In my last of the Paris posts, I again revel at the fortitude of my children. This time in matters of weather, as they ran, jumped, hopped, see sawed, and slid through seemingly ever park on Paris...in the frigid cold and misty rain...with nary a complaint. Never mind the fact that if the temperature dips below 70 in Dallas, Audrey has you believing we're in the eye of the polar vortex. (She's a drama queen, that one.) Bring the kid to Paris, apparently, and the world can do no wrong.
Or maybe a child's attraction to easily accessible, interesting, creative play spaces will squash even the smallest kernel of complain. Hear that America? Bring on the parks. Stat.
Also blowing my mind, the four hours spent at Père Lachaise Cemetery on Christmas Day. It was the ultimate history lesson... We parked the kiddos in front of the resting places of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, Amedeo Modigliani, et al. and then gave a little spiel about why each artist/writer/musician was so, well, kick ass. We even pulled up some tunes to further excite them about Mr. Morrison and Ms. Piaf. They were entranced. So much so that Millie has declared if her firstborn is a girl she shall be named Edith (her exact words).
It was by far the oddest, most memorable, and, quite frankly, most magical Christmas we've ever had. Pure goodness.