We were all getting a little punchy by the end of the meal.
This was actually at MSM- we are all held captive as there are only a few
places to choose from. The food here was great but there were only two waiters,
so service was slow even by French standards. It was a very long meal for the ShoBros.

I realize that I bitch about my kids quite a bit, but I’m on a train right now with at least twenty 7th graders behind us, and mine has been quiet, helpful and respectful the whole time. The family next to us has two little girls who have screamed, cried and thrown up pretty much the whole time— I jumped to the rescue with one of the trash bags I packed from home for emergencies, and I am pretty sure it’s the biggest plastic bag that woman has ever seen—- she’s going to talk about that for days—as I was saying— my kids are being GREAT! My kids get tired and whine at the end of busy days, but they don’t complain much about what we’re doing, where we’re going or how we’re getting there. 

On our way to London Hall where we pass through immigration and
customs on our way out of Paris. First thing Samuel said was-- OMG they all speak English!!

My plan is to keep it simple in London We may miss out on some of the sites, but I’ll be the only one to notice. We’ll hang in the first night and then start with our old Antibes routine: homeschool in the morning and activities in the afternoon. We fell behind when Taylor came, and despite planning to take a little break from school, we have been inconsistent since Daddy left. 

I planned everything out to the hour for every place we went to in France. Having been to London a few times now, I was content to wing it here a bit. It is amazing the confidence you have when you no longer have the language barrier. We arrived last night and when I went into the grocery store, and I was like “I got this.” Although the culture here in London is different, but the kids were excited to see more American things. Ordinarily I would poo-poo any American kid who went abroad and wanted to go to Burger King or buy Ritz Crackers and Nature Valley granola bars (as my kids did as soon as we left France), but after traveling this long, I think my kids have earned their right to request familiar things. 

Before bed Samuel called me in and I kissed him goodnight and he said “hey Mom, we did it!” And I said “What?” (half knowing what he was talking about)— and he said “we made it, the whole trip, in France, we did it.” I of course said I was proud of him and he of course gave me the teenage smirk and brushed me off, but I was sure he was proud of himself too. 

D-Disaster in Normandy

Well It finally happened-travel disaster. We had a hectic rental car pick up in Caen when I couldn’t find the Hertz office. I sucked it up and turned on my battery-consuming Googlemaps and the route looked like a big z with a couple of u-turns. WTF? Was that the most direct route? I tried to follow it, then realized it was on the car setting, not the walking setting! I don’t have the best sense of direction and that did not help.

As we loaded our bags, the prep guy tells me— “oh the radio doesn't work in that one.” I was tired and my kids were about to blow, so I took the key and the car with no radio. After the initial anxiety of getting on the correct highway was over, I wanted some music! I was pissed at myself for the next ten minutes for not insisting on another car. For those of you who think I am a total bitch (it’s a lot, I know), there you go.

Then we checked into our mediocre hotel. I‘ve splurged on our room for Mt. St. Michel, so I picked a budget hotel for Bayeux. It was rated good on booking.com and also listed by my buddy Rick Steves. I’ve stayed in hostels, B&Bs and budget hotels in Europe before, so I know what I’m in for. I’m not going to be one of “those” Americans and barge in requesting a big room and an elevator.

Can you see the hangers on the TV mount?
I guess that's where I was supposed to hang
our clothes?

First, no towel bar in the bathroom, so I moved a chair. But then there was no place to hang our clothes— and we were going to be there for two nights, I can lay some stuff out on the back of another chair. The advertised TV was a 12” mounted high up in a corner. And- the wi-fi didn’t work in our room, no big deal— I’ll go to the cafe (which also served as the reception desk) and use my computer down there while enjoying a perrier. I went up one floor to check on the kids and it was almost 10— time for a bath. The cafe was closing, so I packed up my perrier and headed upstairs. Wrestled the kids out of their clothes— no small task at 10pm — and out of the faucet came trickle of water. Then I tried the shower attachment, and it didn’t work. Now I was SEETHING. 

I might not have been so pissed if I hadn’t already caved on the radio, but I was served a shitty hotel room and I was not going to take it! 

I went back downstairs and the cafe was closed; I called the hotel’s phone number and got voice mail. Now I am SUPER pissed. I can’t even get on line to find another hotel! RAGING!! I remembered seeing another hotel two doors down, so I called them and they had a room for tonight, but not for tomorrow night— and it was twice what I was paying at the shithole. “Kids,” I said through gritted teeth, “we’re moving!” 

