Today, the big "sales" start in Paris. I say big with my tongue firmly in cheek--French sales are rien compared to the clearance racks at Target and Kohl's, as Chloé quickly found out. Despite her foot issues (one example of French Health Care that does NOT come close to American!), this girl can shop. Even jet lagged, she could go, but now that the jet lag is gone--the girl's got stamina.

Every day, after the kid I'm babysitting goes home, she smiles and says, "Ronica, can we go shopping?" Even me, who loves shopping (though the hunt is even more fun than the kill for me), is getting a bit worn out. But it's her only chance, so I've said "yes", every time.

Today, she finally got her trophy. After finding small gifts for her best girl friend and her sister, and part of her gift for her boyfriend, she had a few more things on her list. A bracelet for him (he requested--and finding man jewelry in the US is not an easy task), and jeans and a black hobo bag for her. She'd already found a cute black top at Target, as well as some strappy black sandals, but the jeans and bag eluded her.

Mais bien sûr, she is Parisian, she is rather particular. The jeans had to be dark, no little white lines, and skinny. They couldn't gap at the waist, and must not be too wide at the ankle. Oh, and cheap. The bag? Black, hobo style, not too square, with straps not attached by rings, and inexpensive. And the bracelet--steel or silver, adjustable (he's skinny), and masculine. And, of course, pas trop cher.

So today after Rowan finally woke up from her nap, we headed out to TJ Maxx. She hit. Jeans for $20, and a bracelet for him, with gift box. But the only bag she liked was again $100.

"We are going to Walmart?" she asked. "I could look for a bag there..."

"Uh, no. No, honey. Walmart is fine for grapes and pork ribs, but you won't find what you want there."

So we drove. All the way across town, to Ross. It happens to be next to the other Walmart, so it worked out fine.

And she hit again. The coup de coeur, the bag. "I am in love with it!" she cried.

"My porte-feuille is ..." she held it aloft, shaking it up and down, and gave me a quizzical look.

"Your wallet is light," I said.

"Yes!" she grinned back. "But I am so happy! I love American shopping. I will take a plane to America when I need to go shopping!!!" she laughed. "I now have a whole American..." she looked to me. "Outfit," I answered. "Ensemble."

"Yes! An American outfit. Shirt, jeans, shoes, bag. Everything from America!"

We arrived home, and she checked her email.

"Mom wants rassure-moi that I haven't spent all my money!" She grinned at the screen. "I have ten dollars left..."

A girl after my own heart.

We have a guest chez nous, Chloé, one of the young girls I babysat in Paris when we lived there. She's now 14 1/2 and is here to practice her English. We have been having a great time introducing her to America and how we do things here. It is very interesting to see it from the other side and hear her observations. It reminds me so of the first days we spent in France, though she is without all the stress we had of setting up our own lives there. But still, the jet lag and immersion in a new language and culture are enough to tire her out. She has been enjoying it, however, and is adjusting quickly and well.

Here are a few of her observations so far:

"Everyone is very nice! Very friendly!"

"American pizza is HUGE! Everything here is so big!"

"It smells so good here! Paris smells bad. Here it is green everywhere!"

"Everything looks different. The streets, the houses, the cars, the mailboxes."

"I love Target! I could live in here! I want to buy everything!"

Upon finding a pair of black dress sandals for $19.99 in her size (11!) after hunting for 2 1/2 months in Paris and coming up empty--we found them in one trip to Target:

(shouted) "I *LOVE* America!!!"

and

"Can we go back to Target again? Please?"

On American food:

"I LOVE Pancakes!" "This hot chocolate is the size of 4 in Paris!" (She did drink it all.) "I love American breakfast!" "This sandwich is delicious!"

and when I said, "take as much as you like!"

"REALLY???" (Big Grin)

Yeah, I think we're winning her over.


Ronica's "Delicious" Santa Fe Chicken Sandwiches

(Really just dressed up nuggets, but they are tasty and super fast.)

Prepare chicken nuggets or breaded tenderloins according to package directions.
On a flour tortilla, spread some sour cream. Top with ChiChi's salsa and shredded Mexican cheese, then add chicken. You can also add in shredded lettuce, sliced black olives, etc. Roll up and serve with extra sour cream and salsa as well as your favorite additions. (We did tortilla chips, corn, and carrot sticks and cucumber slices with ranch.) Enjoy!

