Paris

Paris is a city I want to live in for a year. A full year.

I want to explore every neighborhood and nook and cranny. I want to have the time to really sit in a park for an afternoon and watch the wooden sailboats without feeling rushed by an itinerary. I want to smile knowingly at the tourists buying cheap paintings because I was once one of them. I want to expertly navigate the metro like I once did New York City and Washington DC.

I keep asking Ben about PwC offices in Paris (which he travels to often for work). He keeps assuring me Paris will not be our next destination.

Traveling with six children is all about low expectations. The lower my expectations are, the more I enjoy the trip. This is really hard to do. Especially in Paris. My personal expectations and desires rise up and tyrannize my children into appreciating a wonder of the world they simply aren't interested in.

McDonalds with an indoor play place? A hotel room with three beds pushed together? Paw Patrol? You betcha. This is the kind of experience my kids live for.

So we did our best to unite my dreams with our childrens' dreams in holy matrimony this past weekend.

We caravanned with the Packer family on the 3.5 hour drive to Paris early Saturday morning. Ben grumbled about driving in France and all of the speed cameras and I passed out snacks, water bottles and iPads and pointed out places to Ben along the way we still need to see (he loves that).

By 11 a.m., we were parked and loading our strollers and backpacks with enough snacks to last a lifetime. By 11:15, we were unpacking the stroller because it wouldn't fit in the miniature parking garage elevator and had to be collapsed and carried up the stairs. By 11:20, we passed out round one of snacks and felt ready for anything! So we began the journey of pushing, carrying and encouraging six children to make the three block walk across two major intersections into the Jardin des Tuileries.

First on the agenda: find a park.

It's always the first thing on our agenda.

After looking at a few maps and wandering around a lovely pond for 15 minutes, I told Ben to cut the crap and use his French to ask for directions. We spotted trampolines in the distance and headed toward them. After realizing it was €2.50 per five minutes of jumping time, we pulled our crying, shoeless children away from the trampolines and toward the playground. The free trampolines at Parc de Merl in Luxembourg have really spoiled us. But the park was perfect.

Bennett, Ryan, and Otto immediately ran off with Aksel trailing behind them. Ingrid and Eliza toddled around Becky and I begging to be lifted onto slides. Ben and Nate went foraging for adult food.

I declared it the best October weather ever.

Ben and Nate returned with jambon and fromage on fresh baguettes.

The feeling of sitting in the Tuileries Garden while your children happily play and your face feels warm in the sun and your lips still taste of crusty French bread is sublime.

Otto and Aksel took turns peeing in the bushes. People asked if Eliza and Ingrid were twins. Aksel ate three apples. Ryan lost a shoe into the bushes and a man with a half a cigarette dangling from his mouth appeared and happily retrieved it. Becky put her legs up and closed her eyes in, perhaps, her happiest place on earth. And I shed a tear about my good fortune, my good friends, and the power of Paris, France.

Two hours later, we convinced the children to leave the park for a carousel ride. After each animal or vehicle was carefully pre-selected by each child, they climbed aboard. Aksel moved from train to motorcycle to ostrich and back to train so many times I had to climb aboard and keep him from dying. And then I had to pry his little fingers and body from the carousel and use all my strength to buckle him into the stroller.

Ingrid was buckled next to him and Otto happily climbed into our hiking carrier. We walked back to the entry of the garden, letting Aksel and Ingrid fall asleep and so Becky and I could use the restroom.

Bathrooms in France are fascinating. I'm either provided a hole in the ground or I'm paying €.70 for two adults who sweep and wipe down my stall after each use and who hold the stall door open for me as I enter.

We took advantage of sleeping children to make the 40-minute walk up Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe. Ben insisted on both carrying Otto and pushing the stroller. Every face we met smiled or gawked at our crew. We made our way in and out of crowds and tourists eating al fresco and servers weaving in and out of people like us and street performers to the Arc.

Otto was not impressed.

I guarded two strollers and three sleeping children while Ben, Otto, Nate, Becky, Bennett, and Eliza took the underground passageway to the base of the arc. As they returned, Ingrid and Ryan awoke and we went in search of crêpes and ice cream.

Otto was impressed.

Then, for the pièce de résistance, we announced we would be going to McDonald's for dinner. AND IT HAD A PLAY PLACE. Getting back to the car was not a problem. The children ran with glee to be buckled in their seats.

Becky located a McDonald's a few minutes from the Sheraton, where we would be spending the night. We made our way out of the parking garage, down Champs-Élysées and it's famous roundabout  to a shopping center mecca outside of the city where our children acted as if they'd never beheld such an incredible play structure.

Once we finally found the hotel and it's miniature parking lot of 20 parking spots on a circular ramp, we checked into the hotel, requested two cribs, bathed the children, pushed beds together and turned on paw patrol. The Packer children sat together calmly on one bed mesmerized by the show. The Oates children went bananas jumping, wrestling and screeching at the top of their lungs.

Nate & Becky escaped for a date in downtown Paris.

I sang and rocked Eliza to sleep in Nate and Becky's room next door. Then I sang and rocked Ingrid to sleep in the bathroom of the adjoining room where Bennett, Ryan, Otto and Aksel were being sung to sleep by Ben. There was a lot of singing.

Then we turned an a white noise app on a spare iPhone and wished ourselves luck.

We were too lazy to order room service or anything else, so we turned on LDS General Conference and checked on Eliza every few minutes.

Per usual, Aksel was the only child to wake in the night and he graced us with his presence for two hours until finally falling back asleep at 6:30 a.m.

A few hours later we were showering, dressing, and packing up for the day. After a high-stress meal for parents in the hotel dining room, we returned to our rooms, let the dad's load the cars and drove back into the city.

Otto had been and kept asking when he would get to see the Eiffel Tower. The day had finally arrived. But first we went to Notre Dame. It was Sunday morning, after all. As we entered the Cathédral, I told Otto and Aksel they could have four m&ms if they folded their arms and remained reverent for the lap we would walk around those attending mass. They earned their m&ms and then Ben bought an apple pastry from the boy scouts for €5 who basically block the exit.

This day was equally as beautiful as the day before. We meandered around the side and to the back rose gardens of Notre Dame finding a few toys for the boys to play on while the girls chased pigeons. A film was being shot along the bridge behind the Cathédral and we paused to catch a glimpse. Nate and Ben took the boys on a walk along the river while Becky and I took our girls to browse souvenirs stands. We happily walked away with water color paintings of the city and made our way to the Eiffel Tower.

As it came into view, Bennett, Ryan and Otto yelled There it is! We see it! 

At this point, I thought I would be a really fun mom and buy a little key chain from a Senegalese man illegally selling them. Otto cried because it wasn't big enough. Well, played Otto.

We spotted a park and headed straight for it. Again, Ben and Nate went foraging for food. Becky and I silently hoped they wouldn't return with hotdogs and protected our children from Sameen -- a little boy who couldn't stop hitting, shoving, and dumping dirt on the bottom of the slide making Ingrid and Eliza shriek with displeasure.

The men returned with hot pizzas, raspberries, carrots, and miniature bananas. All three of our children ate the pizza. Like they held a slice and ate it. And then they ate another. It felt like a miracle. We finally made it. We are finally a family that can eat a pizza together. It felt almost as amazing as looking up from the park bench and seeing the Eiffel Tower.

We took as many pictures as our kids could stand and then we walked all of our weary, sleep-deprived bodies back to the parking garage, collapsed the stroller, walked down the pee-stained stairs, and we drove home.