They were totally confused because heretofore I kept saying, “oh kids, it’s not that bad.” Then they got excited because it meant they got to walk down the street in pajamas. We packed up— which wasn’t that hard considering we didn’t have hangars- and marched down to the new hotel. 

The kids immediately charmed the staff when we barged in at 11pm with poorly packed, bulging suitcases and Cooper announces in French- I’m in my pajamas! They couldn’t believe he said it in French and we all laughed. Our room was a little annexed house that had an upstairs loft with two twin beds and a huge WORKING shower. 

The next morning I went to the old hotel to turn in my key and cancel the reservation for the next night. I was half regretting bailing because I had no place to stay and I could tell I was up for a fight to get my money back. Sure enough they wouldn’t even honor my cancellation for the next night, much less refund me for the previous night. I walked back to the lovely hotel with no rooms and choked back the tears. What had I done? I had just been preaching to the kids about the old “bird in hand” and here I was with three kids and no place to sleep, one hotel room beyond my budget and 150 euros spent on one that I never even slept in. 

I have learned that the slightest sense that something is wrong can send my kids into an anxiety meltdown. So I pulled up my big girl britches and packed up our stuff. 

Since we had to leave Bayeux to find a hotel, we quickly visited the tapestry and then hit the road for the D-Day beaches. I say quickly not because we were in a hurry, but the tour was quick. I had been warned that the tapestry’s audio guide moved fast- and there’s no pause or rewind button. We got totally lost after the 8th scene (there are 32), and we were surrounded by old people— I don’t think anyone under age 70 goes to see this thing— unless they’re homeschooled—- the pace required a near sprint— how are they keeping up? Well, none of them were, and we were all left to look around at each other like, WTF? Only they were over 70 and probably wouldn’t think “WTF”… but anyway.  I went back and got a new device so I could start over, Samuel and Cooper totally gave up and and went to sit outside. Of course, we had covered it in homeschool, so Samuel was able to follow along, Cooper was pissed the guy was talking so fast and Bennett and I shared my device after I restarted it. I got a terrible crick in my neck from sharing the earpiece with someone a foot shorter than me while we both walked sideways quickly trying to keep up with the recording. Think sideways sack race, only we were connected at the head. I think it was worth it, I can’t tell. Sadly, the film in the museum was better than the actual tapestry, which is sort of sad.

I like driving. It’s so American. I don’t feel like I am at the mercy of anyone, so far I haven’t encountered any handwritten signage, and I can just go when I want. 

We visited a couple of the D-Day beaches before heading to the American Cemetery. Not much to report, as it’s kind of somber. Cooper said-“mom, I’m kinda sad,” after we passed through the museum there. He was intent on digging for artifacts though and I could not deter him. Since we got there in the afternoon, it was near closing time when we got to the beach below the cemetery. He still wanted to dig though. He thought maybe there should be a metal detector app. 

I found a great hotel just off Omaha Beach. It was the kind of place Taylor and I fantasize about having some day— is it a great hotel with an awesome restaurant, or is it a fabulous restaurant with a wonderful hotel? It was beachy, but totally Northern France, modern but authentically regional, great art with unpretentious beach chairs set around fire pits in the large back garden with boules pits and ping pong tables. The buildings were linked together with little boardwalks and the whole place was walled in by giant groomed boxwoods. Cooper said “I feel like I’m at a giant beach house!” 

The boys were sad to spend only one night there and I was just happy to be there. It wasn’t the most direct route, and it wasn’t the one I planned, but I got where I needed to be and we were more than alright.

PS: As I post this, I jet received an email from our hostess in London; there’s a problem with the hot water in the building and she’s trying to find a place for us. Here we go again!

Paris, Part Deux

So I leave the South of France and I got all stressed out. I’m on the train right now and I just had to move my bags after the third pickpocket announcement in ten minutes. In the Louvre yesterday, not ten feet away from both the Mona Lisa and the Egyptian sphynx, were big red signs warning of pickpockets. Enough already! You are stressing me out. 

Speaking of the Mona Lisa…  my friends who’ve been to the Louvre have already experienced this, but what is up with the paparazzi? I seriously got ragy— I have TWO semesters of art history, so I am a seasoned expert— I go to look at artwork, not take its picture. I want to see the art, not your bigass Samsung galaxy X in my face. And don’t push my kids out of the way to get up front, just you you can snap a selfie and then race to the next stop on your photo scavenger hunt of world heritage masterpieces that you obviously don’t give a shit about. My friends know I am an art fan and a religious freak, so when I am standing awestruck in front of Titian’s Les Pelerins d’Emmaus, holding back tears so I can explain the story to my children, it really enrages me when you ask me to take a picture of you. That is not what I am here for.

