Ups and Downs

Today, we are finally able to find an open patisserie.  G is like a kid in a candy store, or rather, like a kid in a pastry store.  After much hemming and hawing, she finally chooses a cream puff, but only after we assure her that it will be real cream, and not too sweet, since she is very sophisticated in her dislike of goopy, fake whipped cream products. 

                                (note from G): Back in SF the cream was too sweet for me
 and I did not trust it but now I trust it more.

Rather shockingly, P -- who is the biggest treat eater in our house (well, next to Anthony, who depletes desserts by half and then denies it) -- decides after 6 months of build-up and 3 days of intense pastry-hunting that she wants....a can of orange juice from the grocery store next door.  I find myself in an odd argument where I am trying to convince her to buy something sugary, but she insists her treat will be better because it is orange juice.  In a can.  Evidently, we deprive our children of packaged soft drinks. 

At the Jardin des Tuileries, they are having their annual summer fete, and this means we get to pay 12 euros per adult, and 8 per child, to ride the famous ferris wheel.  The view is priceless, as long as you don't translate 40 euros into dollars.  If you do, then the view is worth approximately $60.  The girls quickly deplete our cash, and most of our retirement savings, in order to go on various rides.  Anthony and I run into somebody we both knew at Princeton here; I have been in the country for about 48 hours so this is twice as long as it took me the last time I was in Paris to run into a friend.

      (note from G): Today at the Louvre, there was a carnival so of course we went

to the carnival and went on: 1 Ferris wheel, 1 round of bungy jumping,

1 water floom and 2 fun houses they were all super fun!!

But certainly, the most memorable part of the day is the very beginning, when G & P spend breakfast clean-up time running up and down the stairs and playing with the elevator, until P comes back up alone and solemnly informs us, "G is stuck in the elevator."  Stuck between floors, G finally gets to fulfill every child's fantasy of pushing the emergency call button.  She is remarkably calm and cheerful, and speaks with the call-button lady in French, nice as can be.  I am waiting at the bottom for the repair guy till Anthony comes down and tells me an elderly lady on the 4th floor (that's floor 5 to you and me) is waiting for the elevator.  I run up to apologize to her in French, only to find out she is not waiting to descend, but rather to chew out a French-speaker for letting our children play in the elevator, which is a no-no.  For obvious reasons.  Well, sure.  We know that now.  In mid scolding, she looks down and says in shock, "Mais Madame!  Vous avez les pieds nus!", "But Madame!  You are bare-footed!"  I point to my outfit and say, "Well, that's because I'm still in my pajamas.  I haven't dressed yet."  She shakes her head in disgust, then turns around and heads back into her apartment.  I had felt pretty guilty about my children breaking the elevator, so I'm quite pleased to find out that it is actually a minor offense when compared to slovenly dressing. 

                    (note from G):   I’m in Paris on a little street in a tiny apartment. Me and Phoebe

                                                               were playing in the elevator so much that I broke the elevator plus I got stuck in it and had to call for help!

 
The elevator is still broken later this afternoon, when we have to move 10 large pieces of luggage from our 6th floor apartment (that's 5th floor to the French) to a friend's office on the opposite side of the city.  Why?  Because it's the only place we could find to store it while we go off for a 2 week vacation to Croatia.  So now that our own children broke the elevator, and we have to haul it down by hand, it's that old lady who gets the last laugh.