...and we're back! ...toilet paper...

We apologize for the interruption but sometimes "life" needs to take precedence.  (L here)

My first post back is about toilet paper.  Really, you say?  Toilet paper?  You have been gone for a couple months and you are trying to satisfy me with a post about toilet paper???  Yes.  It has been on my mind as a blog post for about the past two months.  Yes, really, it has.  You see - I grew up with plain, white toilet paper.  I do recall in the 80s that there were scented toilet paper "holders" that had little beads in them...but beyond that it was plain, white toilet paper.  The only decisions that need to be made were soft, double ply, no fizzle...you know the important things!

Here - there are quite a few choices for toilet paper but just not the same choices...  little individual squares that go in a special holder (which actually came with our apartment) or regular roll - pink, white, purple, designs, and then my favorite - the kind that you can flush the toilet paper roll instead of recycling it.  I laughed when I first saw ALL of the different colored toilet paper and thought people don't really buy those, do they???  Yes, I have actually been to a few different toilet rooms here that have something other than "white".

We have occasionally ended up with pink toilet paper when we were ordering our groceries even though I "chose" the white with the flushable roll not the pink.  It happens.  About a month ago, the only "economical" choice was a variety pack with designs on them.  This is where it gets really interesting...  they were almost all different and not cutesy little flowers or stripes or other things you might think you would want to wipe your butt with...no they had character.  Lots and lots of character.  I guess that is what I would call it...  Well, today, I opened a new roll and I had to do a double take...  Yes, this is my toilet paper.  Perhaps the most inappropriate toilet paper I have seen, yet.  No, we did not buy this at Spencer's.  We bought it at our tiny grocer down the street.

 

I will leave you with a few extra pictures of our toilet paper...we had a lot more but I have no idea where we put the rest of the pictures...

Tour de France

So far, this year has been pretty good for sports spectating.  Rugby 6 nations tournament, Tour de France... and in less than two weeks, London Olympics!  Ok, so we don't technically have tickets for anything in London (yet... if anyone wants to hook us up... hint, hint), but F and I did get to go see the Tour on Sunday.  And it's free!

We are super fortunate that the final Stage of the Tour passes about 10km from our apartment, right on the train line from our place.  The Tour is a funny spectator sport, because you wait around for 3 hours or so, and the bikes literally pass by in about 90 seconds, total.  But no matter, there's lots to do on the sidelines.  About 90 minutes before the riders come through, the official Tour Caravan comes whizzing by.  Yes, whizzing - there's no slowing down here.  If this was in the States, I guarantee you there would be an injured kid and a lawsuit.  Here, the police drive by first and bark out over loudspeakers to keep your kids on the sidewalk.  And good thing, because the caravan trucks (Tour sponsor companies) pass by way faster than I would have expected, throwing stuff out the windows of the tricked-out trucks to the spectators.  Keychains, magnets, stickers, laundry soap, flags, hats.  We scored (or, rather F scored) some serious loot!

Pleeeease!  Give us free stuffffff!

What's funny is that in the States, cycling is a rather elite sport.  Here, it's the sport of the common people.  The sponsors are all of the major brands of working-class France.  Supermarket-brand dried sausages, cola-flavored syrups to add to your bottled water, Nesquik, even the official baguette (the Banette) of the Tour. 

So, F and I went, and waited.  And waited.  And since F slept for most of that time, I got to enjoy some adult company, an awesome picnic spread complete with hot coffee, and tasted my first steak tartare.  Nevermind that it was homemade, came out of a big mixing bowl, and I cannot guarantee that it had been properly refrigerated - the flavor was actually delicious.  The texture.... well, it may take some getting used to.

Wait... here come the cyclists!  Go!  Go!  Goooooo!

And then, in 90 seconds, it was over.  But the spare bikes that went by next were pretty sweet too.

Lots of fun.  Lots of sun.  Great way to spend a Sunday afternoon!

- E

"Home"

E here.  I've been back in France for a whole three weeks now; L and the boys are still in Arizona and will be back this Sunday.  It's been strange being here without them, and strange but familiar being back in France after such an extended vacation back home. 

Home.

Where is home, exactly?  When we were making the decision to pull up our roots and move to France, we told ourselves that we'd be back home to visit once a year.  At the time it didn't occur to me that we have so many places to call home, that we would never be able to visit them all on a yearly basis. The geographic spread is impressive:

- L's family is in Arizona, Texas, and Kentucky, with a small contingent in Oklahoma

- My family is in Montreal and Virginia

- Our house and much of our hugely important family of incredible friends are in Portland, Oregon and Vancouver, Washington

- Add to that sizable friend contingents in the Washington, DC area, a dear group of my close friends in Durham, North Carolina, and a handful of L's childhood close friends in Albuquerque, New Mexico. 

And that's just naming the places where we have lots of people we love - dense concentrations of people who have played a huge role in our pasts, our present, and who will without a doubt continue to be hugely important to us in the future.  

I haven't done the math on the mileage between these places, but in any case the spread is impressive.  We pretty much hit most corners of the continent.  On one hand, it is a testament to our travels, to our amazing family and friends, and to the rich and ever-changing lives L and I lived before we met.  On the other hand, it means that we will never, ever succeed in going "home" every year. 

And while France does not yet feel like home (and I am not sure if it ever truly will), there are some parts of our neighborhood that are becoming more familiar, more home-like.  A new butcher has opened up, even closer than the ones we already have, and while I have only been in there 4 or 5 times since coming back, the men who work the counter are starting to recognize me as a regular.  I even got free merguez sausages the other day with my chicken breast.  My morning walk with the dogs has become so familiar that I know where to look for the snails as they cross the sidewalk in the morning, and can predict which dog/owner combinations I will run into depending on how early I actually get out of bed.  My bike ride to work is almost ritual now in its familiarity, and I can pretty much time my arrival to the minute.  The thumbtack that has been sitting on the concrete floor of our building's basement is still there, and I reflexively steer my bike around it every morning and evening.  Why I don't just pick it up is beyond me.