I think the Louvre should either 1) ban cameras entirely— buy some effing postcards like we did when we were kids, or 2) open a gallery of fatheads of all the highlights, charge a little less than admission to the real artwork; then all the jerks with their cameras can just take pics of those. 

OK- one more photog rant: here’s a pic of a lady who took a picture of the Eiffel Tower from a pretty popular spot—everyone was politely lined up to take a pic— and here she is editing her photo, or posting it to instagram, or possible creating an entire FB album and tagging everyone in it. No worries, we can wait— take your time.

Just trying to be polite--now I'm on some Chinese New Year card

When we were at the Eiffel Tower— we went THREE TIMES (my kids could not get enough of it or all of the open space surrounding it) I asked a Chinese man to take a family pic. OK- he had a very large camera around his neck, so I was not racial profiling at all (just needed to say that in case you think the following is racist). He took a few pics- great, I never have all three boys looking at the same direction in any one shot— then he asked if I could take his picture. 









Of course we must reciprocate, so I went to grab his camera as he was taking it off, NO, he was taking it off so he could get in the picture with us. He asked his friend to take his pic with us, then the other friend in the pic, then all the boys, then the girls in the middle and the boys behind, then serious pic, then crazy pic— THIS WENT ON FOR 20 MINS!! 

Madness on the Champs de Tour- really?
When will this end?

When we were in Cinque Terre, Cooper was being particularly cute at the train station, and these Asian ladies started taking his picture, then they asked if they could have a pic with him. They must have taken 50 pictures. I tried to surreptitiously get a pic of them taking pics, but I could never get it. When we were in the Mercedes gallery on Champs d’Elysses, a man asked if I would take is pic by a car, then he asked if Cooper could get in the pic with him. He put his man purse by my feet for the pic, so I wasn’t worried he was harmful, but creepy. I am too polite. Is Cooper’s face going to appear in one of those weird hentai books adult men read in Japan? 

Just about everywhere we went in Paris was crowded and busy. At the Army Museum, there was a special exhibit on the Musketeers —for an extra ticket (of course), but it wasn’t well signed (natch), so I had to run down and purchase one- at the ticket counter back at the beginning of the museum. In exchange for this inconvenience, I decided to let my kids hang around the entrance to the exhibit and entertain the guards. By the time I got back, they were more than happy for us to go in and may have even let us in for free had I faked it. 

Anyway- they had Musketeer costumes for kids to put on for pictures, only they are tethered to the wall so you can’t steal them. As Samuel said, how would we sneak them out anyway? Cooper was paralyzed as soon as I got him in the thing. He was like my family cat when we tried to put her on a leash. He got so upset “mom- I can’t move; I’m chained to the wall!” and you can tell in my pics. Hysteria ensued when Bennett got into the act, and chose the smaller costume. Then tried to stand next to his brother while they were both were chained to the wall. Of course I started laughing and then Cooper got pissed that I was laughing at him. 

I didn’t think we’d ever make it through the museum; my boys loved every minute of it, especially the armor. I had a total Indiana Jones moment when we peered into rooms of helmets, gloves and suits categorized on wooden shelves in front of wooden crates. Could’t help but wonder how they had so many just sitting around— and what was in the crates? The boys read every sign for every medieval weapon and armor piece and then started burning out around around the Seven Years War (French Indian War) and we had to breeze past the Napoleonic and WWI to get to WWII. I tried to get the boys to pace themselves, but they wouldn’t stop. By the time I dragged them out of there, they were tired pups. They rallied that evening to get to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and I rewarded them with $14 ice creams on the Champs d’Elysees (don’t tell Taylor, he thinks the bill is for dinner!).

You already know how the next day at the Louvre went, but I will say our early start paid off. After waiting with 400 people to get into the Musee d’Orsay on our first day in Paris, this was our line for the Louvre on our last day in Paris:

We totally got lost in the Louvre— isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? OK- you try and get from French Romanticism to Ancient Egypt— it is NOT that easy! 

