petite anglaise

June 13, 2005

la parenthèse enchantée

Filed under: navel gazing — petiteanglaiseparis @ 4:48 pm

I had the most wonderful, sensual, exciting, beautiful weekend. I felt so incredibly alive. Awakened. As though until now I had been merely sleepwalking through my life.

Now, back in Paris, back at my desk, nose streaming with a summer cold that manifested itself on the train journey home, I wish I didn’t feel like I simply dreamed it all.

I wish that Mr Frog hadn’t been sick this morning and bombarded me with distressing emails all day. I feel his pain, but I think I am the last person who can help.

It seems that there can be no happiness without guilt and remorse. No pleasure without anguish.

It almost feels like I’m being punished. Divine retribution.

June 10, 2005

post, jealousy and pick n mix knickers

Filed under: misc — petiteanglaiseparis @ 1:01 pm

I have posted today over here, just in case you were missing me…

The post is dedicated to the lovely Anna, for obvious reasons.


Can I just say how miffed I am not to have been nominated to participate in this. But as some very good virtual friends of mine are involved, please pay them a visit and watch them rip each other to shreds!


Blogmeet – Saturday 25 June

The second expat blogmeet will be in the form of a daytime picnic (kids/family/friends welcome) and also an evening drinks do. It seems to have been re-named “The Pick Knickers Expat Blogger Meet Picnic”, so I shall be buying a new pair of undies for the occasion.

I will be sending an email out this weekend to everyone who showed an interest/came last time/we would like to see there.

If however, you want to come and don’t receive word about this, contact me, Katia or Antipo and we will send you the info. Commenters/lurkers/children/friends all welcome. The more, the merrier!

June 9, 2005

joyeux anniversaire

Filed under: parting ways, Tadpole rearing — petiteanglaiseparis @ 4:31 pm

Tadpole’s second birthday was a bittersweet celebration for Mr Frog and me.

I fetched him some lemsip, early this morning, as he was suffering with from a slightly sore throat (and was consequently at death’s door, as most men generally are when they catch a common cold). He had met a friend for dinner last night, so I enquired cautiously as to how that had gone.

I find myself permanently on edge when he goes out, paranoid that some well meaning soul will say something that will turn Mr Frog against me, shattering our cosy, friendly little bubble with a few harsh home truths. It hasn’t happened yet, probably because I am not being portrayed as the villain of the piece, and my extra-non-marital affair (if you can even call it that) is not common knowledge among his friends. He chooses not to mention it. It’s probably a matter of male pride, but whatever, the happy end result is that my good name is not tarnished as a result.

In fact, the friend was suitably floored by how calm and rational Mr Frog was – on the surface, at least – and remarked that hearing our story was like watching a slow-paced, intellectual French film. Like “La Séparation”, which Mr Frog watched on cable earlier this week. I didn’t. I couldn’t. The little I did half overhear, while in earshot of the television, was far too close to the bone. Thankfully, as Mr Frog is wont to do, he fell asleep on the sofa long before the final credits rolled. I was rather relieved, because the film mirrored our own situation a little too closely for comfort, and I really, really did not want to be told that it had all ended with the couple being tearfully reunited and admitting that the whole thing had been a mistake.

Back to this morning. We went to Tadpole’s bedroom to wake her. I stroked her cheek with the back of my finger (I wish I had skin like that) and started to sing Happy Birthday.

“Happy birthday to you”

Tadpole screwed up her face, pursed her lips and rolled over to hide her face against the bedroom wall. I noticed the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. She was teasing.

“Happy birthday to you”

“Non!” She said, emphatically, “[Tadpole] sleeping!”

“Happy birthday dear [Tadpole], happy birthday to you”

As if by magic, she sat bolt upright and said: “Birthday presents?”

I shouldn’t be suprised, after all, this is the second of her four birthday celebrations, and she is getting used to the drill.

The living room was filled with coloured balloons, just like on her first birthday, and a blanket covered her main present, a tricycle. Later, when Mr Frog and I get home, there will be Noddy cake, candles to be blown out, wishes to be wished, and probably much enthusiastic popping of balloons.

It was lovely. But it was also Tadpole’s last birthday with mummy and daddy living under the same roof.

She has no idea. But I haven’t been able to lose that thought all day.

June 7, 2005

moving out

Filed under: navel gazing — petiteanglaiseparis @ 3:38 pm

Soon, I will have a bed, but no mattress. Cable TV, without a television set. I am rather pathetically relieved, with hindsight, that the computer is mine, all mine. As is the stereo. And the bookcase.

Oddly, the only item we have almost come to blows about so far is the exercise bike. The exercise bike which I rarely use, and which Mr Frog has never used, not even once. It serves mostly as a rather oversized thermometer and as the guardian of the evil ironing pile (until said pile becomes so large that the clothes topple off). I’m not sure who will wrestle custody of the cursed contraption yet, as Mr Frog changes his mind every other day, but I rather think I’d prefer to see it go. At least then it wouldn’t sit in the corner of my bedroom, eying me balefully and making snide comments about my thighs when it thinks I’m not listening.

There will be gaps, where pieces of furniture once stood. I suspect that the flat is going to seem too big, for a while. Especially on the nights when Tadpole will stay over at daddy’s place.

Which of my two sofas will I lie on, I wonder? Which side of the double bed will I favour?

Mr Frog has found a new place to live and will be moving out in ten day’s time. His bachelor pad is 200 m from our/my front door, just across the road, and has panoramic views of Paris, apparently. He jokes that he will be watching me with binoculars from his balcony. I love the way he still has the power (and the inclination) to see the funny side, and to want to make me laugh.

For Tadpole, I think the fact of daddy being close at hand will be helpful. She’ll accompany him to the same baker’s shop, and the same supermarket (where the checkout lady always gives her a kiss), and he’ll still be able to take her to the childminder’s house, some mornings. Business as usual. Anything that can lessen the inevitable impact on Tadpole’s routine has to be good, I feel.

It is also comforting for me to know that if I am struck down my a blinding migraine attack and can’t cope alone, or there is some sort of emergency, Mr Frog will only be a couple of minutes away. But I know I can’t expect him to be ‘on call’ either. I have made my bed, and will have to lie in it.

Which will be rather uncomfortable, until I get this mattress problem sorted out.

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