When Staying Silent is Because You Have Nothing to Contribute

What do you do when you're in a room full of Arabic speakers and they're throwing out baby girl name suggestions for one of the pregnant woman in the room?  Particularly when she's leaning towards an Arabic name and most of the ones you are familiar with have already have been raised: Noor, Malak, Malakah, Jasmin, Jasmina, Aisha, Layla, Leena, Sabina, Rana, etc.

Apparently smiling, nodding and saying which ones are particularly nice isn't good enough.  H and I did just that and the father-to-be accused us of holding out on him by 'hoarding our baby name list for ourselves.'  It didn't cross his mind that maybe we just don't have a baby name list.  We're not saving the name Seven a la George Costanza.  Salaam.

Paris Loves Me

During my last trip to Paris, I was standing on the Champs Elysees waiting for Cartier to open.  It just happened to be the day of Francois Hollande's inauguration and the street was covered in police and there were snipers atop of the Arc de Triomphe.  As the clock ticked past 10:30, I started to wonder if the store was going to delay its opening for the inauguration.  Meanwhile, the police standing nearby were starting to worry why I was still standing on the corner.  In French they demanded,

"Why are you loitering on this corner?"

"Umm, I'm waiting for Cartier to open."

"Hmm," they looked at one another before deciding, "ok, that's ok.  Carry on." 

First I get accused of stroller theft / child forgetting then I get viewed as a terrorist threat for 'loitering' outside of Cartier.  It's not like terrorists shop at Cartier...oh wait, Gaddafi did.

Another Good Reason to Get a Hairy Coo

Gchat with H this morning: 

H [10:33 AM]: "What are you up to?"

Wife, Anonymous [10:34 AM]: "I just walked two miles round trip to get a pint of milk.  I feel like Laura Ingalls in Little House on the Prairie."

H [10:37 AM]: "To be like Laura Ingalls you would have to milk a cow."

Touché H, touché.  I guess I really should restart my efforts to learn how to drive our manual.  Otherwise, if anyone wants to get me a baby hairy coo, I bet I can learn how to milk a cow faster than I can learn how to drive a manual.

Seriously, how cute is that face?

Bringing the Mountain to Mohammed

Why yes, that is a rice cooker bubbling away in my living room.

Why no, I don't live in a studio apartment.  

Which begs the question, why is there a rice cooker bubbling away next to the television in the living room?  Well that would be because that's currently where the only unpacked power strip is plugged in, a power strip that allows Australian and U.S. plug ends and is plugged into a power adapter for our British outlet.  This is what happens when we have appliances / electrical goods from three continents with four different plug ends.

In a few months H will likely get around to replacing the plug ends on compatible appliances so they can plug directly into our British outlets.  With each location, the wires on our electrical goods get shorter and shorter; when they get too short to change the plug ends, does that mean it's time to retire?

Sorry H, It's Too Late for a Dowry

Yesterday retirement looked like this:

homemade marmalade filled 'doughnut muffins'

and like this:

 homemade Nutella brownie bites

Today retirement looks like this:

You might be wondering what the above photograph depicts.  Well, that would be my flooded kitchen floor from me mistakenly thinking my washing machine was finished and opening the machine door before it had drained, not once, not twice, but THREE times.

If H keeps up his track record of late nights at the office the floor might by dry by the time he gets home.  If not maybe a muffin will distract him...too bad they are currently unreachable without rain boots.

Où Est Votre Bébé? AKA Dude Where's Your Baby?

A couple of weeks ago, while abroad, I met up with an old friend and her baby.  Given that we were in a nice city, instead of catching up at home, we took the city by storm and spent our days packed full of site-seeing and shopping.  At one point, my friend took her son into the restroom and I kept walking around with the stroller, which may or may not have been laden down with my shopping bags.  As I meandered around the site, another tourist stopped me and said,

"Pardon, où est votre bébé?"

"Umm, with his mother, my friend, in the bathroom."

Did you think I was stealing a stroller or that I forgot my child?  I'm not sure which is worse.