One pic I did take inside the museum— here are my ancient history geeks in the Estruscan and early Greek rooms. It’s morning, and these aren’t on the must-see list, so we had the rooms to ourselves and no one shoved a camera in my face. After everything we saw in Antibes, Arles and Avingon, I couldn’t believe the boys were still interested in this stuff; and I got a big kick out of them putting it all together. Yeah history!

I was warned about trying to see everything in Paris, and although I paced ourselves to one or two sites a day, including a park on most days, we still overdid it. We took long afternoon breaks when we had evening events, still my kids were tired everyday. But, they enjoyed the city. 

I was glad that our Eiffel Tour summit was on our last evening after all because the kids were able to pick out buildings they remembered. We were on the tower when the light show happened, especially since our 9:30 tickets got us in at 9:45 and (need I say) there were huge lines at every stage with the elevators. I convinced the kids it was actually cooler to be up on the tower instead of watching it from below (it wasn’t really, but they bought it). It was after 11 when we descended, so I got a taxi for my tired boys. As we rode through the streets that night, we saw all of the sights one last time and we were charmed once again by Paris.  

We were so overwhelmed by the crowds in Paris, and considering how miserable I was for two weeks in Sancerre with barely a person in sight, I can’t believe I am relieved to be on a train racing through the French countryside to Bayeux. We saw the stucco and red tile roofs and the palm trees and olive groves of the South of France, and the rocky vineyards and goat farms of Sancerre, and now we are entering the landscape of half-timbered houses with sheep farms, and the rolling green hills and forests of Normandy. 

As a friend told me “London is not England,” and of course Paris is not France. I’m so glad my kids are seeing enough of the real France to balance out the whirlwind of the big city.

Brrrrr-- freezing and not so crowded-- Normandy!
It is also beautiful.

Paris so far

We arrived at the Nice train station to find all of the trains quiet. An electrical problem delayed our train—- and everyone else's.

My kids hovered around me in a very crowded station as everyone stared up at the monitor waiting for updates. I think my kids were a little freaked out. Despite the scene, our train was listed as on time, which gave us four minutes to reach the platform. Yeah. Right. But I encouraged the kids to take their time and wait out the crowds so they wouldn’t feel so anxious. 

I’ve mentioned before that I think train travel here is not as fabulous as everyone makes to out to be (of course, what is the alternative?). I’m an American, I need signage! A train pulled up and Taylor saw a large “2” painted on the side, so he said - “here’s car number two.” I said, “no honey, you have to look for the sign on the door (sometimes handwritten)” and pointed out that all of those cars had the number “2” painted on them. If you were in an industry that used numbers as identifiers, wouldn’t you come up with another way to name your type of train, like car companies or Virgin Atlantic Airways?  One train car in Cinque Terre was still labeled its previous destination, but some of the other cars had the current destination. I overheard a tourist (ha— newbie!) get panicky because she was looking at the wrong sign. I also need uniforms and nametags— in Italy, some guy who looked like a gypsy was standing at the top of the stairs directing people to our train. I thought — oh great, this gypsy is loading us all into a train car to steal our stuff or kidnap us. My friends are going to receive one of those emails, like “Hi, I’m in Italy and got robbed,” but they won’t believe that it’s really me. The French trains are much better, they have uniforms, but they are so ugly, I am embarrassed for them; I have problems looking the attendants in the eye because I feel their shame. This does not help international communication.

Much of the machinations are a mystery to me. Our train from Nice to Paris wasn’t labeled with a destination at all, and with the delays, I was hesitant to board a train that was in the right place at the right time, I’ve messed that up before! I double checked and we boarded, but then the guy on my car (we were the first one) made the announcement and listed all of the cities— except Paris. I went to ask him and he deadpanned, “no this train does not go to Paris— oh, just joking!” Again, not helpful (but funny— oh those French!).

My kids are rockstars on the trains now. I am so proud of them. 

So this is supposed to be my Paris — so far post, but we’ve been so busy since arriving that tomorrow is our last full day here. Nevertheless, here’s what we’ve done and seen here, so far.

The entrance in in the upper left corner of this picture,
under the fartherst awning. The line snakes around in
a very orderly fashion.

Rick Steves style, we got up early on our first day and hit Musee Orsay. The first Sunday of the month was free, so the cheap Scot in me bound into action for the 9:30 am opening. I read that if you got there before 9 there would be 70 people in line and if you got there at 9 there would be 400 people in line. Well, as always, everyone else read that too and when we got there just shy of 9, there was a giant mob. 

Yeah! Breakfast on the line!

