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The alarm goes off early at 7:20. It's on purpose because I need those extra 10 minutes to snooze. I can usually swing it, even getting up as late as 7:40, then pushing everyone to be ready on time to make it down to the corner bus stop by 8:10. But I usually need at least one extra snooze.
I wake the unwilling kids up and shove them into their clothes, then up the stairs to have breakfast. The biggest part of the battle is done because they don't have to finish breakfast, but they obviously can't go to school half-naked. They eat toast with jam and butter and hot chocolate.
Once the bus picks them up, I toy with the idea of going with Peanut into Paris - I mean I do live here after all! - to go to a museum or visit some trendy shops, but the idea of having to change trains on the metro is too much of a deterrent for me. I can't handle the winding corridors and the up-and-down-the-stairs it will entail just to get from one train to another, not even to mention the stairs exiting the metro. Plus, a lot of the entrances aren't equipped with handicap exits, which is really hard to manage with the stroller. (Heck, even the social security in my last town didn't have a handicap entrance, so why should anyone else care?)
For my guilty pleasure, I go to my old comfortable stomping ground - the mall at La Defense. There are always elevators and escalators there, and everything is accessible and easy. I stop at Starbucks - they greet me as an old friend and I explain that we moved away. The sweet caffeine jolt puts me in a pleasantly tolerable mood, which lasts almost an hour. I peruse the shops, but a lot of the nice stores don't have clothes in my size. (Without admitting my actual size, I'll say that I would be able to find it in a normal store in the States).
I've gained a lot of weight in the recent years from post-pregnancy, sleep-deprived snacking. Going to a gym would really help as I love exercise, but most people do sports through the town hall, which requires committing once a year for the whole year; it's expensive .... and it's just not the treadmill which is sometimes all you want that day. I know the real answer is to eat like a french woman, but this post is not about that right now.
So I head into the kids' shops. That's a real pleasure for me as clothes will always look great on my babes. I try not to spend too much (although that's hard because unless you buy everything in the supermarket you can't, for instance, get shoes for less than 40 euros = $52 when the dollar is strong). I run into an old acquaintance who still lives in the area. We chitchat a bit and I realize that I miss how friendly everyone is in this little corner where almost no one is French.
I head back in time to feed Peanut and put him down for a nap. I pass by all the bakeries, whose offerings I cannot enjoy due to an intolerance to gluten. I head into the cheese shop, but the hundred varieties have lost some of their interest for me, especially without the baguette. I get the usual camembert, Mr. Welcome's preference for daily meals.
With Peanut
