Paris

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I’m going to get slayed admitting this here, but I don’t love Paris. I know! I’ve been there half a dozen times and J even proposed there. And I still just don’t like it. I mean, I really love the idea of Paris. I think old Paris is what is alluring. But the reality of it is that it’s just not for me.

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J is grimacing because the sun is in his eyes. Or because he’s 10 years deep now and can’t get out, haha.

That said, I am so freaking thrilled that we were able to take Miss H to Paris. I’m glad she got to cross that off her bucket list and all of her eight-year-old dreams were able to come true (for those days anyway).

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Paris is big and dirty and not wholly family or kid friendly. And not that the world needs to cater to kids, but maybe accepting them as actual persons would be cool. And all the things I used to love about Paris 10+ years ago have mostly changed and been ruined – large walls around the the Eiffel Tower, and much of the insides of Versailles is roped off so you feel like you’re being pushed through a cattle call.

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He’s grimacing again. Hm.

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A statue in Versailles.

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This is definitely the face of a mischievous little brute who’d run into the Notre Dame.

It probably didn’t help that in this city Sweet M escaped into the Notre Dame without us, ran onto the tram tacks while I was adjusting his baby sister in the Ergo, got his foot stuck in a metro door, and escaped the metro wholly at one point. Is it a surprise he’s the one aging me that quickest?

And before you start judging me or pointing fingers – I get it! I was you. I laugh to think I once thought 2 year old B was a handful. He climbed bookshelves and cabinets occasionally, but never tried to be the cover of an international news story. Sweet M is a breed all of his own.

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We also entered an extreme heat wave throughout Europe at this time. For someone who ended up really loving Hawaii, I still do not love the heat. At all.

But Miss H got to see Paris and really that was what it was all for.And I’d do it a million times over to see her little face light up at the sights.  She was totally committed to the idea, and I loved that.

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You can’t actually kiss Oscar Wilde’s tombstone anymore (omg, who would do that!? Germs…and if you know me, you know I’m laughing so hard right now because you can bet I once kissed that gravestone!). But she pretended. After all, he is her namesake. Our little Wilde Thing.

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And it was fun reminiscing to her about my first experience in Paris when I was 12. And also about being there with her papa when he proposed. It’s actually a bit amusing; for all the really wonderful memories and experiences in that city, you’d think I would like it a wee bit more.

Regardless, it was a fun experience for the kids and I hope they got something valuable and beautiful out of it.  Their little smiling faces and shrieks of delight made it worth it. It makes everything worth it, every time.

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Why yes, he did order this for breakfast. He loves his food as much as his momma does.
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This. This right here is why I adore this man so ridiculously much. 50 bags to transport and Sweet M just couldn’t hang and only wanted his papa, and he didn’t miss a beat. He could have said no, or been a grump about it, or a million other things but he didn’t. And not just this time, but EVERY time. He’s always a rock star who loves our babies so fiercely he’d lasso the moon for them if needed. He’s my favorite.

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My budding little photographer.

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