When L arrives this Sunday, I am hoping that at least a handful of things will feel comforting and familiar to her, too, but I am also well aware that after spending the last two months surrounded by family and friends, she may not be all that thrilled to be back here.  The apartment will probably feel even smaller than it is, and the transition from constantly being surrounded by loved ones to our rather solitary life here will probably be challenging for all of us.  Shortly after we arrived, a colleague told me that the first couple months in a new country are always tough, but at least you expect them to be.  The bigger challenge, he said, was the second and third waves of hard times that hit only when you feel like you might finally be settling in.  These waves of longing for the familiar are almost worse, because they creep up when you no longer expect them.  The good news is that we have some short excursions planned for the next few months that will hopefully help to remind us all of the awesome parts about living abroad, like the fact that London is a mere 2.5 hours (and 88 Euros) away, and that the quality/price ratio of wine, bread, and produce here is so much higher than in the States or Canada.  Or that we can visit the Louvre or wander down the banks of Seine anytime we want.  Or that we don't have to pay for gas, ever, because we have no car. 

A few steps forward, a couple of steps back... but hopefully we are moving in the right direction.

- E

North American Hiatus

Things that have happened in the past week:

- We failed to obtain B's mandatory French travel document (Titre d'Identité Républicain or TIR, the document for kids born in France but who are not French citizens) due to a computer glitch between the OFII (immigration office) and the prefecture.

- One of our dogs ate an entire bar of dark chocolate, got theobromine poisoning, was rescued by the 24-hour mobile veterinarian service in the Paris region (pumped full of fluids, activated charcoal, and paraffin oil at 3am, in our living room), 6 hours before our taxi was scheduled to take us to the airport.

- We watched from an airport café as 20 police clad with batons and riot shields stood around doing nothing while hundreds of loud angry men blew air horns, whistles, and vuvuzelas in the airport terminal, disrupting the ability to get through security and probably causing some hearing loss to themselves and us.

- We left on vacation anyway. 

North American hiatus lasts until the end of June.  A bientôt!

Politics

The presidential election has come and gone, and we are on to legislative elections here in France.  This is a big deal, because the president can get a whole lot more accomplished if he also has a majority in the legislative assembly.  That being said, campaigning is in full force, the first round of legislative elections is in a couple of weeks, and on nice weekend days at the market it's hard to make it through the entrance without 5 flyers being shoved in your face. A few days ago, at a particularly busy street corner, I decided to stop and have a chat with one of the guys handing out flyers for Nicolas Sarkozy's party, the UMP.  Until May, UMP controlled both the legislature and the presidency.  Now that the presidency has shifted to the socialist party, the UMP's new campaign strategy is to argue that in order for France to be balanced, there should be a split between the party of the president and the party controlling the assembly.  Predictably, when they controlled both the presidency and the assembly, they didn't think that one party holding all the power was such a bad thing.

Me: (smiling) "UMP, right?"
UMP Guy: (also smiling) "Yes!"
Me: "I have a message for you to bring back to your campaign."
(UMP Guy's smile fades a bit) 
"I am a lesbian, and this is my son."
(UMP Guy's smile disappears completely and he starts looking around uncomfortably)
"And your party thinks that I should have no legal right to be his parent."
UMP Guy: "No, that's not us, that was the far right --"
Me: "No way.  Your party was in power. Your party controlled government."
UMP Guy: "Well, it is not on our agenda."
Me: "Well, until my family is on your agenda, you will never, ever receive a UMP vote from me.  Have a nice day."

Nevermind that I have absolutely no right to vote here... but he doesn't need to know that.

- E 

François Hollande, Président

For those of you in North America (who have more than likely not been following French politics) - the second (and deciding) round of the French presidential elections was held today.  The run-off pitted incumbent president Nicolas Sarkozy against Socialist party candidate François Hollande.  It's been interesting following the politics here, as left and right are not nearly as clear-cut as in the States.  This election was fought along many lines, including but not limited to the economy, immigration, and social policies.  As we couldn't vote, we were only able to observe as the French citizens cast their ballots that would determine our future here alongside theirs.  Of primary interest to us was the impact that the next president would have on our lives in France: right to immigration, right to marriage, right to both legally parent our kids.  

And tonight, in our own quiet apartment, with little F's head resting on my shoulder, far from the parties in Paris and around the country, we celebrated.  A victory by François Hollande means, for us, the possibility of our marriage being recognized and of my parental rights being upheld.  For countless gay and lesbian French couples who did not have the privilege of marrying abroad, this victory may mean the right to marry, to seek reproductive assistance, and to build their own families.  Of course, time will tell - but as I sit here with my glass of cider, listening to Hollande give his victory speech, I am filled with a hope similar to what I felt on the night I watched Obama win the presidency.  While I feel that in the States we still have a long way to go, I am hopeful that relatively rapid social change can take place here.  In a pre-election document addressed to the LGBT wing of the Socialist party, Hollande lays out pretty straightforward answers to some questions that carry enormous weight for my family, and for other GLBT families and individuals:

(Note: these are my translations, and I have shortened the answers for clarity - the original text can be found at http://ddata.over-blog.com/xxxyyy/0/46/85/86/questions_HES_reponses_FH_2012.pdf)

Will you open civil marriage to all couples?  If yes, when? "Yes, in 2012."

Will you open second-parent adoption to same-sex couples? If yes, when? "Yes, in 2012."

Will you open assisted reproduction to all women - by anonymous donor or by known donor - without discrimination? If yes, when? "Yes, starting in 2012."

Will you align legislative and legal texts so that "gender identity" is equivalent to "sexual orientation" when it comes to discrimination or violence? If yes, when?  "Yes, in 2012."

