ze french

Hi there.  I am the woman who writes this blog.  Really, I do write it - all the time.  In my head.  Oh, that doesn't count, eh?  Well, how about a little update...

See this forlorn luggage sitting in my dining room?  That is a miracle-turned-disaster.  So this is what happened, first we planned this lovely trip to visit our friends in Paris and do a bit of hiking along the coast in France.  Beautiful, right?  After a sweet (but early, as usual, thanks to a certain someone who shall remain unnamed) morning of coffee drinking, we got to work packing.  And, believe it or not, we were finished an hour early.  No, I'm not kidding, an hour. With a six-month-old.  I should have known it was too good to be true.  David even rigged a handy-dandy way to attach the pack n' play to a suitcase so we didn't have to carry it.  He's awesome like that.  But back to my story, there we are, making our way to the train.  We were so early, we stopped at a bakery for some yummy snacks for the train.  As we come up from the Ubahn into the Hauptbahnhof, I notice the departures board doesn't have any Paris destinations.  Strange - must be a mistake, I think, but really, what was I thinking?  I'm in Germany, they don't make mistakes here.  Undeterred, we head for the platform, only to discover that our train isn't going to Paris.  No trains are going to Paris.  Because ze french (and yes, you must say it with an awful accent) are on strike.

Hate.

So now my bags are sitting, somewhat unpacked, in my dining room.  And I am supposed to be in this beautiful dining room...

talking, laughing, drinking and planning a trip to St. Malo while little darlings play at our feet.

Merde.