This chapter of our ex-pat life began well before we set foot on French soil. For those who might not know, public education in France begins at age 3, although it is not obligatory until age 5. If that sounds contradictory, it is. Welcome to France. What it means in practical terms is that students aren't guaranteed a spot in the first two years of "école maternelle" (maternal, or nursery, school); it's kind of a first-come, first-served set-up. In France, however, no doesn’t mean no, at least not right away.
A strange coincidence helped us out enormously in the early going. As the days of August passed quickly by, we were still unclear as to where we'd be living in Paris, and were exploring several different avenues simultaneously, some through agencies, some direct ads. One of the owner-advertised rentals that sounded interesting was a 2-bedroom in the 9th arrondissement (Paris has 20 of these divisions, kind of like the 5 boroughs of New York in terms of governance structure and municipal interests). The photos of this place on the internet made it clear that there was a young child living in the second bedroom. I spoke to the owners a couple of times as we were trying to negotiate a deal with them for a 9-month rental (they were asking 2200 euros/month!) that we ended up deciding against, but the landlords were very helpful in explaining that we should get in touch with the mairie (town hall) of the arrondissement in which we planned to live right away, and even provided us with the phone number of the 9th.
It turned out that we took a place in the 9th (through an agency, more on that in a different entry), so I called the mairie and spoke with the school office. NOTE: The French in general don't like to do business over the phone; they far prefer in-person communication. The office manager, Madame Level, directed me to fax several documents right away -- Meredith's birth certificate and vaccination record, proof of our address in Paris, and my passport. The only two vaccinations the French care about are DtaP and what they call BCG, which is for TB. As it happens, although Meredith has had dozens of shots, she doesn't have this. In fact, it's not available or recommended in the US at this time. So Meredith's pediatrician wrote a letter, which I translated into French, and I faxed that as well. Fortunately, we know a pediatrician in Paris who I planned to contact anyway, so we figured he could help us get Meredith this shot right away.
Ah, yes, the day we arrived in Paris was the first day of school! So, jet lagged, dazed, and confused, we made our way to the mairie and found the school office. I presented myself and our situation, and we were given three, that's three, copies of a letter along with the address of the école maternelle and the phone number of the school principal. We called right away (this was about 4:30 in the afternoon on Tuesday), and the principal, Madame Secondé, instructed us to arrive at the school at 8:30 on Thursday morning with our documents. We spent the time in between wondering if anyone was going to ask us about the shots and why we couldn't see the principal on Wednesday.
So, we dressed Meredith up for her first day of school and easily found the principal in the school lobby. She consulted her list and led us directly up to a classroom, Classe numéro 2 in the petite section with Mademoiselle Catherine as the maîtresse. Meredith's name was added to the class roster and we were handed a sheaf of paperwork to fill out. Meredith was happily making herself at home, but there was a lot of weeping and wailing all around, on the part of parent and child alike. Talk about your separation issues! Lots of kids clutching loveys (or doudous, as they're called here), sucking pacifiers (yes, these kids are 3-5 years old), and even drinking from baby bottles. We made it clear that Meredith would be staying for lunch (a good number of children go home to eat), and left her for the day.
As far as transitions go for Meredith, that was about it. She continues to speak English a good deal of the time, but she clearly makes herself understood. Her teachers and care-givers report that she is adorable and souriante (smiling) all the time. She seems to love the art projects and "gymnastics" (dancing? Exercising?) that they do everyday. And since she doesn't have one particular doudou that's the most special, she decides each morning which stuffed animal is that day's lucky winner. When we pick her up at 5:30, she's usually out on the playground, happily playing by herself or with some of the other kids, and generally filthy.
In time, some things have been revealed. For one, there's no school on Wednesdays. Ever. On the other hand, starting in first grade, there is a half-day of school on Saturdays. How this schedule works to anyone's benefit is beyond me, but that's how it is. Fortunately, there's a day care centre de loisirs at the school on Wednesdays, for which there is a charge, but at least Meredith can go to the same building every day.
It did take a bit of doing to get Meredith enrolled, but nothing worse than we experienced in other bureaucratic arenas (at least thus far). What is interesting to note is the reaction from Parisians, French and expat alike, to the news that we managed to get Meredith into school. Some are shocked, some are stunned, but all are surprised to some degree, and many share stories of their own difficulties getting their children into l'école maternelle. Perhaps ignorance was bliss in this case!
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