Will you end the exclusion of gays from blood donation?  If yes, when? "Yes, starting in 2012, because it is a discrimination that has no scientific justification, and rests upon the confusion between 'sexual orientation' and 'sexual behavior'."

No president has been, is, or ever will be a perfect candidate.  But tonight, when it comes to my family, Hollande comes pretty damn close.  And tonight, pretty damn close is good enough for me.

- E

Adventures at the U.S. Embassy

I know, I know, it's been a good two weeks since we have managed to post here.  It's been a bit busy here the past two weeks.  My (E's)  "paternity leave" ended and it was time to head back to work, which also means it was time for L to fly solo at home with the two littles.  Needless to say, it's been an adjustment.  Add to this two solid weeks of rainy weather and it's been a challenge just keeping up with the house (wishful thinking).  And, in all honesty, though I thought many times about posting an update, there just wasn't much to write about.  Days with an infant are at the same time unpredictable and routine, and other than a couple of trips into Paris we've just been laying low.

Our biggest adventure lately was heading to the U.S. Embassy to register B's birth.  Children born to Americans abroad must be registered at the Embassy in order to get a Consular Report of Birth Abroad.  This allows us to apply for his passport (necessary for our upcoming trip to Canada and the U.S.) as well as his social security number.  The process is pretty straightforward: after the birth, you make an appointment with the Embassy (be warned that appointments for the U.S. Embassy in Paris fill up about a month in advance!), fill out the requisite applications, and show up at the Embassy with the French birth certificate as well as proof of the parents' citizenship.  If you are in a hurry to get a passport, it is worth your while to keep checking the appointment website even after making an initial appointment, because canceled appointment slots re-open often.  We were able to shave a week off our initial appointment date by checking regularly - and it's a good thing we did...

We got to the Embassy about 30 minutes before our appointment with our carefully-prepared documents.  L and I had both checked over everything twice to ensure that we had filled everything out properly.  After waiting an hour or so at the Embassy, but before our number was called, I suddenly realized that ohmygodweforgothisbirthcertificate!  Yes, really.  Despite our careful checking and double checking, B's birth certificate was sitting in our apartment, an hour away from the Embassy.  My heart fell into my stomach.  Since our flight to Canada is in less than 4 weeks, and it takes 14 days to get the passport, and about a month to reschedule an appointment, we decided that our only option to play dumb.  We headed to the counter when our number was called, handed over all of our forms, and then reenacted our panicked moment 10 minutes before, when we actually realized his birth certificate was missing.  And score!  The agent helping us was sympathetic, took our application materials, and told us to just mail the certificate in the next day.

Yeah!  We were home free!

... or were we?

About 20 minutes later we got called back to a second window, where L was to be sworn in as the final formality.  Since L is the only parent on the French birth certificate, and is therefore officially a single mother, she also needed to prove physical presence in the U.S. for at least a year prior to B's birth.  Incidentally, married women do not need to provide this documentation - nevermind that we are married!  Fortunately we had come armed with utility bills and tax documents that should provide the necessary documentation.  We figured that was the last hurdle.  The agent helping us, however, asked to swear me in as well.  He then explained to us that he wanted to see if there was any way to put my name on the Consular Report of Birth Abroad as well as on B's passport application.  If we ever move back to the U.S., the CRBA essentially becomes B's defacto birth certificate, so having both of our names on it would be a really, really big deal.  Because we are Registered Domestic Partners in Oregon, had B been born in Oregon we both would be on his birth certificate, so being on the CRBA would essentially be the same thing.  The agent told us that he wanted to seek some guidance from the head office in Washington D.C. on how to proceed with our paperwork, and to see if there was any legal reasoning that would allow my name to appear.  We may need to make another appearance at the Embassy, and it means we are cutting it waaaay too close for comfort to our departure date, but globally this is actually really great news.  I will post updates on this as we get more news from the Embassy, as this could have important ramifications for other same-sex families who have children abroad.

On another note, B is officially one month old today (already!).  To celebrate... I am heading to bed.  Nights are sporadic these days, and this mommy needs all the sleep she can get.

- E

Little Guy needs a Speedo.

I took the little guy to the swimming pool here a couple of days ago.  Actually, I should say swimming pools - our local sports center is HUGE and includes 3 pools (50m olympic, 25m, and kiddie pool).  We only tried out the kiddie pool, but I am looking forward to getting into the larger pool for some laps, one of these days.

The little one LOVED the community pool in Portland (and who wouldn't?  It had a 3 story waterslide!) but it has sadly been 6 months.  In toddler time, this basically means we are starting from scratch in terms of comfort-level in the water.  We definitely need to get back more regularly. 

As with every adventure here, though, things at the pool are a little different.  First off, the changing rooms.  As I walked in, I noticed that everyone was actually obeying the rule to take your shoes off before going into the locker room.  Fair enough.  I sat down, took both of our shoes off, and then proceeded to walk into the locker room... through the 4 inch deep, 5 foot wide moat of pool water that separates the locker room from the entry area.  These guys aren't kidding about taking off your shoes.  I didn't think to look down, so the little one and I had 4 soggy inches of pants apiece.  Ah well, chalk it up to inexperience.  Then, I enter the locker room and see a dad and his son.  Wrong locker room?  Nope.  Coed!  The locker room is coed, but ringed by individual changing cubicles.  Which is logical, really, because the pool is coed.  Why should the space where you store your clothes be any different?  But coming from a country where I have never, ever seen a coed locker room, again, it just takes a little mental readjustment.  Oh well.  I put the little guy in his swim diaper and trunks, and off we went, through another 4 inch, 5 foot moat of pool water to get out to the pool deck. 

Then, into the pool.  The little guy was content hanging out on the first step (in 3 inches of water) for the first 15 minutes.  After a couple of minutes, the lifeguard approached me and told me she was very sorry, but that only bathing suits could be worn in the pool and that they do not allow boxer shorts.  Boxer shorts?  It took me a second to realize she was referring to the little guy's swim trunks.  Then it dawned on me that every single guy there, from 2 to 99, was wearing a speedo.  No exceptions.  I explained to the lifeguard that this actually was a bathing suit.  She was astounded.  "I've never seen one of these before," she said.  "What country is it from?"

