petite anglaise

November 30, 2005

busy

Filed under: misc — bipolarinparis @ 4:09 pm

Forgive me, I’m just thinking aloud. In no particular order:

  1. Register Tadpole for pre-shool for September 06 at local mairie in case Lover turns out to be an axe murderer and we decide not to leave Paris after all (deadline 31 January)
  2. Purchase 2 camels, 1 donkey and several goats (www.oxfam.co.uk)
  3. Put magnum of champagne in fridge to chill for party tomorrow, make mince pies
  4. Ring UPS to convey “petite” to Ipod Hospital in Netherlands in her pre-paid envelope
  5. Choose new glasses frames (Prada?)
  6. Get passport photos for recruitment agency (black and white? more flattering?)
  7. Pack Tadpole’s overnight/weekend bags
  8. Pay nanny (tomorrow)
  9. Check current status of misbehaving digital camera – need usual Christmas photo of Tadpole with antlers developed in time for sending of Christmas cards
  10. Buy glittery pens for colouring Early Learning Center christmas cards with Tadpole

November 29, 2005

bad santa

Filed under: Tadpole rearing — bipolarinparis @ 12:59 pm

We approach the mairie at top speed, then grind to an sudden halt in the middle of the cobbled square in front of the main entrance. I realise I am going to be late for work, again, but pausing to show Tadpole Something Interesting is much more important than accurate timekeeping, in my opinion. And my annual evaluation was last week.

“Look! Those men are putting some big Christmas trees up over there!”

Tadpole turns to stare in the wrong direction. She hasn’t yet grasped the concept of looking to see what my finger is actually pointing towards.

“Over there, near the clock,” I prompt, impatiently.

“Ooh! Is VERY BIG that Christmas tree!” she exclaims, suitably excited.

“Soon, the men will put lights on the trees, and decorations, and it will be really pretty,” I explain. “I think they’ll probably turn the lights on on Thursday.”

What a wonderful thing it is to live in a country where the run up to Christmas only starts on December 1st, I think to myself. Overpriced Christmas trees are only just going on sale in the local florist’s, and so far I haven’t been subjected to a single Christmas song while shopping in Monoprix.

“And Père Noël will put some presents there for [Tadpole],” my daughter continues, clearly having taken to heart the lesson I taught her only yesterday using our newly purchased Happyland Christmas Set, pictured above.

“Yes, but only if you’re a very good girl,” I clarify. “If you’re a naughty girl, you’ll get …” I pause, for dramatic effect, to let her finish my sentence.

“No presents!”

I think I’m starting to see the logic behind the whole Father Christmas myth, now that Tadpole is old enough to understand it. There is seemingly unlimited mileage to be had out of The Christmas Threat. I wonder how many times between now and December 25th I will catch myself saying “don’t be naughty, Father Christmas is watching you!”

The only flaw in my dastardly plan is my patent inability to actually purchase any presents without giving in to a sudden and overwhelming urge to let Tadpole have them immediately. So, not only will there be no presents under the Christmas tree come D-day if my irresponsible behaviour continues, but Tadpole won’t actually care about The Christmas threat because every single day of the past week has been Christmas as far as she is concerned.

Must try harder.

Buy Tadpole stuff!

November 28, 2005

technophobe

Filed under: misc — bipolarinparis @ 5:03 pm

Technology, it would seem, is no longer my friend.

First, let me share the tale of woe of my beloved 40 GB Ipod, won in a charity reverse auction for the symbolic sum of £ 16.00 last Christmas. “Petite”, as she is known, is having some sort of identity crisis. She no longer remembers that she is, in fact, an Ipod. She has forgotten how to have cosy chats with my computer. Error messages abound every time I set “petite” on her stand. She “won’t mount”. I have no idea what could at the root of her sudden frigidity.

Reformatting her is not an option, as even the ‘restore’ tool will not acknowledge her existence. There is nothing for it but to send her, swathed in swaddling clothes and bubble wrap, to the Apple Hospital and pray that they are able to perform a miracle. Which clearly will involve wiping the 2,500+ songs stored inside her pretty head, which I, in my blondeness, have neglected to back up anywhere on my computer. Gah.

The good news: “petite” is still within her one year warranty period, so any repairs should be free of charge. The bad news: Apple may demand proof of purchase, which I don’t have, as I didn’t actually purchase her. So now I have to contact the nice people at Auctionair, to see if they have some sort of paperwork.

I’m not holding my breath.

Secondly, our faithful digital camera (which does not have a name or gender) is being temperamental. Sometimes it can see perfectly well. At other times the preview screen remains black. After warming up for a little while, the camera may deign to recognise a light source like, say, a naked lightbulb if it is approximately 2 cm from the lens. Other than that, blackness. A form of depression, perhaps.

Obviously the dark phases occur when I am at home fiddling ever more desperately with the settings in the comfort of my apartment, and the working perfectly well phases occur when I am standing in the Fnac about to ask the opinion of an expert.

I suppose as these things always come in threes, I must brace myself to see what is going to malfunction next. The computer itself? The rather ancient video recorder which Tadpole uses to watch Noddy and Pingu?

I don’t suppose the bulb which exploded when I turned on the hall light this morning counts?

Preoccupied as I was with all my technological woes this morning, I fed and dressed Tadpole on autopilot.

After bundling her into the lift, I squeezed in beside her with my large plastic bin full to overflowing with bottles destined for the recycling bin (note to self, just how did I get through that quantity of red wine?) Halfway down to the ground floor, I heard Tadpole’s muffled, and rather puzzled voice emerge from beneath several layers of fleecy (pink) clothing.

“Mummy, I got my slippers on.”

I am left wondering whether I can’t climb into a nice padded envelope and send myself in for a service.

November 23, 2005

singing in tongues

Filed under: Tadpole rearing, Tadpole sings — bipolarinparis @ 9:15 pm

version originale

version française

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