On a journey with Daddy
Originally uploaded by MrsBinParis

He's 36 today, and I can't think of anyone who could even come close to everything he gives to me.

I love you, honey. Happy Birthday.

Swinging!, originally uploaded by MrsBinParis.

Our Hips Don't Lie from Ronica on Vimeo.

Please ignore the tall, bloated dork who appears occasionally in the frame, and focus on the cute kid with the smokin' moves. My favorite part is after I spin her around, when she nearly falls over but keeps on groovin'.

My daughter is so awesome.

PS: Lucy? Not much of a dancer.

They say it affects everyone. They're not kidding.

Yep, here we go. His summer funding? Lots of "Oh, we'd like to..." and "We'll keep you in mind" but no actual dollars. Which means? Our paychecks this year go down about 20%.

Twenty percent.

That's a big freakin' chunk.

It's a hit we can't afford. And of course, we found out just after our trip to France, in which we spent more than we planned, though we were able to go on the cheap due to the generosity of our dear friends and his paid tickets via his class at the University.

Now, we're caught, like many Americans, between a rock and a really, really hard place.

I hate this place.

When you're already buying generic, how do you cut down?

Right now, we're working on some solutions. Some freelance, doing the best we can, shh don't tell anyone, cash and thank you very much solutions. I could go back to teaching, but that would require a bunch of tests and license fees I can't swing right now, and finding daycare for Rowan and all sorts of other stuff, and I just, well, I'm just not ready yet. I'm a glutton for my little girl. She is my Kryptonite.

So anyway.

There will be stuff happening that I can't talk about on here, things I can't share, and it's not because I don't love you, my faithful readers. I do, I really do.

I'm just trying really, really hard to keep 4 heads above water.

Rowan is a surprisingly strong little girl. She always has been. I felt my first kick at 14 weeks of pregnancy, and it was nothing like those flutters they tell you about--it hurt! Physically, she's got a lot more stamina than most of her friends, so I'm able to push her in ways you might not expect of a 2-year old.

The other night, her dad was not coming home for dinner, so we were on our own. She took an extra long nap and woke after 5 PM, and I wanted to help tire her out so I could get her to bed at the right time. We went to take Lucy on our usual walk, but this time I offered to let her walk the whole way instead of riding in the stroller for 3/4 of the walk.

Our walk is 1.4 miles. She's done a mile before without a problem, so I decided to give it a try.

I leashed Lucy, and then grabbed Rowan's Elmo walking harness handle thing.

Yeah, I leashed her. I LEASH MY CHILD. Cruel, whatever. We live on a 35 mph road, and at 5 PM I am not taking any chances.

So we took off walking, and she was doing great. Down the hill we went, the two of them criss-crossing in front and behind me. Lucy would stop to smell a tree or clump of grass, and Rowan would do the same. We walked past the park, up the hill, and around the corner. We met neighborhood dogs and talked to people we see on our daily walks. Rowan was doing fine--she was going strong! This was wonderful. No problem! I envisioned days without wrangling with the second-hand Peg stroller, without the "Rowan walk? Rowan walk?" arguments, free as a breeze as we walked together as a family.

As we were heading back up the hill, Rowan started to get a little fussy. I gave her a lift on my back for a few blocks, and she giggled and held on tight as Mom took on the steepest part of the hike. As we reached the corner where I normally allow her out of the stroller, she begged to walk again. Lucy took this chance to finally do her business, and I dutifully bagged and sealed it as we headed home. It was supper time, we were hungry, hot and sweaty and both in need of a cool drink.

Just then, Rowan tripped.

And then it started. The lip squared, the jaw jutted forward, the waterworks commenced. And then she wailed as her knee developed a dime-sized pink scrape.

My only thought? DISTRACT HER. Distract the kid. Give her something so she stops. STOPS. Anything! QUICK!!!

"Here, Honey! Can you carry this for Mommy?"

And I found myself handing her the only thing I had.

The bag of poop.

Yes, I leash my precious child and make her carry sacks of dog shit.

Someone call Child Protective Services.

Quick.