Since I don't want to have to explain this to every lifeguard at every city pool, I guess we'll be getting the little guy a speedo.

- E

Doctor's Office

Yesterday, when the littlest man was just a week old, we had a doctor's appointment for his big brother.  He has had a raging diaper rash that has not responded to traditional ointments or anti-fungal creams, and so we decided to get a second opinion.  It was his first appointment with a new doctor, and one we hoped would become our equivalent of a primary care physician, so we decided that it would be helpful if we all went to meet her.  Incidentally, her office is right next to the amazing school that we want to send the boys to.  It is only 5km from here, but due to its location in a small town, it involves riding 3 busses to get there.  And yesterday, that meant in the rain.  So we set off, L only 1 week post partum, carrying an umbrella and with the tiny man snuggled on her chest in an Ergo baby carrier, his big brother in a stroller covered with a raincover, and me in a raincoat.  We managed all 3 busses just fine, and found the doctor's office with little trouble.

Then, we entered the waiting room.  Waiting rooms are TINY here.  They are the size of the bathrooms in many American houses.  A half dozen chairs are crammed into the tiny space, and they are usually all taken.  There is no receptionist.  And the room is usually dead silent.  Even the kids are quiet, sitting patiently next to their parents or reading books.  Then, we showed up.  Our toddler decided to play with the train set that was provided (though given the lack of floor space, it seems like an odd choice for a waiting room).  He tried several times to dump the entire basket of train track pieces out onto the ground, and then proceeded to build a track that took up half of the floor.  At least he was doing it relatively quietly... but we were relieved when the doctor popped her head out of her office door and welcomed us in.

Doctors offices here hold their work desks as well as an examining table.  While we sat at her desk to give her his medical history, I happened to glance over at big brother as he was playing on the floor, and noticed an enormous brown volcano bubbling out the top of his diaper, up his shirt, down his pants, and plopping large chunks onto the floor.  Holy poopocalypse, batman!  I jumped up and tried to stop the mess, but this worked about as well as when I tried to catch his vomit in my hands two nights ago.  Ultimately, we ended up with crap all over my pants, my shirt, the floor, his shirt, his pants, and over most of his body.  I apologized profusely as I tried to wipe the poop up off her bamboo floor with my pathetic bum wipes.  Being the super prepared parents that we are (ha!), we had packed a change of clothes for the infant, but not for the toddler.  The visit ended with the doctor lecturing us for letting our little guy eat too much yogurt ("really, how could you let him eat that much yogurt?", she scolded us), prescribing 80€ of probiotics and two creams to tame his poor diaper rash, and telling us to stop all dairy products for two weeks.  For a little guy who LOVES his cheese, and in a country with so many delicious choices, this just sounds cruel, but we are going to try it.  We ultimately left the office with him wearing his pants and jacket, but no shirt, and with me smelling like a bag of dirty diapers, and still needing to stop at the pharmacy, the grocery store, AND take three busses to get home.  Oh, the joys!

- E

Russia?

Sidenote post - I was looking through our blog stats and noticed that after the USA, Canada, and France, most of our pageviews come from Russia.  Very cool!  So, to our Russian reader(s), hello and thanks for reading!  If you don't mind, I would love to hear how you found our blog!

Playgrounds and Parakeets

Blog post double header today - here is the first post of (hopefully) two, provided that the little one (well, actually, now our big one!) stays napping.

On that note: I was refering to our toddler son as the "little one" on the blog, but now he has competition in the form of our littlest man, who is already just over one week old!  Ideas for blog pseudonyms for both boys are welcome!

In any case, I have been meaning to post about the playgrounds for a while now and just have not gotten around to it.  Playgrounds are everywhere here, though some of them consist only of a single slide or swingset nestled beside an RER stop.  We are lucky to have at least 5 playgrounds within walking distance here, set between the apartment buildings in the neighborhood.  Our neighborhood was built in the 1970s in response to the massive influx of immigrants to the Paris region, many of them Algerians who settled in France after Algerian independence.  The apartment buildings were clearly built hastily to accommodate the swelling population, and they are definitely not the gorgeous Art Deco buildings of Paris.  Instead, they are squat concrete rectangles with zero embellishments or personality.  The plus, though, is that in the spaces between buildings, small parks have emerged, with greenery and playgrounds in between nearly every apartment complex.  These parks are maintained by the city and open to all, and are generally in pretty good condition.  While the park below is actually in Paris, it gives you a good idea of the size of playgrounds here (this would be considered large-ish):

What cracks me up about these parks (and the French culture in general) is how incredibly rules-oriented and safety-conscious they are.  Posted in every playground is a list of rules (and a long list at that).  The playing surface is typically made of shock-absorbent rubber.  Even funnier than the rules are the individual plaques that adorn each piece of playground equipment:

Each piece of equipment has a designated age range - both a minimum and a maximum age.  And kids are aware of this, too.  A couple of weeks ago I was supervising the little one as he (gasp!) played on a structure suitable for kids age 4 and up.  A little boy no older than 5 came up to me and, with a worried look on his face, told me that the little guy should not be playing on this piece of equipment, because he could fall and hurt himself.  I thanked the little boy and told him that it was ok, that I was there to watch him, and that this is how he would learn what he was comfortable with.  Clearly, the little boy had never heard this particular brand of logic, as he just stared at me, puzzled. 

Now, the above is NOT meant to imply that French parents are all overprotective or that the kids will grow up not knowing how to take calculated risks.  There is actually a lot of nice logic to this layout.  Parents can allow their kids some freedom on the age-appropriate equipment with little chance of injury.  Kids can play independently without their parents hovering over them.  This is often the case, as many parents spend their playground time sitting on the park benches that ring the playground, while the kids run around as they please.  It is totally different than our playground experiences with toddlers in Portland, where parents were almost always integrally involved as their kids explored the park.  I see pros and cons to both extremes, yet it is interesting to note the prevalent attitude in each locale.

