slowly but surely

Much to our dismay, Annabelle’s illness rebounded, mid-week.  She wasn’t sick enough to go to the doctor, nor well enough to go out and explore the city.  I felt like a caged cat, while Annabelle was content to play dolls and read like a maniac.

I will dole out too much information for a moment and elude to her symptoms by referencing the BRAT diet, also referred to as the BRATY diet.  The BRAT diet consists of B(ananas), R(ice), A(pplesauce), T(oast) and sometimes, (Y)ogurt.  It relies on the blandest of bland to reset the digestive tract.  In other words, decadent French food be damned.

  if you must eat boring food, at least make it look fancy

In the afternoons, we managed to get out for a little fresh air and stroll through the neighborhood.  Annabelle was lured by the prospect of taking out her stroller, which had just arrived in a box we’d shipped from Seattle. Little girls with strollers make people happy, even the surly French types.

a breath of fresh air

Many storefronts were bedecked in greens and shiny glass balls, and Laduree, the posh tearoom with its famed macarons, had a special station set up for ordering their decadent Christmas confections.  Even the Parisian dogs had a jolly air about them. 

 jolly old pooch

In a bold move, we subbed yogurt gelato for plain old yogurt (the ‘Y’ in the BRATY diet), much to Annabelle’s delight.  On Thursday, it was 52 degrees in Paris.  That’s just plain hot for December. 

pure joy

My thrill of the day came in the form of a lovely Christmas bouquet to grace our holiday table.  Although many things are pricier in Paris, flowers are relatively affordable. 

les jolies fleurs (pretty flowers)

After dinner, we sprawled on the couch and watched ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’.  Nothing evokes Christmas nostalgia quite like Burl Ives singing ‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas’.

movie night, rudolph-style