It’s hard to believe it has been over three weeks since we touched down at exactly 11:11 on European soil. This was brought to my attention by our kids who are fascinated by repeating numerical sequence times (are they weird or do other kids also find this amazing?) and shortly after by a ping from our new landlord, whom had been tracking our flight, saying “11:11 landed! It’s a good sign“. I was feeling a sense of relief and glad we had arrived without too many bumps on the road despite the normal anxiety of fearing delays and missed connections. Sitting on the tarmac, I was shaken to reality by my nice thoughts, when Cash said “mom I don’t feel so well”. Let me tell you as a mother you never want to hear those words but you especially don’t want to hear them on the airplane.  Iyla decided to keep the score even and followed suit 24 hours later making our first two days in Paris interesting to say the least.

By the second afternoon everyone was feeling better and it was a gorgeous afternoon. We strolled from our hotel to the Jardin des Tuileries and found a nice spot to bask in the sun. The kids ran around and I could see the color returning in both of their faces.  I didn’t even let their conversation of comparing who had puked the most bother me (they were bonding after all). We walked quite a bit and ended the day at a neighborhood playground where we watched (what must have been the neighborhood crazy man-or one of many) as he went around to the kids giving them high fives. I watched all the French families laugh and allow their children to interact with him while they sat unconcerned on benches. I spotted a woman in the middle of the playground hovering over her daughter protectively and before I could even guess where she might come from she said out loud and to no one in particular “doesn’t anyone realize this man is totally crazy???” Before she could make eye contact with me I turned and watched him walk away in his corduroy pants, blazer and leather loafers and thought even the transients in Paris are stylish.

The next day still jet-lagged and feeling like zombies we somehow found ourselves on a sailboat in the Baltic. It was rainy and cold and I couldn’t help but initially think to myself, we could have been in the Mediterranean, but atlas the weather turned and ended up being very picturesque for the rest of our stay. Having not spent much time on boats at all, sailing in the open seas was an experience hard to put into words. The beauty and peace and tranquillity were unparalleled. I had no phone, no agenda and no mindless errands to busy myself with. I was able to read two long books (a major luxury) and the kids kept themselves entertained (sans electronics) with their friends and very rarely seemed bored (even Cash who was one of three girls). Our times at our stops, including Copenhagen, Stockholm and some small islands in the archipelago and fishing villages, were filled with lots of exploratory bike riding, and stops to visit the local museums, parks and sites. Our host Erck was a fabulous story teller and lover of history and kept us amused with fascinating tidbits wherever we went. Cristina was so sweet and amazed me how at any given time she could whip together a beautiful italian meal. She taught me how to make a delicious tiramisu that kept us all up (note to myself if I ever attempt this to use decaf espresso) and I never got tired of hearing their children alternate between German, Italian and English without missing a beat. Northern Europe had not been high on my radar in the past but it proved to be amazingly beautiful, lively, cultured and filled with very sweet people.

Ten days later we were off the boat and ready to head back to Paris to get our new life started.  A bit over a week later now and I can tell you we are counting our blessings with how lucky we got doing everything sight unseen. We could not be happier with our charming Parisian apartment and the wonderful neighborhood it is in. We sit on our little balcony morning and night and have observed the transition over the past few days from the city being on  “les grandes vacances” to the full force of “la rentrée”. Our days have been filled with exploring all of the city and its wonders but it always feels like returning to a little village when we come back home. We already have our neighborhood favorites and the beginning relationships with shopkeepers and workers- from the darling girl at our local boulangerie whom we buy a baguette from daily-sometimes twice (for one euro!) to an amazing home made greek take-out place, to cafés, boucheries, poisonneries and so much more. This is not even mentioning La Grande Epicerie a foodies paradise with food so pretty you feel bad eating it (well not that bad)   Tommy and I have already spent quite a bit of time at the fromagerie counter where the sweet lady at the counter (fromgerienne?) now recognizes us and is, to our delight, very generous with samples.