If you have read this far, you are probably wondering where the parakeets tie in.  There is a link, I promise.  When my mother was visiting last month, she came in from playing with the little one and told L that she thought she had seen a lime green parakeet in a tree.  It snows here, which is hardly the ideal environment for these birds, so we assumed she had seen something different.  A few days later, though, our neighbor asked me if I had seen the parakeets yet.  Parakeets?  Yes, he told me, there is a whole flock of them that live here, out in the wild.  No one knows if they were initially just a couple of released pets or if they came from elsewhere as stowaways, but they were here.  And ever since then I have been scouring the parks for them, to no avail.  But last week, when I was walking the dogs through the nearest park early in the morning after a mostly sleepless night full of newborn diaper changes, I heard one, then two, then lots of parakeets chattering.  I looked up to see a flock of two dozen parakeets, some lime green, some sage green.  Two dozen!  So they do exist.  I will try to take a picture for next time.

Ok, on to post number two.  Stay tuned!

- E

Birth Certificate

I told you all I would let L write up the birth story of our new little man (who was born in the apartment!), but since she hasn't gotten to it yet I wanted to at least post a quick note about his birth certificate.  Before that, though, here is a little visual of how the animals spent their time while L was in labor:

Anyway, on to the birth certificate.  In France, births are declared at the mayor's office (mairie) and must be declared, by law, within 3 business days of the birth.  In most cases, the declaration is started by the hospital in which you give birth, and you show up and essentially confirm the details.  However, in the case of a homebirth, this means we bring a handwritten note from our midwife to the mayor's office, which is then used to create the official registration of the baby's birth.  By law, the midwife has to record the mother's maiden name on the birth certificate (in addition to her married name, if applicable).  The rules here state that if a married woman gives birth, the baby's last name will be that of her husband, regardless of whether she has taken his name.  If a single woman gives birth (even if in a relationship with the father), the baby's last name will be her maiden name, (or, as it is referred to here, your young girl's name or nom de jeune fille). 

Since we are married (again, thanks Canada!) but it is not recognized here, and since L legally changed her last name to mine (but again, that is not recognized here), we were really not sure how this would play out for us.  Our midwife had warned me that I would likely not be able to get his birth registered under our shared last name, which would cause major headaches for identity papers and for travelling.  Since I was the one going to the mayor's office to register the birth, I arrived already amped up and ready for a fight.  To my incredible surprise, the clerk happily recorded our shared last name on his official papers, no questions asked.  Again, it seems like the law of the country is not necessarily the law of the cities!

What is even more awesome about this is that when I am in public with our newest son, no one will question our (legal) relationship, even though in France we have no legal relationship.  He and I share the same last name; it will therefore be assumed that I am his mother and that I can make decisions for him.  In a country where second-parent adoption is illegal, and where I (officially) cannot be his mother, the common name literally makes all the difference. 

- E

Two moms, TWO BOYS, to France!

Just a quick note tonight to tell you all that we are now a family of four!  Our littlest man was born yesterday at home.  The whole family is doing great, though you can imagine we are just a little sleep deprived.  More posts to come soon - I will let L tell the story of his birth, and I will tell the story of his birth certificate.  But for now, sleep.  Be back soon!

- E

Hogwarts + Liberal Expats = Dream School

Today, we found the little one's future school.  For us, that is no small accomplishment: even back in Portland we had already been devoting some serious brain time to deciding on the best educational pathway for the kid(s) (Public? Private? Montessori? Charter school? French International School? Magnet school for the arts or the environment?).  Once we got to France, our choices at first glance appeared to be limited to the traditional public school system, which is free of charge from kindergarten through university.  Kids typically start attending kindergarten (maternelle) at the age of 3.  Kindergarten lasts 3 years, after which students move on to primary school, then collège, then lycée (pretty much the equivalent of elementary, middle and high school in the US).  There is no school on Wednesdays: instead, students spend the day playing sports or doing other extracurricular activities.  The French school system has a reputation for being relatively rigid, and there appears to be a pretty heavy homework burden starting in some of the younger grades.  Neither L nor I was totally sold on this system, but we were not aware of many alternatives...

Until now.

These are two of the many buildings and open spaces that make up the incredible Steiner-Waldorf school in Verrières-le-Buisson, just 5 km away from us.  Upon the recommendation of our midwife, we checked out the open house this afternoon and were totally sold on the school from the moment we set foot on the property.  We foolishly forgot to bring our camera, so L snapped some quick photos on our super crappy cell phone camera.  I apologize in advance for the quality of the photos, but hopefully you will get the picture!

The school is a Waldorf school and is home to multiple expat families from all over.  They have a sheep on the property, as well as chickens, a woodworking shed, a freaking blacksmith shed (yes, kids learn to forge), as well as pottery, sculpture, foreign languages, and an incredible campus made up of multiple buildings and surrounded by nature.  The kindergarten classes (4 of them) each have 20-25 kids from the ages of 3-6, who share a common class and learn through arts, play, and interaction with the world around them. These are some photos of one of the kindergarten classrooms:

Notice anything crazy?  ... NO PLASTIC!!!  Students arrive at 8:40, and school ends at 3:30.  Students collectively eat lunch in the classroom, that is equipped with its own kitchen.  Even the 3 year olds help set the table, shake out the napkins, rinse plates, and compost the leftovers.

After lunch, the kids get to take naps at school in TRIPLE BUNK BEDS!  Aaaaah!  So cute, I almost died.  The photo is too dark to really see, but each little bunk has its own stuffed animal peeking out from under a soft comforter.  Kids spend a couple of hours snoozing in the afternoon before being allowed to wake up at their own rhythm.

