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La crème.

So the crazy La Leche League lady who came over to when le bébé was first born recently sent a text to check in. I call her “crazy” because while she was indeed very helpful in terms of making me not cry every time I had to feed my child, she also felt strongly that…

La ferme.

This past weekend was absolutely perfect for apple picking. Blue skies, crisp air, golden sunlight that makes everything look ten times more pretty than it really is. So we decided to try our luck at Les Fermes de Gally – a lovely little spot about 20 miles outside of Paris that has orchards, veggie patches, flower…

Boob tube.

When we first moved here, Husband and I went straight to Darty to buy ourselves a new European TV. If that sentence makes no sense to you, it’s OK — I’ll translate: Darty is the French equivalent of Best Buy. Here’s a tip: Don’t ever, EVER attempt to return something to Darty, unless you want…

Moules. Frites. And one happy Husband.

This is what happens when you live in France and your baby sleeps 10 hours one night and zero hours the next: Pumped up on adrenaline from the wacky sleep schedule you take a walk through the market and decide to buy 2 kilos of fresh mussels. The guy looks at you funny when you…

True love.

When I first met Husband I thought he was the worst dancer I had ever seen. I mean, he didn’t leave me much choice, cornering me on the dance floor with hip thrusts and pumping fists. But just a couple years later, I realized I didn’t really want to dance with anyone else but him.…

The countdown.

I officially have less than 2 months left here in Paris. TWO MONTHS. Deux mois. C’est pas possible! Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was sulking about my language skills and dog-poo covered sidewalks? I swear it wasn’t so long ago that my wallet was stolen by a 4 foot tall pick-pocket. And didn’t my…

My hope for the future.

So last week I was busy telling you how much of a loser I’ve become since parenthood struck. Or maybe my inner loserdom has just now come to fruition. Either way, I can only hope that someday things will turn around- that I’ll once again be able to get dressed before 3pm, and string together…

Fine French Dining: Hospital style

    And now for the final installment of my accouchement story: the part where I talk about the food! Yes, only in France would a story about giving birth include an entire chapter on what I ate during my 4 day sojourn at the hospital. That’s right: 4 whole days. None of this booting…

Accouchement: Part Deux

I’m taking this brief moment of quiet and clarity (thank you 4.5 hours of sleep! Yes, 4.5 hours. I am now grateful for 4.5 hours of sleep. Cripes.) to finish telling you the story of how le bébé made her grande entrance. Please excuse any typos, because I’m most likely typing this with one hand…