Paris Mommy: An American Mom's Trials and Tribulations in the City of Light

By Tamar McLachlan

Tamar moves from California to Paris with her photographer husband, hoping to quell the travel bug inside her. Enraptured with the city, she decides to have a baby. Thus begins her journey into motherhood, while negotiating a foreign city, culture and language. At the same time, her husband decides to purchase a rustic Italian farmhouse as a renovation project. Tamar struggles to find her own identity as a new mother and an ex-pat, while searching for a place to call "home".

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483568492

Book preview

gelato.

LET’S MOVE TO PARIS

Jason and I are on holiday. My parents have treated us, along with my brother David and his husband Alex, to a trip to France. After spending one week in a castle in the French countryside, Jason and I are spending three nights in Paris.

We are walking back to our hotel after dinner at our friend Greg’s apartment on the Left Bank. Greg is an American who has taken an apartment in Paris for a year. After six months here, his French is barely functional, but he is having a great time.

Wow, that was amazing.

Yes, Greg is a really good cook.

I mean his apartment. And the fact that he is living here. I mean, he doesn’t even speak French!

No kidding. You and I speak better French than he does.

Well, we both spent enough years studying it.

We stop in the middle of crossing the Pont Neuf.

No wonder this is called the city of light. There is so much to photograph here! Jason pulls his ever-present Leica off of his shoulder. I swear, after ten years of living and traveling with him, I’ve come to know it as his extra appendage.

I look out at the lights sparkling over the Seine. So different from looking out across the San Francisco Bay from Sausalito at the sparkling city lights where we live. I do appreciate that we live in a beautiful place, but Jason and I are travel junkies and I can feel us getting restless.

I don’t want to go home. I’m so bored with work. I feel like the past three years, since we returned from our year of travel, have just been a desperate attempt to be normal.

We are currently living in Sausalito, just outside of San Francisco, where we both grew up. Jason’s father and siblings live there. My parents live there. His mother and stepfather live in Washington D.C., right near David and Alex, which makes visiting easy. But basically, everyone’s dream is to return to San Francisco. And right now, I just want to leave and go on an adventure.

Jason and I have always been adventurous. We met in high school, took a break from dating each other in college, and reconnected right before graduation, when we met up in Europe on parallel post-graduate backpacking trips. We were glued at the hip for two weeks as we traveled through France, Switzerland and Italy. We parted tearfully. Jason continued on to pursue his dream of becoming a photojournalist by working for the Prague Post. I returned to Boston to attend graduate school in clinical social work. It didn’t take long for Jason to realize that living in Prague was going to cost him more than he was making, and although part of him wanted to sleep on park benches and explore his dark artistic side, the better part of him decided to return to New York City to take a paying job with Sports Illustrated. Six months later, he began freelancing for newspapers in Boston. We moved in together and spent most of our free time planning our next trip to explore the world.

Over the next several years, in between pursuing our careers in clinical social work and photography, we saved our pennies and traveled whenever we could: Israel, Bolivia, Chile, France, Greece, camping through Nova Scotia. We traveled across the United States I became more and more passionate about rock climbing and mountaineering, while Jason’s gourmet interests finally led him to shift his career from sports photography to photographing food and wine. The year we turned thirty, we had saved up enough money to spend a year traveling to twenty-seven countries. Both of our families thought this was unwise, irresponsible, and insane. At a time when our peers were saving for children’s college funds and down payments on homes, we were calculating how long we could afford to travel across southeast Asia.

I know what you mean, Jason sighs. I’m so tired of driving all over Northern California, photographing news for the local paper. I thought our year of travel would get the travel bug out of us. But I just can’t get excited about local politics or the latest renovations of the town library after visiting India, trekking in Nepal and riding elephants in Thailand.

Well, what shall we do? We already checked out the Peace Corps. I think it would be exciting but I understand that you don’t want to completely step out of your photography career. We don’t have kids. I feel like this is our time to really do what we want!

Yes, I think we’ve been trying to sink back into conventional life, but honestly, I’m bored. I don’t want familiarity. I want different.

What about living here? I am excited and terrified as soon as the suggestion flies out of my mouth.

Here? In Paris?

Why not? We both speak French. If Greg can do it, we can too. We can rent out our house for…I don’t know, six months? We have enough money saved to start us out here for a couple of months.

Jason pauses, thinking. I can see the wheels in his head turning. I’m bound to get wine and food photo assignments if we are based in Paris. From here, I can photograph all over Europe. I’m sure my contacts would send me assignments here.