Each kindergarten class also has its own garden play area.

We seriously got giddy walking around the campus.  I don't think we could have dreamed up such a magical school.  There are enormous stone mansions (seriously, think Hogwarts), contrasted with eco-friendly smaller structures and green spaces, and the whole campus just oozes with this awesome hippie commune vibe.  There are tons of international parents (English ones, too!) and maybe, just maybe, if we are really lucky, another gay or lesbian family.  No teacher or parent that I spoke to could think of anyone at the school with same-sex parents, but that response was also usually followed up by "but there's really no reason there shouldn't be!"

So there is a sliver of hope that we can finally connect with some like-minded souls here.  I know that both L and I feel like our own souls were nourished in the 2 hours we spent on campus - imagine the effect of YEARS in such an amazing environment. 

- E

Photo of the day

Saw this quote today... after taking a photo of my bike commute home.  Sweet.

"You can't buy happiness, but you can buy a bike.  And that's pretty close."

-E

4015

4015.  That is how many page views our blog has had since its conception in October of last year.  Holy crap!  That's a tiny number to many seasoned bloggers, I'm sure, but I was pretty surprised that our ramblings for family and friends have been viewed that many times.  I know I've said before how much we both enjoy posting to the blog, even though we don't post nearly often enough, so merci, tout le monde, for staying with us through the periods of drought!

It also occurred to me that while we probably know most of the current blog subscribers in person, there are probably some people who keep up with our posts that we don't actually know, and we should probably do a better job of introducing ourselves and explaining how we even ended up in France.

L is from the Southwestern United States, and I am from the province of Quebec.  L is American, and I am Canadian-American thanks to the nationalities of my parents.  Since we met 6 years ago at a dinner party, we first dated long distance for about a year, and then reunited in Portland, Oregon, where we spent 5 years surrounded by awesome friends, fresh, local, and eclectic food, and beautiful hiking spots.  We are married (thanks, Canada!), registered domestic partners (thanks, Oregon!), and will soon be PACsé (the French equivalent of civil unions), once we assemble the required paperwork.  We are looking forward to the day when our marriage is recognized everywhere so we can stop collecting certificates that are only valid within geographical boundaries! 

Both of us took the road less traveled to our current occupations, although L is currently on hiatus from work to do the incredibly important and exhausting work of raising our 2 year old son (and soon to be baby #2 - stay tuned in the next few weeks...).  Before we met, both of us had traveled, moved far away from our families, and generally been pretty good at building a life in a new place.  We had talked about moving to Europe in a 10 or 15 year plan, but had no idea that the opportunity would come as soon as it did.  We dove headfirst into this move and I can definitely say that it has been more challenging than either of us expected.  Moving to another country is tough; moving away from an incredible support system of friends is tougher. 

When we were researching France before our move, it hit us that there was virtually no information available to same-sex couples emigrating to France, and even less about same-sex parents.  Second parent (same sex) adoption is illegal here, and it is also illegal to provide fertility services to lesbians (and, I believe, to single women regardless of sexual orientation).  In starting this blog, we first hoped to remain connected with our amazing network of family and friends, but second, we also hoped to provide a resource for same-sex couples here and abroad.  I can admit that we have not done a stellar job on the second objective so far, mainly because things move pretty slowly and we are still in the process of going through all of the immigration formalities.  I can safely predict that in the next month or so, there will be more posts on these topics!

Hope you enjoy what you have read so far.  More will certainly follow!

Cheers,
-E

Anyone? ... Anyone? ...Bueller? ...

Ok, pop quiz.  Name the movie/show/product/event associated with the following quotes:

"Car!..."
"Car!"
"Game off!''
"Game off!"
...
"Game on!"
"Game on!"

"Did I do that???"

"My mama always said life was like a box of chocolates..."

"Hasta la vista, baby."

"Are you crying?  Are you crying?  There's no crying in baseball!"

"D'oh!"

"Wardrobe malfunction."

I could go on, but you probably get the picture.  References to pop culture are so ingrained into our daily lives that we can recognize many movie lines even in the complete absence of context (evidence? see above). We use them to relate to people, to lighten a tense situation, to relate one scenario to another.  We use them unconsciously, and this fact was totally lost on me until we moved to a country for which I have absolutely no cultural references.  This essentially means that both L and I are complete French Pop Culture virgins, stepping out of the back woods into a civilization that we do not recognize.

I've mentioned this to colleagues, who come up with lists of movies that L and I need to rent, but the reality is that making up 30-plus years of acquired pop culture knowledge is damn near impossible.  The practical result of this in my daily life is that for months now, I have been enjoying some of my co-workers' random comments or actions and thinking to myself how nice it is to work with such delightfully quirky people - only to find out that the delightfully random comments are actually movie quotes (or, even worse, quotes from TV commercials!).  Boo-urns (See? There's another one for you).

It reminds me of a story I heard on This American Life (I listen obsessively. And you should, too) where a woman recounts this silly song her dad used to sing to her every day.  When she gets to college she randomly sees an old movie ("The Jerk" with Steve Martin) and is utterly crushed that her dad's quirky song is totally lifted right from this movie.  It's way better for you to listen to it youself:

http://www.thisamericanlife.org/play_full.php?play=438&act=3

So where does one begin?  Should we press rewind and start with the classic 80s coming-of-age movies?  Apparently, here, that would start with a film called La Boum, but even following the plotlines via wikipedia (http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Boum) has left me exhausted.  Should we forget the past and just start fresh with the latest and greatest in French pop culture?  Even thinking through all of this is daunting.  Perhaps we should throw in the towel and just continue watching Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice via itunes...

-E

"Universal Healthcare" - a look at France with a comparison to the US

We follow a blog called Paris Missives which I discovered prior to moving here.  It is also a gay couple who are ex-pats living in France.  He wrote a well written blog on the healthcare that is provided to us here in France.  We are almost on this system...hopefully within the next month we will finally have it.  In the meantime, we have been using private insurance provided through E's work.