In between our sight-seeing we ran around getting the kids ready for school. Innocuous items like water bottles and children’s sneakers were more difficult than I thought to find. I think its safe to say one of the conveniences of being in the states is having everything at your fingertips online. While you can order everything online here as well you better cross your fingers that it will get to you. I found this out quickly as I had pre-ordered their P.E. uniforms (and paid for expedited shipping) while in Stockholm and they were supposed to arrive on a Wednesday.. well Wednesday passed and then Thursday. By Friday I ran into our guardian (building keeper) a friendly guy named Jean-Marc who speaks very little English. When questioning him about this (in not so great French) his response was “c’est la France!” with an exasperated smile.  When calling the sender got me nowhere, defeated, I just prayed it would somehow show up. Well it did eventually (and six days late). I’ve since learned this is a phenomenon here and in the city people just deal with it or try and make sure they are around the day they have a delivery. I’ll chalk it up to a “wtf” (what the france) moment.

Having been without cell phone for a couple weeks (which in it’s own way was very liberating) I had decided it was time to get my international number. Silly me for thinking it might be as easy as walking in the local phone store and getting a new SIM card. Turns out in France you need a French bank account to have a phone plan. So back to square one. Walking in and out of several banks our consensus was that unlike in America the banks were not that eager to take our money. First we needed the paper-work, then we needed our lease and other documents, then after all that and getting clearance we had to make an appointment. Some banks couldn’t even pencil us in for weeks! We finally found one that seemed the least intrusive as far as requirements and made an appointment a couple days ago. My plan was to head over to the phone store immediately after seeing that now not having a phone was becoming slightly inconvenient. We had managed like the old days setting up meeting times and places but now with kids in school a local number was trés important. Well “wtf” moment number two came during the meeting when we were told that in order for our French bank account to be official we would have to wait (at the minimum) another week to receive a letter in the mail and at that time could fill out more forms and come back in for a second meeting. Bottom line, I still don’t have a phone and not sure if I ever will. Thank God, I love it here so much I can tolerate these nuances.

One of the many things I do love is that retail is booming here and you don’t see anywhere near the empty store fronts we have become accustomed to in the states-most victims to online competition. People are actually out here shopping and it’s glorious. Store front window displays are incredibly ornate and beautiful and it’s no wonder why the french phrase for window shopping is “lèche-vitrine” which literally means to lick the windows. Feeling inspired one day and tired of of wearing the same three outfits, I put a dress on and some black dress flats to go run some errands. Ok. Last “wtf”. I still can’t figure out how woman can wear flats (and I’m not even going to try to understand heels) around the city. After four blocks I felt the signs of the first blister coming on but ignored.  By the time I made it into La Grande Epicerie I was grimacing and my heels were looking unsightly. I felt every French woman’s eyes on me with what might have been pity but was probably more horror, as I limped around the aisles. At this point I abandoned my original grocery list and decided to just get the big dessert I had promised the kids (for killing them that day on a walk to Sacré-Coeur and back in sweltering heat). I went a bit overboard, partly trying to cheer myself up and also the selection was extraordinary. After ogling everything for a bit, I ended up with some artisinal ice cream that came in the most lovely white silk wrapped bag, macarons and an assortment of delicate pastries and cakes, I paid my forty euros and hobbled home.

The kids have now finished their first week of school. The transitions was mostly seamless despite the normal disruptions that occur every year from the lazy days of summer to the hustle and bustle of the school year. Iyla skipped home everyday happily telling us about all of her new friends and the countries they come from and languages they speak (the school is largely international). Cash who had been especially exhausted and admitted to even falling asleep a few times on the bus ride was more nonchalant in his response. We had witnessed in him the first signs of homesickness. Coming home one day and going straight to his room and shutting the door, broke my heart a bit. Of course we wanted his enthusiasm to be on par with his sisters but right now I surmised he just needed space, time and understanding. As I began to make dinner the doorbell rang. The kids both peeked their heads out with wonder–and then as if someone from the heavens had been looking down on us, we opened it up to find four sweet children from our building looking to see if Cash and Iyla could play in the courtyard with them. It just might have been the highlight of the week. They ended up playing for two hours with them, tag, hide and seek and lots of laughing. Our dinner sat and got cold but I let it go, I knew they needed this. When Cash walked in the door at 8:30pm his smile said it all. We were all going to be okay.