I want to really experience living somewhere, not just passing through. Do you realize during our year of travel, we never stayed anywhere longer than four days? I really want to see what living somewhere else is like. And here, we speak the language and could work.

The more we talk, the more excited we both become. We stop for a glass of wine on the Quai des Grands Augustins. Looking out at the sparkling city, I think, Why not? Why not try living in Paris? Sure, our families will think we are nuts. We have traveled extensively, always finding a balance between Jason’s interest in food and wine and my interest in climbing and adventure. They were so relieved when we finally settled down in a house in Sausalito, after our itchy feet sent us on annual jaunts all over the world. When we finally settled in the San Francisco Bay Area, our parents were truly relieved.

The next day we return to the United States, but the seed is already planted. It doesn’t take long to convince ourselves that we should give living in Paris a go. Why not? We can try it for six months and if things go south, we can always go home.

AM I CRAZY?

I email my sensible attorney brother to test out my idea. David and Alex have recently moved to D.C. for work. My brother looks about twelve years old. It is difficult to believe that he currently teaches legal ethics at Georgetown Medical School and is on staff at one of the most prestigious think tanks in Washington.

David: You’re moving to Paris?! Why?

Me: Because, number one, it’s an amazing city; number two, we both speak French; and number three, we want to try living abroad.

David: Why on earth would you want to live abroad?

Me: To experience a different culture. Jason and I both grew up in San Francisco.

David: "You want different? So go back to Boston. Go to New York. Go to Portland for goodness sakes. Why would you want to go to France? They’re rude, they eat stinky cheese, and it rains a lot. I just want to get back to SF from D.C.!"

Me: So why can’t you leave D.C. and move to San Francisco?

David: Tamar, I work for the government. Which happens to be in D.C. So, until they move, or I change careers, I’m here. Plus, Alex is not going to leave his reporter job. Not now that he’s working at headquarters.

Me: But he loves Portland. I thought he wanted to go back there and be near his family?

David: Alex is a funny guy. He loves Portland. He loves the small world he grew up in. But no way is he going to give up his big-time slot in D.C. to be in Portland, or any other satellite station. I’m hoping at some point I can at least split time in SF and D.C.

Me: "Well, you know Mom would love to have you back in SF. And by the way, Jason hasn’t told his mom yet. So don’t say anything when you run into her at the Farmer’s Market."

David: How do Mom and Dad feel about you guys moving to Paris?

Me: "How do you think they feel? Dad thinks we are nuts since, according to him, San Francisco is the best city in the world and the French overcook their meat. Oh, and he can’t get over the fact that there are no ice cubes served in drinks in France. Whatever. Mom is doing that tight-lipped smile and saying things like, Well darling, that’s a nice idea but really, is that for the best? You and Jason are going to throw away your careers to go to France? She doesn’t seem to understand that our careers are portable. I work by phone, mostly, and Jason photographs wine and food. I mean, Paris is the capital of wine and food! You know we were thinking of going to Bangkok? We even had a meeting with the Peace Corps."

David: "Okay, that Is insane. Who lives in Bangkok?"

Me: Thai people.

David: Yes, but why would anyone move there?

Me: Because Thailand is an amazing country, the culture is fascinating, and Jason adores the food.

David: Aha. I knew Jason’s stomach was leading the way.

Me: Well, frankly, once we gave up the idea of the Peace Corps, I pushed for Paris over Bangkok. I would love to live in Thailand but I would want to be part of a project. Not just move there on our own. Paris is familiar at least. And we have some contacts.

David: Well I would surely choose Paris over Bangkok. What are you doing with your house?

Me: "Renting it out. I was hoping to rent it furnished but I think we are going to have to put stuff in storage, or sell it. It’s not like we have a lot. And now is the perfect time to do this. We don’t have kids. We don’t have pets. All we have is a sofa and a bed and a lot of Jason’s kitchen utensils. Most of our friends have babies or are pregnant and can’t do anything. I just feel like, why not live somewhere else? Because we can!"

David: Well, if you’re bored, you might want to consider redecorating your living room or taking up a hobby. Or get a dog.

Me: I have hobbies. Climbing. Travel.

David: Yes, well, I meant a normal hobby. Like tennis. Or a pet. Most people just have a baby.

Me: Pets aren’t very travel friendly. Neither are babies. The last thing I want is to be stuck in a playroom, playing dolls or Legos and covered in baby spit.

David: Good point. Well, I will be happy to come visit you in Paris. How long do you plan on being there for?

Me: I’m thinking six months, but I guess we will see. We are renting our house out for six months and then we can all re-evaluate. And if it’s a bust, we can always come back.