We got in line, then I left the boys and grabbed croissants and coffee— yep, our first breakfast in Paris was standing on line at a museum. Fitting. About an hour into it, I did the math to figure that the kids get in free anyway, so we were all waiting in a giant line for me to get in free— a savings of 9 euros— I just spent that on a coffee on the Champs Elysees. Ack— the mania just took over! 

Nevertheless, we waited another half an hour and we got in. The kids did well for the audio guide, listening off and on with our iPods. I questioned the timing of the Orsay because it’s Impressionists and we hadn’t covered this time period in history. We are in the Napolenic years and we haven’t done any art history for that time at all, contrary to preparing for the Renaissance before our trip to Florence. About an hour into it Cooper says— very loudly because he has his ear buds in, and almost accusatory like I had cheated him out of something- “WAIT A MINUTE!! ALL OF THIS WAS HAPPENING DURING COWBOY TIMES?” And his mouth was agape— like— Mom, how could you!? I’m not sure what he was so mad about. I wasn’t about to get into the middle of it right in the museum; I was embarrassed enough as it was. 

Museum fatigue set in and we set off to see Van Gogh as our last stop. I got stopped by a guard who was telling me that my kids spoke beautiful French, and we started chatting. It was the most French I had spoken in Paris so far because we’ve been surrounded by Americans in line. Anyway, the kids went on to Van Gogh and I was having so much fun talking with this guy, I decided to skip it. Hopefully someone can fill me in later. 

The afternoon was spent on a bike tour of Paris— absolutely one of the best things we’ve done. My kids loved it and the guide was charming and fun. 

Leaving the Orsay. No, we don't look like tourists at all!

One of the kids mentioned that we’d taken a pedi-cab up the Seine from the museum to the Eiffel Tour to catch the tour (I was afraid we’d be late and we still needed lunch), and I said to him, “now Samuel wants to be a pedi-cab driver,” and kind of rolled my eyes. He said “well, he could be a bike tour driver and start his own company.” Immediately, I thought- oh shit, this is one of the owners! I had been told the company was run by a young American and an English guy, and this guy was nicely dressed, enthusiastic and personable. Had I just insulted the owner? I just mumbled something about entrepreneurs and melted back over to my bike. Later when I composed myself again I asked him how long he’d been doing this and he said, “oh, I just got a one year Visa; I just started.”

Scenes from the bike tour.

After a busy Sunday, I thought I’d let the kids sleep in on Monday. I only planned a walking tour of historic Paris, including the Ile de la Cite, the Left Bank and Notre Dame. Easily a half day and no museums. If the kids were up for it, maybe a park. Easy. …Noooo. Y’all stop me if you’ve heard this before because it happens EVERY EFFING TIME I LET MY KIDS SLEEP IN!!! They turn into monsters. 

A lazy morning followed by FOUR HOURS OF WHINING!! Why do I do this— it never pays off for me. Apparently their timers (which go off at 4pm) do not take into account the starting time. If we are out the door at 8:30, they fall apart at 4. If we leave at 11, they fall apart at 4. Why can’t I remember this?? They didn’t want to go to the top of Notre Dame and they pooped out before the grand finale I had panned— a tour of the prison, including Marie Antoinette’s cell where she stayed before she lost her head. Now I was losing mine as I dragged them to the closest Metro station, where they proceeded to kick each other and touch each other the entire way back to the apartment. 

It was all OK because with all of that extra time in the afternoon, we could do some homeschool! They were pissed; and the next day I got them up bright and early! 

First stop on the walking tour Monday-- Notre Dame.

Ice cream stop bought me a little time with
no complaining.

Prisons-- they don't build them like this anymore. Keep that in mind, kids!

Yep-- bitched your way back to the apartment so you could do algebra.
Who's having fun now? I was having a glass of wine.

Rain in Cinque Terre

When we last left the crazy family, they were holed up in their tiny room waiting for the weather to clear. OK, I was waiting for the weather to clear; the other Shorts were fine playing their electronics— “but Mom, we get really good wi-fi here!” 

Room for mom, dad and Coops on the little fold out behind him.

Kids' side where you can see Samuel getting his game face on.

Taylor and I crafted a plan B. Instead of a big hike of through three of the Cinque Terre today and then a short hike to the fourth, Monterosso, tomorrow, we decided to train it to Monterosso today and hike as much as we could tomorrow. 