Since I have had several people asks me about how healthcare works here, I thought I would sum it up by pointing you to his blog to have a read!  :)

http://parismissives.blogspot.fr/2012/03/frances-universal-health-care-what-is.html  

Thanks to Randy and Jack!

Adventures in Social Security

I figured I would share my conversation today with a representative of the French Social Security Office:

Me: "Bonjour, Madame!"

Sécu Lady (SL): says nothing.

Me: "I am here because in January, my company deposited my file for a social security number.  In February, I received a letter that my birth certificate was not valid because it did not have a stamp on it.  I came to your office in February and your colleague verified my original birth certificate, made a copy, and sent it in with my file.  Just this week, I received another letter telling me that my file could still not be completed because my birth certificate needed to be translated by an official government translator."

SL: says nothing.

Me: "The funny thing is that my birth certificate is already in French, so I am not sure why it needs translating."

SL: "Let me see the letter... Yes, this letter does say that your certificate needs translating."

Me: "But it is already in French."

SL: "That is strange.  Let me call the person who sent the letter... (SL on the phone) "Oh, so that person is not here... Well, I have Mrs. E here in front of me and she has a letter that says that her birth certificate needs to be translated, but it is already in French... (pause) ...Oh, so that is not what she needs at all... (pause) ...But that is what the letter says... (pause) ...Ok then, bye." (hangs up)

SL: "Your certificate does not need to be translated.  The problem is that it does not have an official stamp on it."

Me: "But that is exactly the issue I came in last month for.  The province of Quebec does not put stamps on their official birth certificates.  If you look at the document, you will see that there are 5 security features built right in to the document to certify its authenticity.  The 5 features are literally printed right on the document for people to verify."

SL: "Well, write down everything you just told me on the letter that they sent you.  We can then send the letter in with a photocopy of your birth certificate."

Me: "But the security features don't show up on the photocopy."

SL: "But the letter does not ask for an original.  We only take copies here.  So write down all the security features on the letter."

Me: copy, verbatim, the info from my birth certificate onto the letter, and hand it to SL.

SL: "But this won't work because the security features won't show up on a photocopy."

Me: "I know. That is the problem."

SL: "We don't keep your originals.  We only make copies."

Me: "Well, then, could you include a note stating that you saw the original and that the copy is a valid reproduction?"

SL: "We do not provide that service."

Me: "I do have a second birth certificate that might work - In Quebec, like in France, births are declared via the mayor's office, and I have an extract from the registry of births that I could bring.  It has a stamp on it."

SL: "Yes, you should bring that."

--- So I bike back home and grab the second certificate, and bike back to the social security office, take another number, and get a totally different agent this time. ---

Me: (re-explain the entire situation and hand over my documents)

SL2: "This Quebec birth certificate does not have a stamp on it."

Me: "Yes, that is the problem. I have this second certificate you can compare it to, in order to see that the information is the same."

SL2: "Quebec should really put stamps on its documents."

Me: "Yes, I agree.  Instead they use a much more sophisticated system to prevent fraudulent documents, which ironically means that they are less trusted."

SL2: "I will make a copy of your certificates." (makes copies) "Look, your Quebec certificate does not even photocopy properly. The word "void" appears across the photocopied certificate."

Me: "Yes, that is one of the security features that prevents fraudulent copies.  In fact, the very fact that the certificate cannot be photocopied should prove that it is indeed an authentic original."

SL2: "I don't think that the office will accept this.  We should send your original certificate."

Me: "Will I get it back?"

SL2: "No."

Me: "Then I guess I will order another copy from the province of Quebec and have it sent here.  But that might take another month."

SL2: "That is ok.  It will probably take the office that long to review your file and notify you that we need to see the original."


Seriously.  Am I living in crazy town?

- E

And the score is: 3-1 for the pebble.

Yep, this teeny tiny little pebble. 

It has been responsible for no less than THREE flat tires over a 20km span, has left me stranded in the middle of a field, has made me late for steak dinner with the family, and for a department meeting at work.  Finally, though, I think me and bike commuting are back on track.  I found puncture-resistant tubes for my cross bike (sweet - I didn't even know they made those!) which means that flat tires may be a thing of the past.  On the bright side, I am now a hell of a lot faster at patching a tube :o)

- E

Dog Park!

Okay, so I failed miserably at posting this blog entry yesterday, as promised.  I tried, y'all, I really tried, but the bed just seemed too comfortable and I just couldn't seem to stay awake.  So, 24 hours later, I am here to make up for it!

Portland has lots of great dog parks, and we used them frequently when we lived there.  A particularly lovely park (Fernhill) was literally 3 minutes (by car) away, or a 15 minute walk. It was great to head over there on a weekend morning with a coffee in hand, ready to be entertained by offleash dog shenanigans.  If we were feeling more adventurous, a huge plot of BLM land along the Sandy river (Thousand Acres) would be our destination; even further out was a great hike in the Columbia river gorge (Eagle Creek).  The dogs had plenty of opportunities to run free, which gave everyone a nice break from the daily routine.

Fast-forward to France.  Dogs are not allowed in many of the small city playgrounds.  We do have a large park close by, and I sometimes see off leash dogs there early in the morning, but the park borders a major street and I am too afraid of the dogs running into traffic to really let them loose there.  The result has been that in the past 3 months, the poor pooches have not been able to run off leash.  We have two terrier mixes, so you can just imagine the frustration (and energy level) in our tiny apartment!

Sunday, the dogs finally got to run wild.  We had heard about Parc de Sceaux for several weeks, and had been told that it was a nice nature park with trails and an off leash dog area.  Sold!  Since we don't have a car, however, the ride to the park was a little different than the dogs were used to:

Yep, we took the train with the dogs.  Officially, according to the RER rules, we are supposed to purchase reduced-fare tickets for each dog (equivalent of the fare for a 4 to 10 year old).  I will let you guess where I stood on this policy.