ARRIVAL IN PARIS

Despite our families’ opinion that it is unwise and irresponsible to leave our home and jobs at age thirty-two, we make plans. Even though Jason’s parents, now divorced, were truly of the sixties generation and spent six months traveling around Europe in a VW van, they were both less than thrilled with our plan to move there, even temporarily. Jason pointed out to his mom that Paris to Washington D.C., where she and my brother both happen to live, is no further than San Francisco to Washington D.C. She wasn’t consoled.

Now, here we are at the Hotel de Blois in the 14th arrondissement. It is exactly the same as it was ten years ago, but with new paint and new beds (thank goodness), and it’s as quaint and unpretentious as it has always been. Paris is cold, wet and grey. We store our duffel bags in the hotel basement and carry our backpacks up four flights of stairs to our tiny room. I turn on the radiator and thaw myself out. We are traveling on the cheap, but the tiny room, closet-sized bathroom and antique radiator are luxurious compared to some places we’ve stayed on our travels—like the $5-per-night room in Mumbai, India.

Jason interrupts my thoughts. "Shall we head out for an apero? I would like to buy some Camembert at the fromagerie before they close."

As usual, our itinerary is guided by Jason’s stomach. As we head out the door, the femme de réception reminds us that petit déjeuner is tomorrow beginning at 7:30 a.m. We stop across the street at Café Severo, most well known for its luscious steaks. We have a coffee at the bar and skim the newspaper for apartment ads.

14TH ARRONDISSEMENT

Strapped for cash, we know that we have to find an apartment in a hurry. We spend our first few days indulging in walking the streets of Paris. I see how the chilly, wet, grey February weather could feel depressing after a while, but we are giddy with freedom (on a strict budget) and walk from one end of Paris to the other, exploring cafés, fromageries, and boulangeries, basically eating our way across town. In between sampling cheese, baguette and coffee, we scan the pages of the local real estate rental newspaper, Immobilier de Particulier à Particulier. Jason spots the ad for 21 Rue Brézin only a few days after our arrival. It is the only callback we receive to our dozens of enquiries.

We meet the owners, Jacques and Chloe, on a Tuesday night, outside the big blue front door of 21 Rue Brézin. I immediately like them. Tall and dark, they both look like movie stars with sparkling eyes, chiseled features and radiant smiles. They are exactly our age, dressed casually, yet they look as if they have just stepped off the runway. I put it down to that innate sense the French have for fashion.

As soon as we enter the tiny six-hundred-square-foot apartment, I know it is perfect for us. Covered in dust, and overstuffed with too-tall bookcases, shabby sofas and a desk that blocks the closet door, it has potential. Two large windows open onto a garden view from the double-size living room. A large window in the bedroom opens onto the courtyard. Even though it is night and the lamps are dim, I can tell that during the daytime, sunlight will fill the apartment. Once the furniture is cleared out, the rooms will be plenty spacious for the two of us—especially since we have no furniture of our own yet and can’t afford to buy more than a bed and small table. A good cleaning and airing will freshen the apartment and a new coat of paint will spruce the place up. Most of all, it is affordable—more so than the places listed by the many real estate agents in the area. And Jacques will give us a small discount for paying him in cash.

We choose to live in the 14th arrondissement because, having always based ourselves at the Hotel de Blois, it is the part of Paris that feels most familiar. But I am falling in love with it even more. I love that I can run next door to the little supermarket to get olive oil and a much-needed chocolate bar, and then pop next door to get a baguette from the Banette bakery (the delicious smell of baking wafts into our open bedroom window on summer mornings).

In the square right outside our front door on Tuesdays and Fridays, there is a local farmer’s market, where seasonal produce, as well as fresh flowers and herbs, make an appearance. On the square, there’s a local café which serves the best coffee we’ve tasted in Paris, a wonderful boucherie that sells its products to many of the Michelin star restaurants in the city, two sushi restaurants, two pharmacies, three large supermarkets (one is an all-natural health-food type), a shoe repair shop, an electrical shop, five boulangeries, and a children’s carousel and park.

There’s also a swimming pool where for €1.50 we can enjoy a swim. The downside is that the French seem to have a bizarre notion of swimming laps. Lanes are not designated according to speed, meaning that I am often stuck treading water behind an elderly lady who is barely moving through the water, while a young man who seems to be training for the Olympics keeps knocking into my feet as he follows too close behind me.

One block away from 21 Rue Brézin is a shop which sells discount Limoges. I’ve never been one for fine china. I love pottery but prefer non-precious pieces picked up on my travels. For our wedding registry, we signed up for small, affordable items at Pottery Barn.