Pompidou - 1, Families - 0

Yikes, I don't have a post to speak of for November and only one for October!? Embarrassing. I guess my hopes of being published will be dashed if I don't keep up with this thing. At the end of the day though, when I have time to blog, my mental capacity is just about shot. When I go have the en vie to recount my day, all I can usually muster is a phone call or e-mail to a friend or family member. So where to catch you up? Well, in October we had the French Toussaint holiday. Basically, holidays in France are holidays for everyone BUT au pairs. This means the children are home from school for a week and a half with no other activities to speak of. Ex-haus-ting. Though now that I'm writing this in December, it feels like ages ago. So one of the more pronounced happenings over the holiday came on an innocent Saturday filled with culture and a family trip to Paris.

On the first Saturday of the holiday, Bertrand asked me if I wanted to go to Le Centre Pompidou with him and the kids. If you're not familiar with this museum, it's the mecca of modern art. I've always been a bit baffled by modern art, because some of it I'm pretty sure I could have done myself. So off we go Bertrand, The Boss, The Tornado and The Mouth. However, on our way to the museum, we have to drive around the dreaded Arc de Triomphe round-a-bout. I closed my eyes and said a prayer. I was trying to remember the little angel that all my Catholic friends have clipped on their sun visors, maybe the saint of driving or safe travel? No go on that one. So I figured God was listening and gave him a little buzz. Once Bertrand safely navigated us through the 48 lands of traffic, squeezed into a 8 meter radius, I could breathe easy again. I am pretty sure Bertrand could see my panic stricken face and got a good laugh. So we arrive at the museum, everyone accounted for and ready to see this nouveau art. It felt like the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie meets Aleksandr Petrovsky (aka Mikhail Baryshnikov, my all time favorite SATC male) . Charlotte convinces Carrie to come to a new "live art" exhibit where this completely disheveled looking female is sitting on this installation and refuses to eat or speak for the duration of the exhibition. Carrie looks at the sterile while room, with a ladder and ledge for her to sit on. Charlotte ponders the meaning of this "art" and Carrie looks at it in sheer confusion and annoyance. Let's just say on this trip to the museum, I was Carrie. I looked suspiciously at the disco ball spinning on a stick and the stacks of chairs with papier mache zombie looking drones sitting on them, wondering what any of it was. Then there were the light installations that blinked on and off, mounted sporadically on a wall...pure genius, right?!

As time wore on, I was wondering when these little kids would crack. How long can a 7, 5 and 1 year old last in museum that is probably of no interest to them. Well, The Mouth Migrated to Bertrand's shoulders, signaling The Tornado to go in for the kill and plop down in the stroller I was pushing and The Boss walked along side. After the Soulages exhibit, which I rather enjoyed (Google his artwork, it's beautiful) because it is accessible modern art, we made our way down to the weird floor. After walking in room after room, we finally go into this room where there are all sorts of tribal looking masks on poles. Then, to our right is an abstract sculpture, then behind us is the most unexpected of unexpected. There should have been a small sign on the outside of the entrance, no children allowed. To our back and the last thing we see in the room, is a huge projection, scanning the entire wall and it is of (drum roll please...) a woman's crotch hula hooping. It's just art right?! Well when you're with three kids and you employer/landlord/35 year old male...IT'S NOT ART, it's a naked crotch hula hooping!! It took me a second to process it and I see The Boss' eyes widen and jaw drop. The Tornado lets out an "Ahhhh..." almost sounding terrified and Bertrand shoots eye daggers my way saying, "Let's get out of here." At the last second my eyes wandered away from this giant sized naked torso and crotch swaying left and right, keeping the hula hoop aloft and I realize there are people just camped out watching this ridiculous "art". I'm pretty sure Paris Hilton did something like this and it wasn't considered art. Also, I was the hula hooping champion of PE in 3rd grade, you can certainly have clothes on and still hula hoop very well.

We bolt out of the room and Ines can't stop laughing, then I literally can't stop laughing, because I was just thinking of ways to relay it on this blog to really capture the moment. Of course, it took me a month and a half later to write the blog, but now you know. So word to the wise parents, don't take your children to see the modern art...or at least stay away from the Feminism exhibit. Victory for Georges Pompidou, crushing defeat for Kat, et. al.