The Reluctant Parisienne Goes to the Park

Our correspondent Mindy Jones is a Seattleite living in Paris for two years. When she's not busy trying to figure out what the French are saying, she's busy trying to figure out what to say to the French. She posts frequently at An American Mom in Paris. Previously in Reluctant Parisienne posts.

We were stunned and slightly embarrassed. Considering my familiarity with Paris, Alex’s first language being French, and our hilarious overconfidence in our abilities, we assumed we would handle our move to France with enviable grace and flexibility. We knew it would not be effortless, of course, but we thought it would be effort-not-bad, and perhaps even effort-fun.

False. No matter who you are and where you go, an international move is like being a newborn baby without a mommy. Your surroundings are new and confusing, no one makes any sense  and you cry easily and often, without shame. Thankfully the need for diapers doesn’t creep back in, which was surprising in our case considering public toilets in Paris are as elusive as berets on native French speakers.

After the first painful month, the haze lifted just a tiny bit. I learned to accept the sinking heart feeling when I tried to speak French and got only forehead creases and blank faces in response. My jaw stopped dropping when I saw how much I owed for groceries. I made a new friend when I accidentally told our building maintenance man I loved him. “Je t’aime” is one of the phrases that comes easily to me in French and thus slips out at inopportune times, especially when I’m flustered.

Big personality!

There were bigger things that were more intense. Lucien got scary sick and I didn’t know who to call for help. (I’ve since tattooed the French emergency numbers on my phone-dialing finger.)

Alex’s job turned out to be more demanding than he’d anticipated and he worked longer hours than in Seattle.  When we asked a French friend about the much ballyhooed French 35-hour work week, she laughed and told us that only applies to jobs that “do not matter.” Alex did not take comfort in the fact that he mattered, and apparently mattered a lot.

We moved into our permanent apartment, an apartment for which we’d fought desperately a few months earlier on our pre-move apartment scouting trip.

Apartment hunting in Paris is a competitive, tedious and humbling process. Even with a relocation company advocate by our side and Alex’s employer paying the rent, our dossier was rejected a couple dozen times before we were tossed a bone. But what a bone. She’s small but what she lacks in size, she makes up in personality.  

Our new neighborhood park was the stunning Jardin du Luxembourg. One day we met an old Seattle friend and his French wife there so our kids could take a spin on the ancient wooden merry-go-round. I tied Lucien to a decrepit old horse with a leather strap, went to watch from a safe distance and hoped for the best. I said to French wife, "Man, that thing’s a lawsuit waiting to happen."

She asked what I meant by that and when I explained, she said Americans are afraid of everything and don’t let their kids have any fun. She may have a point but I can’t help it; my culture has wired me to point out all that is scary and litigation-worthy.

The children riding on the outermost row of horses received sticks. The idea was to spear little metal rings held out by the carousel operator. Lucien stared at his stick with furrowed brow. He couldn’t understand what the other children were doing with their sticks but he knew it was very important and wanted to be part of it. So when it was his turn, instead of using the stick to snag some rings, Lucien used it to hit the man who was holding them out.  

We jumped up and ran towards the carousel, waving our arms and yelling, “No no no no!” The man's eyes widened and he ducked every time the Loosh came around with his stick arm wound up and ready to fly.  

Yes indeed, things were starting to calm down a little. But sometimes there are other things that creep up and blindside you in a period of (relative) calm. One of those things had its sights set on us. What we didn’t know yet, as we chased Lucien ‘round and ‘round on the carousel yelling and waving our arms, is that I was unexpectedly knocked up in Paris.