To crepe or not to crepe

So I've returned from Paris. I'd like to say that I feel thoroughly refreshed and relaxed and thrilled to be back. But I can say none of those things. It's not that Paris wasn't good. It was. Very cold. Lots of walking. Lots of eating. Even more drinking. But good.

However, going out looking glam two nights in a row for someone who seldom gets the chance to wave a mascara wand near her face is hard work. Walking about 8 miles in artic winds, trying to keep warm and still look glamorous is also hard work. Trying to make yourself understood when the only French you know is limited to hello, good bye, please, thank you, coffee and the bill is another thing that falls into the hard work genre. Particularly when the people you're trying to talk to look at you as though you've just been scraped off someone's shoe.

So it's a good tired, but a tired person I am none the less. And joy of deep joys, it appears that I either ate a dodgy baguette or got coughed on by someone sporting a diarrhea bug but I've become best friends with the bog since my return. Nice. It certainly ends the weekend on a romantic note.

While away I missed my children. Not on the first night or even much of the first day. Or even the second night. But by day two I was starting to have a few pangs of maternal missing-ness. And it was lovely to see the boys on our return. For the first five minutes. Then I wanted to get back on the train and return to rude waiters and gastro-laced crepes.

You see small boys are very good at wearing out their cute quotient in a hurry. We presented them with a few French chocolates, which they guzzled and then declared them defunct as they hadn't magically taught them to speak French. After that it all went down hill. I think children save their extra specially delightful behaviour for their parents as the childminder says they were a dream all weekend. Tonight ended with me having to get son 1's teeth dislodged from son 2's leg because apparently son 2 was sitting on son 1 and the reason he was apparently doing that was because son 1 wouldn't let son 2 look at the book. And that was just one of many 'welcome home mummy' incidents.

My poor husband whose birthday it is today is having to buy a ready meal curry from Sainsbury's for his birthday dinner as I am not up to much more than a slice of bread. Which is awful as we have a fridge full of lovely French cheese and saucisson. Sigh.

So on that cheery note I'm going to go downstairs and attempt to eat something and see how long it takes before it re-emerges in the world.

Au revoir - I'm off to Paris

Speed blogging because in 1 hours time I need to be catching a train and I still have to get dressed, make a bed up, finish packing and drive to the station. That's because I'm off to Paris for a dirty weekend. Yes folks, first time in five years that my husband and I are actually going away for TWO WHOLE NIGHTS without the children. I'm not actually sure what we'll talk about come to think of it (but I guess dirty weekends aren't really about talking). We might go into shock having to spend 48 hours together without anyone asking us to peel the wax off their babybel or wipe their bum. But we're willing to risk it.

Of course my husband has had to pack himself a bag and head off to work, while I have had to call in the national guard for advice on the logistics of going away for two days leaving our children in someone else's care. Trying to coordinate who picks up which child where and where the rendezvous point will be and where to leave a key and what bags need packing and what meals need to be prepared - I am already in need of my first bottle of French bubbly and it's not even 9.30am.

What's more, the childminder will be staying at our house but this has meant an early morning spring clean to get the worst of the crunchy bits up off the floor and I actually made the kids beds today for the first time ever because I'd like her to think that I always do instead of being the slob I actually am. I've left the kids with strict instructions on how they need to help her out and to remember their manners and to not pee in their pants and to eat what they're given without saying it's disgusting. But they were busy trying to balance balloons on their heads at the time so I doubt too much of it went in. Good luck the childminder.

Anyway, I've decided that my weekend in Paris is not going to be a mammoth citywide dash trying to take in every site their is. It's going to be a leisurely stroll around with many stops for refreshments. My biggest challenge has been what to wear. I'll be doing lots of walking outside so I need comfy shoes and a warm coat. But this is Paris. I can't don my normal yeti attire and hope to not incur the wrath of the Parisian fashionistas so I've tried to come up with something that looks tres trendy and chic but still meets my practical requirements. I fear I'm going to fail on both fronts.

But who cares. I have two whole days without children. And did I mention I was going to Paris?

Kiss kiss