My husband, son, and I went for a leisurely Sunday city stroll and stopped into the train station for a coffee at Starbucks. I know there are a million cafés in Paris but there’s something about the hustle and bustle of the train station that I like.

Plus I had to get the holiday latte before Starbucks took it off the menu.

Hubby and son sat on a bench while I waited in the long but quick-moving line. I could have pulled rank and pointed to my pregnant belly but I kept it hidden (well, as much as possible) under my coat. We weren’t in a rush and I don’t like to cut in front of other people, no matter how valid the excuse (and how raging my hormones).

Slowly but surely I reached the counter and placed my order. The friendly employees ran the operation like a well-oiled machine. I guess you have to be efficient if you work at a coffee stop in a busy train station, but in France that’s no guarantee.

Then clear out of the blue…

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Vicki Lesage proves daily that raising two French kids isn't as easy as the hype lets on. In her three minutes of spare time per week, she writes, sips bubbly, and prepares for the impending zombie apocalypse. She lives in Paris with her French husband, rambunctious son, and charming daughter, all of whom mercifully don't laugh when she says "au revoir." She penned two books, Confessions of a Paris Party Girl and Confessions of a Paris Potty Trainer, in between diaper changes and wine refills. She writes about the ups and downs of life in Paris at

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