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February 3, 2010

Finally got the big girl bed set up. Queenie helped by pretending to screw things into the screws that I had already gotten in. I’m not sure what exactly she was pretending but every once and awhile she would pick up her cell phone (old, unconnected), dial and talk in a disciplinary tone saying, “No, no, no. Esta? Oh. BYE!” Perhaps she was letting her father know that her mother also swears and that he shouldn’t let me get away with yelling at him when he starts stringing along his Spanish swear words just because Barcelona makes a goal or his Real Madrid doesn’t. …Perhaps that is a whole different topic.

At any rate a few calluses more on my fingers later the big girl bed is set up. It already has orange and black crayon marked on the mattress since the first thing she did was fling herself on her stomach and start coloring the IKEA instruction booklet, accidentally marking the mattress in the process. Oh, well. She tried to color right on the white plastic that covers the wood which got a swift, “NO!” from her mommy. I do agree with her in that the white is quite glaring and perhaps it would look better with a bit of color, but the last thing that we need is her thinking she can color on whatever she thinks needs a little more decoration.

I just ate three mini mars bars and I think I might throw up, except that I won’t. But I certainly don’t feel the best right now. Why do I do this? It’s like an addiction: I need to eat something sweet after lunch and when I have no baked goods lying around I turn to chocolate. Don’t even ask me why I have mini candy bars around. I shouldn’t I bought them about five months ago and found them again in the move. Just as I’m in the last trimester when you gain the most I find mini candy bars in my boxes.

We went exploring again today for the Rue de Strasbourg market. (Errr. There is a protest marching through our street right now with drums, a megaphone and everything. I knew that the French were all about protests, but seriously? At nap time? Apparently they don’t appreciate siestas like the Spanish do. It’s something about the Social Health, but my French isn’t good enough to understand what their sign says.) The dumb thing is that I allowed Queenie to go on our walk with her beep-beep (tricycle) which has this long handle that allows me to push her since she still doesn’t really understand pedaling, but it is a pain in the buttocks to steer. In all actuality I don’t have any control on the steering, Queenie does. Which seems stupid to me. If the child still needs help being pushed, wouldn’t you think they might need help steering, too? So we go through the streets at a very slow pace so that we don’t run into other people and I can try (breathing in deeply and reminding myself to have some patience) to teach her to look ahead, go straight or turn left or right. We are still trying to figure that all out. But in the end it doesn’t matter because she wanted off the stupid thing only a little over half way to our destination. But she didn’t want to walk either, she wanted Dee-dee and to be held. And she wouldn’t move unless I held her. Great. Another deep breath. Good thing I got a lot of sleep last night. Did I mention that she slept the entire night until 6:45am? Yes, yes, yes!

Somehow we ended up again in Place du Wilson and the carousel was working. Her excitement was too much for me to resist so I paid the 2Euro (!) for her to have a ride. I had to get one too to keep her in place and honestly thought I was going to fall over from the dizziness. I was watching the Plaza run circles around me instead of looking ahead into the carousel, which was probably the problem. But of course I didn’t get that until almost the end of the ride, just when I thought I couldn’t handle another loop around. After we got down (very little whining from Queenie, much to my surprise) I gathered up my courage and asked the kind woman in charge how to get to the Rue de Strasbourg, to the market. She advised me to take the metro because it was too far to walk with la petite fille (little girl). Metro B, she told me, the stop is Jean D’Arc. Metro B is right next to our house, so, in my own logic, I decided not to go but to leave it for another day in order to go from our house directly there. Well? Who wants to figure out the metro with a little girl who wants to be held in one hand and an empty tricycle in the other? So we went to the Marche Victor Hugo, which our friend claims has the best prices, and bought just a few things. And guess what? On the way back, looking at the prices at the market that is right in front of my house, the market that our friend claims is the most expensive, I saw that I could have paid less or the same for all the things I bought half a kilometer away! I’m still going to check out the market at Rue de Strasbourg because it is the actual farmers who go there to sell, but if there isn’t much of a difference I am going to stick to the market in front of my house. Obviously!

Tonight our big job is to get a cell phone. A: so that we can talk to each other without paying out the whazoo on our Spanish cell phone and B: so that I can call the Mothers and Toddlers group that is listed in our welcome package. Maybe we can even find a playgroup for next week.

Right now it’s time for a nap. This moving stuff is exhausting. And we still have to unpack our clothes. Well, we first have to put together the armoires and then unpack our clothes. Sounds like fun, right?

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