Pledged

Sometimes La Mom’s life resembles a dysfunctional sorority.

With the high turnover in the expat community (merci, la crise economique!), it seems like I have to get out there and replace friends every few months.

It’s Rush Week all over again, people – women check out each other’s clothes, homes, jewelry, and kids’ schools to see if they will pass muster. The only thing missing is some elaborate initiation ceremony.

Wait, I take that back – to get into Tammy’s group, you have to be able to shotgun a Belgian beer. Tammy – as in Tammy Why Not – never met a tequila shot she didn’t like. Tammy’s parties are light on the canapés, heavy on the booze. Needless to say, her CPA husband, Frat Boy, aids and abets her, laughing when their elegant French neighbors leave incensed notes under their door. Hell, they can’t read them anyway.

Here’s what went down last Wednesday afternoon at Tammy’s stunning duplex apartment overlooking the Seine:

Ohio Mom: Ohmigod, I’m still hung over from your party last weekend, Tammy!

New Jersey Mom: Tell me about it. Chris actually threw up for the first time in years after we got home.

La Mom: Whoa, I don’t think I’ve done a shooter since my bachelorette party...

Ohio Mom: So what happened after we left?

Tammy: Things got a little bit out of control – Bill broke out a bottle of tequila and we did body shots off each other’s husbands!

La Mom: Wow!

La Mom to self: Quoi?!?

New Jersey Mom: Yeah, we were pretty toasted. Did Frat Boy end up getting fined?

La Mom: Fined for what?

Tammy: Oh, Frat Boy hijacked a Velib’ bicycle and ended up crashing it into a lamppost. He got stopped by some gendarmes but he talked his way out of it.

La Mom: But he doesn’t speak French!

Tammy: Yeah, must have been the tequila talking…

I think I'm withdrawing my bid. Somehow I don’t see Big Cheese getting into reliving college days with a bunch of 35-year-old moms and their baseball-cap, sweatsuit-wearing husbands!

Coochie Coochie Coo

You know you live in France when your child embarasses you in two languages.

Today I took Small Fry to our 19th century apothecary-styled pharmacy around the corner from our apartment. She woke up from her nap with a fire-engine red front and bottom. She needed diaper rash cream fast.

As we walked into the pharmacy, she shouted, "Moi have coochie boo boo, Monsieur!"

Pharmacist: Ah bon? Tu as un bo-bo? Ma pauvre. (Oh really? You have a boo boo? Poor thing.)

Small Fry: Oui, moi have coochie boo boo!

Pharmacist: C'est quoi une coochie? (What's a coochie?)

Small Fry: Coochie boo boo!

(Oh man, Small Fry must have picked up on it when I said "Oh, look at your poor little coochie!" without thinking! Gotta wash my mouth out with Mustela.)

La Mom: It must be 2-year-old talk. I have no idea what she's trying to say (as I struggle to keep a straight face.)

Pharmacist: Where is your boo boo?

Small Fry: Là, il est là! (Here it is! Here!) - she screamed as she pointed emphatically to her crotch.

Thank goodness there were no other English speakers in the pharmacy. They would have sent me straight to the naughty corner for accidentally teaching Small Fry her new vocabulary word.

Of course, none of this would have ever happened if I had potty-trained her at 18 months like my mother-in-law Madame Fromage suggested.

Tant pis! (No pun intended...)

Cruising for a Bruising

Mommy Money Bags is at it again and there's no stopping her! She's been living high on the hog for so long that she's fallen out of touch with reality. Not everyone, including residents of the 16th arrondissement, has a bank account with at least eight zeroes in it and several others hidden in a tiny country famous for skiing, chocolate and luxury watches.

Last week, all the expat moms met for a night of Wine Clubbing at MMB's place. Before I start dishing, can I just say how I love the Wine Club? Here's why:

1/ We vent about our husbands, the kids, the French, Parisians, customer service

2/ We get to drink great wine and flirt with the handsome & devilish sommelier who says things like:

"Zees Côtes du Rhône has a good body like you Madame."
"Zees old Bordeaux has an intense bouquet of deep aromas zat get better with age, like women."
"Zees Sauterne tastes sweet, as you must Mesdames."

3/ We dish on the Park Monceau moms and Dr. Hot

4/ The Wine Clubbers provide great blog fodder (don't be mistaken - it looks like I'm on my BlackBerry sending my sister in the US an important email, but I'm really sending one to myself with the outrageous comments these women make)

Anyway, it's that time of year when everyone is making their summer vacation plans. Of course, MMB started yet another discussion about who's going where, with what staff, and for how long. Newly arrived Midwest Mom was on the receiving end of MMB's interrogation. It went like this:

MMB: So where's everyone going in July and August?

NYC Mom: We're in Cannes for 6 glorious weeks. I've got a nanny and an au-pair coming too. It'll be sooo relaxing.

Midwest Mom: We're taking the kids on a cruise for a week.

MMB: Only a week? Then you'll do something after that right?

Midwest Mom: Nothing's planned. Should we?

MMB: (Making a face to Malibu Mom) Nobody who lives in the 16th stays in Paris all summer. Only the poor do. It's sinful to stay in a polluted city crowded with tourists when you could be at the beach!

Midwest Mom: I was planning on taking the kids to Disneyland one day. We can do a fun activity every week - like visit the Eiffel Tower or Versailles.

MMB: You mean you're not going to stay at the Disney hotel so your kids can eat breakfast with the Disney cast?

Midwest Mom: No, we don't need to.

MMB: It sounds like you need to spend the summer looking for a country house to buy so you'll have a place to go next summer. I'll lend you mine in La Baule while I'm vacationing on Ile de Ré.

Midwest Mom: (Rolling her eyes at Miami Mom) Well, we just bought an apartment. That and a cruise is pretty much going to tap us out. Isn't that enough? Besides, who says I have to have a country house just because everyone else does?

Mommy Money Bags - cruising for a bruising!