Mindy Jones is a Seattleite living in Paris for two years with her husband and two kids. Her daily life does not include romantic walks along the Seine, champagne picnics on the Pont des Arts, or five-star gourmet dinners. For a realistic take on life in a fantasy place, visit her blog, An American Mom in Paris.
Americans recovering from their Fourth of July fireworks injuries are wondering what to do with their children for the rest of the summer. In France, we’re gearing up for Bastille Day fireworks injuries–we have drunk people playing with explosives in common–but after that, we know we can dump our kids at the centre de loisirs.
The centre de loisirs, much like gourmet preschool lunch, is a brilliant benefit of high taxes. During school vacations–all school breaks, not just summer break–one or two schools in each arrondissement stay open. You can drop your kid at the school at 8:30 a.m. and people who have more energy than you will entertain them for (almost) free until 5:30 p.m., for however many days a week you need it, be it for your job or just your mental well-being.
It sounds great, and it is. The only downside to the centre de loisirs is they are chaotic, Lord of the Flies-ish anarchist communities. All the children of the arrondissement funnel into one school, through one door, into a small entry hall crammed full of check-in tables and people waving paperwork. It’s claustrophobic and loud and nobody can move. Pushing happens.
The animateurs who run the centre already look exhausted on the first day. An animateur watched my son and his friend wrestle each other to the ground on Day One (they were screaming!) and said with a sigh, “Ohhh la la.” He was probably thinking about how long summer is.
The kids come home from the centre wrecked and crabby, but they also sleep in, sometimes for the first time ever. The first morning my husband and I woke up at a leisurely 7:30 a.m., we realized our son hadn’t jumped on our bed at the crack of dawn. Alarmed that something was terribly wrong with him, we tripped over each other in our hurry to get to his room, where we found him sleeping soundly. Then we hugged in the hallway and wept at the beauty of it. Thank you, really high taxes.
Last year, I didn’t know for the longest time what my son actually did at the centre. I’d heard they did fun things but when I asked my son, I received answers like, “I was fighting and then I ran super fast and we was fighting and then I chased them and we was fighting.” Then he would grin and demand snacks.
He seemed happy enough so I figured he enjoyed all the fighting, but it was quite unsettling if that‘s really all he did all day. I pictured preschoolers cagefighting while animateurs cheered their favorite and threw bets down in a pile of euros on the ground. A disturbing mental image, but at least I was getting some time to myself.
A few weeks into the summer, my friend’s daughter began attending the centre de loisirs, too. Suddenly I was getting emails from her like, “Can you believe they went to the circus today?” and “Wow–top of the Eiffel Tower this afternoon!” Sometimes it was a boat tour on the Seine. Sometimes it was the wading pools at the Jardin du Luxembourg. It sounded like they were indeed well entertained but my son never mentioned any of it. Instead he talked at length about the giant mutant spider that crawled over the playground wall that he and his friends had to fight with their bare hands.
Depending on whose version you believe, the centre de loisirs is either a pint-sized fight club full of giant spiders or a whirlwind of exciting activities that’s a lot more fun than time with mom. (Hell no, I’m not taking him to the top of the Eiffel Tower–have you seen those lines?) Either way, the centre is a parent’s friend. The kids are happy and exhausted, the parents keep doing whatever they were doing during the school year, and then most people leave on vacation for the entire month of August.
It’s a good life but seriously, the taxes are really high.