The dogs did pretty well on the train - a little shaking, a few tiny whines, but no barking or crying.  Of course, the little one thought it was h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s that his dogs were riding the train with him.  We made it to the RER stop, walked through a gorgeous neighborhood of mansions, and finally found Parc de Sceaux.  It is absolutely gorgeous... but not exactly a nature park, particularly by Pacific Northwest standards.  I guess this is a nature park 'à la française'...

 The dogs were so stunned that I removed their leashes that they just sat there in stunned silence long enough for me to capture the moment:

Aaaaaand then it was off to the races.  Maple (the one on the left) ran laps for a good 5 minutes before even heading off to explore.  As she darted in and out of the pedestrian traffic, an old man carrying a walking stick kept swinging it along the ground at her as if to trip her.  I was about to write him off as a grumpy old man until I realised he was trying to make her do agility tricks - he wanted her to hurdle his walking stick!
The park includes multiple gorgeous lawns like the one seen above, pavillions to buy coffee and sandwiches, running trails with workout stations along the sides, horseback riding, and some areas specifically reserved for dogs to run.  They had a blast.

  One more note - see the manicured trees?  They are all trimmed into squares with perfectly aligned edges.  This particular stretch extended a good 400m on either side of the path.

The dogs needed baths to wash off all of the nasty stuff they found to roll in, but whatever.  They slept HARD once we got home, and that is sweet for all of us.  I am pretty sure we will be back next weekend...

- E

Allez les Bleus!

E here.  I am a little tardy on the posts and I am going to try to post not once, but twice today!  Let's see how this goes...

So anyway, first topic.  I got to see a Six Nations rugby game last Sunday - France vs. Ireland - at the Stade de France.  The stadium is massive (apparently it holds 80,000 spectators) and we had an amazing view of the field from our seats.  Watching an international rugby match has literally been one of my 'life list' items to check off, so I was SUPER pumped to finally get to see a match live.

The French national anthem is La Marseillaise.  I haven't learned it yet, but got to hear it multiple times during the game.

Before heading into the stadium, there were tons of food tents selling draught beer and merguez sausages tucked into baguettes.  You can get your merguez on baguette "American style", which means topped with a mountain of french fries.  I did not partake in the deliciousness, but next time, it's on.  Once you are in the stadium, however, things are a little different.  North Americans: take a look at the picture below.  Yep, look closely... what is missing?

Give up?

No vendors!!!  Once inside the stadium, people forget the food and the drinks and just focus on the match.  There was a single concession stand (that was only busy during halftime) and not a single vendor selling candy/chips/popcorn/peanuts/hotdogs/sodas/beer/balloons.  Compared to pro or college sports in North America, this might seem shocking, but people here are actually here to watch the game.  And to yell about it.  And to whistle at the refs.

Of course, I had to show some Canadian pride in the stands...

The French were down 17-6 at halftime, but managed to come back to a 17-17 tie.  If it wasn't for an unfortunate turnover in the first half that led directly to Ireland's first try, les Bleus may even have pulled off the win.  What was really nice was that after the game, the team made the rounds of the stadium to thank the fans.  Nice touch!

Stay tuned for post number two... dog park!

- E

French healthcare tidbits

A few things keep sticking in my mind that I have encountered while having appointments.  Today, I had to have blood drawn.  They insisted on sticking me twice to get my blood because I had two separate orders for blood draws...yet, they were both from the same midwife just written at different times.  Odd but I didn't argue or ask questions perhaps I should have.  Oh wait, that would have required I speak French.  I was also shocked at how expensive the labs were compared to the rest of the healthcare expenses we have encountered.  It was 101 Euros for 4 tests.  I had to have a toxoplasmosis test (required when you are pregnant...in fact, most women get tested for this every month of their pregnancy), a rubella test (another one not common in the US), Group B strep (which is common in the US but done via a vaginal culture and not a blood test), and a blood type test because I don't have a "blood card" which verifies my blood type.

I had a trip to the ER recently and after waiting about 4-5 hours, triage, a visit with the doctor, an ultrasound of my legs, and a final visit with the dr, our total was 75 euros.  That is the total for the whole bill not a co-pay or a portion...but what we would pay without insurance.  Luckily, we will be reimbursed that through our temporary insurance.

Have I mentioned how much I love my midwife visits?  She either comes to our home or recently, we have been going to her home because she is about a 6 minute walk away and her husband will most likely be caring for Little One while I am in labor.  We are getting him used to her apartment, girls, and husband...which he doesn't seem to have any issues with because he loves all of the toys!  Her visits are all of 40 euros which is also reimbursed.  Usually, you only see a midwife or OB once a month here while pregnant even late in pregnancy but we have decided on every 3 weeks to get to know her better.  It has worked out nicely and is a nice break from going once a week in the final month.  I believe the total cost for a homebirth (which we are planning!) is 1000 euros which will be reimbursed to us by our insurance.  In general, healthcare is so much more affordable here.  The pediatric appointments cost of 35 euros which the doctor said he feel awful charging us so much...ha!  It would be 10 times that without insurance in the US!

The lack of modesty that I must have has continued with all of my appointments.  I have frequently dropped my pants in front of a few doctors now...  No paper gowns here or cloth ones for that matter!

-L

Simple is good.

After an exhausting week, we finally got pictures up on the wall this morning (photos of the apartment will follow soon).  The little one is napping, L is resting, you know, being 8 months pregnant and all, and I am watching Julie & Julia dubbed in French on TV.  Watching this movie always makes me hungry, but since the kitchen is a disaster I decided to go with "simple" for lunch.  Last week, I discovered that our baker sells this amazing fermented cider for 1,50€.  It is not at all sweet, and kind of yeasty, and somehow it is just perfect.  To accompany this delicious beverage, take their amazing bread, add a little meat and cheese, and I am all set:

Sometimes, simple is all you need.