Still in Paris, we were staying in an apartment on the sixth floor of a lovely old building. I can safely say it was older than most buildings in NZ. It had a great view of the Eiffel Tower, enough rooms so we didn’t have to share with the kids, a beautiful spiral staircase, and a lift helpfully constructed in the centre.
It was probably not the original intention, but this led to many different races – in the various permutations of stairs v lift, adults and kids, up and down (down being substantially faster!).
On the second day, in a adult downstairs vs kids in lift challenge. my brother, in his wisdom, pressed the call button at level 3 on his way past.
This was a very effective strategy – well and truly beating the kids to the bottom, even with his dodgy knee.
Day three, the kids decided they’d take the stairs while my husband and I took the lift.
From the thundering down the stairs (luckily for the other inhabitants of the building at 10am), it sounded like we were making good time. Until we came to an abrupt stop at 3.
Working out what our son had done, we got going again.
To stop at 2.
And 1.
Hilarious.
Tough Mother 