Transport Terrors

Did I actually say I felt lucky to live in Paris last blog??? I've had serious amnesia whilst the kids have been off school and was rudely woken up this week with our return to the dreaded commute. Taking public transport with children should be outlawed, banned, 'interdit!' What starts off as fun and exciting adventure on the bus or train soon becomes a nightmare ritual of choosing specific seats (high enough to see out the window but not next to their sibling preferably), ticket insertion battles, food and drink demands, and mind numbing games of 'I Spy' which always ends in tears as the bigger one corrects the little one over minor misdemeanors.

Today I was rudely reminded of this ritual of our daily life as my children once again humiliated me on the No. 80 bus. I've been humiliated before of course, my little girl's pole dancing on the metro raises many an eye, especially when she licks the pole for good measure. And my older son's orca impressions on the bus always fail to impress the commuting Parisians. My husband's regular jerky jig on the bus as he juggles the pram, backpacks and briefcases is always entertaining as I sit quietly laughing to myself with the children, pretending not to know the clumsy oaf.

Today’s humiliation was of a different breed. When your child threatens to poo his pants right then and there, loudly in front of everyone, accusing you like his toiletry needs are your responsibility, in your control, and what are you going to do about it.

I've become immune to all the stares we receive now. I've got two loud, english-speaking children who rarely sit quietly on the bus, so what? Most people taking the bus are bored and they watch us, so what? I used to hush the children’s enthusiastic questions, my daughter’s lovely singing, my son’s eerie whale impressions (but excellent pisstake of the French accent), begging them to please use their ‘quiet voice’. But when I realized that not even the most beautiful, blonde haired, blue eyed happy child could crack a smile on their stone faces, I gave up.

People refusing to budge so you can squeeze your pram on the bus, bus doors closing on the pram when you’re halfway on nearly driving away with your child hanging out, rude Parisians telling me or my children off for being too loud sometimes swatting them with a rolled up newspaper, children doing somersaults off high seats as the bus driver slams on his brakes….

Today I long for the all too convenient 5 minute walk to school through a leafy trail amidst English speaking compatriots we used to do.

Saving Grace: He didn’t poo his pants after all.