Visitors

Not just a French comedy, les visiteurs have descended on Paris! Springtime brings tulips, erratic weather, and tour groups clogging the sidewalks and bakeries.

We've had our share of guests as well, both good and bad. Last month, Pat traveled to San Francisco to a conference and then to Boston to check on his lab and our apartment. (Both are still there, whew.) While he was away, my mom and stepdad came to stay. It was Newell's first time to Paris, and my mom had only been once before with my dad almost forty years ago. I had a mission to imbue them with, if not the same love I have for this city, at least a healthy respect.

I sketched out a list of "must see's" and a secondary list of "if there's time." Given my and my mother's shared inability to get out of the house at a decent hour, we accomplished a surprising amount. Most days comprised marathon walks: for example, across the river to the Luxembourg Gardens, then a walk through the sixth and seventh arrondissements via Les Invalides to the Eiffel Tower, and then home along the river. Or, up through the ninth arrondissement to the Moulin Rouge in the 18th and then a zig zag up Montmartre to Sacre Coeur, the funicular down and back home (note to self: next time take the funicular up and push the 70 pound stroller-kid combination down the hill).

After Pat came back, we all went for a ride on the Bateaux Mouches, because I needed Pat's help handling the kids on the metro ride there. We kept Sam busy with snacks, raising and lowering the folding seats, and convincing him to yell under every bridge as if he were listening for his echo in a tunnel. (We devised this game in Singapore when walking under bridges along the river; it's called "Tunnel Voice." See video on Phanfare.)

Most of our walks turned into tours of my previous life in Paris, and even more so a tour of my early romance with Pat. (There's where we met, there's the restau where we almost broke up, and the metro station where we made up...)

By the end of their stay, my parents were comfortable enough to venture out on their own and even seemed to enjoy the Parisian rhythm.

Two weeks later, Pat left town again, this time for a conference in Bordeaux, just as my father arrived with his new girlfriend, A., who had also never been to Paris before.

Since my father is a veteran tourist in Paris--indeed, I owe my fascination with this city to him--I didn't have to worry about suggested itineraries. They developed a comfortable routine of coming over in the mornings to play with the boys (and nap on the couch) and then going sightseeing.

We all walked to the Luxembourg Gardens one day so they could watch the boys play (and nap on a bench--my dad, that is. A. always stayed wide awake). After Pat got back, we were able to get a babysitter and visit my dad's favorite brasserie in the 5th.

Let me take this opportunity to pronounce publicly that we LOVED A. We found her to be down-to-earth, thoughtful, and genuine, and we look forward to getting to know her better in the future (and to sampling some of her renowned baking).

Ten days after their departure, Pat's sister and niece came to stay with us. The girls hit the ground running. We picnicked with them in the Lux. Gardens, and we attempted to accompany them to the top of the Eiffel Tower. But the wait was too long for Sam, who melted down on the second level and compelled us to excuse ourselves.

As always with Pat's siblings, we had a great time hanging out, and the boys loved playing with their big cousin.

Our less-welcome visitors have been the microscopic variety--germs! Since Sam started attending his halte-garderie he's brought home a couple of colds, and I've gotten the worst of it. The first round occurred right before my mom's visit, a cold that, for me, dragged out into a sinus infection until my dad's visit.

This was also Finn's first real cold. He weathered it well, notwithstanding his brother's harassment. Since babies can't blow their noses, we use the standard hospital-issued aspirator--the bulb--preceded by a few drops of saline solution to clear out the nasal passages. Most babies hate this, with good reason since it sounds like you're sucking out their brains, and Finn is no exception. He squirmed, twisted, and contorted as soon as the drops hit his face. Once the bulb was inserted, he'd turn deep read and SCREAM.

This delighted Sam.

No matter what he was doing, if he heard the baby cry, Sam dropped everything and came running. He'd stick his face into Finn's (or at least, as close as we'd let him get) so that he could carefully examine the procedure. A mere glimpse of the bulb in the bathroom would prompt him to chant, "Bulb the baby! Bulb the baby! Bulb the baby!"

The next round of viruses hit at the end of my dad's visit. Pat and I came down with stomach bugs, though, again, I got the worst of it. Indeed, it wiped me out for a week. Pat had to miss a day of work to watch the boys for me, and I requested extra days at the h-g for Sam while I fumbled through the rest of the week.

That same week, Sam and Finn caught their second batch of Parisian rhinoviruses. Luckily for Finn, Sam had it worse, and so the bulb did not make an appearance.

The day I finally felt up to eating some real food, I came down with the cold and was again wiped out for a few days. We're all better now, but Pat is complaining of a sore throat...sigh. And so it goes.

We will soon be visitors, ourselves. This week we travel to Greece for ten days.