Of course when you’re traveling, weather is always iffy; but hiking these trails can be treacherous in the rain, so no one advises it. My friend Rick Steves told me that the weather was unpredictable in the CInque Terre, and these things usually blow over; but I didn’t expect the weather in one town over to be so different. It was raining a little when we arrived in Monterosso, but it was warmer and there was no wind. Within minutes of our arrival, it totally cleared up! Well played, Shorts! 

We found another Mother-Genius-Inspired Playground surrounded by cafes (did they know we were coming!?)— only this one had an ocean view as an added bonus. The boys were happy to play on the playground and get a gelato snack while Taylor and I had a beer and enjoyed the sunshine. 












We explored the town of Monterosso and I checked off five of the seven sites listed on Trip Advisor!! Considering we left Vernazza which only has about three sites, none of which were advisable in the rain, I’d say we did quite well. 

Yes- we bought more legos; new Simpsons mini-figs.
Just came out and kids had to have them. 

We found a restaurant on TA that was listed as family friendly, good service and good food. Apparently everyone in there had read the same reviews, because nearly each table had a kid or two. I felt sorry for the two tables of Americans who didn't have kids (and who were inconveniently seated next to us). Then I learned one of them was pregnant, so that counts as half, right? The other table of adults chatted with Samuel and seemed to enjoy his company, so no harm done. I did notice that two of the tables had their kids totally plugged in, which, despite being very tempting at times, I have completely outlawed in our family. In countries where they value the extended mealtime, this restriction can be excrutiating— and pretty bad for the kids too. I think my kids need to learn to sit still and look around from time to time. Heck, even try to make conversation at the dinner table (with perfect strangers, as in the case of my clinically extroverted children). 

We wrapped up an amazing day in the Cinque Terre with a seaside walk to the small train station to head back to Vernazza and our little rooms. We ended up having a great day, after a very dull start, showing once again that when your time is limited, you’ve gotta make it work. 

My kids are honing their adventurous spirits. I am trying to be a good role model for them, by making good decisions and taking action, but I’m not always that courageous. Yesterday the boys were climbing up some big rocks on the beach-very big and very high up. I asked Taylor to call Bennett down because he was making me nervous. Taylor said, “no, he is really good at climbing, watch.” I suppressed my over-protective urges and sure enough, Bennett navigated down the rocks safely with confidence. Cooper was venturing up while holding a strawberry on a stick (uh- long story) again, I got nervous and Taylor said “I think that’s going to take care of itself.”  Cooper figured out that his plan was not going to work, so he hopped down and abandoned both the rocks and the strawberry. Give them a little slack in the rope and see what they do. All parenting comes with a little risk taking, and it is important to give your kids the freedom to figure some things out on their own.

But, here’s the catch: there’s another metaphor about rope and kids, and it expresses a more severe outcome. I intend to take it up in a future post, because this has been a real struggle of mine as a parent. Giving your child more freedom means they get accustomed to making decisions, they develop expectations that they should make all of their decisions, even ones they are not yet mature enough to make, and some may have consequences they do not understand. 

I have been accused of having stubborn children- and not just by me! This dogged me last spring when trying to get my kids into school. I have always believed in respecting my kids, giving them some freedom— even at the risk of predictable outcomes, allowing them to make decisions and discuss, yes even argue at times,. But when does strong-willed, confident and determined turned into argumentative, stubborn and oppositional? 

One of my kids’ teachers wrote in his report card that he was argumentative. Of course one of the schools we applied to asked me about it. What could I say? When I asked the teacher why she would write something like that in a record that admissions officers would read (especially considering that the school ended at third grade and necessitated application to subsequent schools) she told me, “well, he won’t do what I tell him, and [when I talk with you] you always respond to me ‘well, then he should suffer the natural consequences.’ Not everything has natural consequences.” Well, I thought I was playing right out of the Maria Montessori playbook, but apparently I got carried away— and does anyone tell you when they think you’re screwing up as a parent? 

A friend commented to me that she couldn’t wait to hear how this trip affected my philosophy on parenting. Of course the idea intimidates me because 1) do I have a philosophy of parenting? Sometimes I’m just holding on for dear life!  2) could I articulate it in any intelligent way? and 3) do I need to evaluate this experience and form a cogent thesis? A little overwhelming but I’ll do my best in that future post I promised. 

But for today, our lesson has been brought to you by the letter G- like Get out there. You can only wait around for so long for the weather to clear, or the day to be perfect or your kids to do the right things at the right time.