Paris. It’s Monday 8 :30 . I’m not working today, I’m not working this month. I’m spending time with my 21 month old. I’ve never taken a whole month holiday. 30 days off. A month is a long time. Not to feel too much deoriented, I planned this month very personnal projets on Excel, to make it look like work (mister potato head contest: in progress—cleaning the cooker hood: done …)
So Monday morning, 8 :30 Daughter and I are running to the jewish quarter in the Fouth Distric to buy some challat bread for breakfast. ( Husband has already explained that challat bread is not for weekday breakfast, but I don’t care it’s my party, and eat challat bread for breakfast if I want to)
Little Celeste is singing Meunier Tu Dors, loud, groovy style and out of tune, I think I should stand up and walk out on her. An old lady , drapped in an authentic 1850’s shawl is giving her the evil eye. Little Celeste answered back doing the dead rat face – out of context – and I thought « the old wicked witch is going to send us to Kansas with a glance » but she gave us luck . Because , leaving the bakery, mortified, we found this tiny parc between la rue des rosiers and la rue des Francs Bourgeois. A wee little green public yard that I’ve never noticed before. Apparrently this leafy square wasn’t designed for the small ones. No slide, no sand, no other kids to play with but 2 lonesome banks, three severe flowerbeds planted with roses with spikes on their stems and …pepples.
I’ve never understood the use of pepples in outdoor designs. Nothing is more delectable than grass between my feet. And I thought, ‘let’s leave this miserable place » Well, as usual concerning toddler parenting, I was wrong.
Little C, counted the pepples, cooked a pepple pie, analysed forms, sorted them by colors and shapes, made a pepple tower and gave pepple gifts to EACH rose, she played pepples for one and half hours
Forget the Mister potato head contest, I’ll spend my month off in the pepple yard.