Fleeing Paris

\ VELCRO CHILDREN Here’s a fun development – Petite refuses to take the elevator, as does her father. But at least her dad will walk up and down the stairs by himself. Petite is terrified to be apart from me which means me schlepping Miss Pudding and stroller up and down stairs or persuading Petite to go down the stairs and we will meet her via elevator. Somehow we all get up to our room where I dump them both on the bed and put Angelina Ballerina on the Ipad, realizing they haven’t eaten since croissants this morning. Which Miss Pudding refused. They both refused lunch in Montmartre and now there is no way I can shlep them back out and down the streets to a restaurant. Luckily, I have WIFI and remember how to order pizza (which is not an easy task in Paris) to be delivered. Both kids are famished but refuse to eat the pizza because it has TINY specks of oregano on it. Which I attempt to pick off but try picking pieces of herbs out of melted cheese. I decide there is no way I can manage another day of this. It is too hot and why oh why is it so impossible for me to get my kids even down the street here? People LIVE here. I lived here. And it was impossible. HOW do other mothers here manage? FLEEING PARIS It is Weds night and the current plan is for Hubbie to return by train late Friday night. Then we will leave and head back to Italy and Villa San Lorenzo Friday night or Saturday morning. Unfortunately, we have just realized that Saturday begins the final big vacation week in France, and thus, all of Paris will be evacuating. The roads will be packed. Traffic will be awful. And there is no a/c in our car. Apparently ,even if we leave at midnight on Friday, we risk being stuck in awful traffic. I formulate a plan. I will drive the girls to Lyon tomorrow, spend the next day with them there and Hubbie will meet us there instead of returning to Paris. This means we will leave before the Friday rush and I will drive five of the 8 hours towards home at Villa San Lorenzo. Ironically, after a year of questioning my decision to leave Paris, all I want to do is get somewhere cooler and calmer. We will stay somewhere inexpensive with a pool. Doesn’t matter where since it just needs to be on the route to Italy, and easy for Hubbie to get to after his shoot. If there’s a pool, I can hunker down with the girls. An American acquaintance from Paris has just bought a little house in Burgundy. Petite and M.P. had met her two daughters and played together when we lived in Paris. Mary mentions that they have a pool and trampoline. When I realize they are on route to Lyon, I figure that will be a perfect play stop on our way. Break up the ride for the girls and give them a playdate. First though, I have to get the kids, and our luggage into the car. For other people this would be easy. We lucked out in parking the car RIGHT outside the hotel door. All any normal person would have to do is put the luggage (in addition to my bag and the kids’ we have Hubbie’s photography suitcase and three boxes of wine he has picked up) into the elevator, send it down, load the car. Kids can watch a movie while I am doing this. But no, Petite insists on being velcroed to me. Even when I go into the bathroom (in our teeny tiny hotel room) she insists that I keep talking to her so that she knows I am there. Where would I go? I ask. She is afraid that I will leave. She seems obsessed with the idea that I am going to split without them. So there I am, chattering away while in the shower, on the toilet, brushing my teeth. Now I have to get the luggage downstairs. I suggest that the girls sit in the lobby – where they can look through the glass door and watch me load the car. No, they refuse to either stay in the room while I schlep the luggage downstairs OR sit in the lobby. Petite is terrified of the elevator. I show her the alarm button and explain that I have a phone and if anything happened, the receptionist would come help us. She is not buying it. Somehow, I get both girls, two duffel bags, two back packs filled with kid paraphernalia, the stroller, Hubbie’s heavy photo case and three boxes of wine into the tiny elevator which really has room enough for two anorexic short people. I have to make it in one trip or schlep the girls back upstairs with me. We make it down to the lobby and unload. I’m exhausted and can’t believe we haven’t even begun our five-hour drive. M.P. finally concedes to sit on the chair in the lobby, sucking on her bottle while watching Petite and me load the car three feet away, just on the other side of the glass door. I shove the luggage in, stuff the wine boxes under the girls’ feet and strap them in. Now I have to navigate. #Paris #travel with children #motherhood #travel France #29VSL #ClayPix