the kids are here

Today is the day my younger girl and her husband fly into Paris. Our focus is on their early arrival. The excitement is palpable!

I dash out to get a breakfast baked goods -- oh, the usual, of course: at Les Gourmandises d'Eiffel. (Only I don't quite put myself together as well as, say this morning shopper. Tomorrow morning, on goes the lipstick!)






Let's feature the bakery's cakes today:






Though of course, my purchase is from this shelf:







And berries at the green grocer's (yep, Harry Cover).







Here's the check out counter, where evidence of early morning delivery/accounting, along with many cups of espresso abounds.







And no sooner does Snowdrop eat her breakfast (oh! which do I eat first??)...







...and is bathed and dressed, then boom! Her aunt and uncle arrive!

Is that really you?? All the way from Minneapolis??







Yes!







We ask Snowdrop to show the new arrivals the Eiffel Tower. She runs excitedly toward the window. Here! Look here, look here, look here!







We make plans for the day: the youngest couple will rest a while, Snowdrop's dad will work and mom, Snowdrop and grandma will run an errand or two, then go to a new park we think may be nice for the little girl.

We can go out now???







Errands include picking up a new stroller toy (the one I brought over was at some moment taken, possibly by some child).

How about that mouse? Let's call her souris.







We also stop at a children's clothing store. It is so warm today that Snowdrop has shunned tights. We need a diaper cover.

This is what children do when their parents spend too long in the store:







Thankfully, our errand is a quick one.

The park we choose is just across the Place des Invalides. I've passed it a million times and never once considered how ideal it might be for my granddaughter. Yes, you do look at places with new eyes when you travel with young ones.






We thought she'd enjoy the sand box here, but she surprises us by preferring a stroll. It's a gated park and so there is no danger of her running out on the street. She walks...






she runs through grassy areas...






She is joyous and appreciative of these moments where she can do whatever her heart tells her.






Can I just put a smiley face here? Your run, Snowdrop, is precious.






We come back in time for her nap. The young set goes out in search of sandwiches for lunch (after studying carefully which bakery might deliver the best ones, of course; we are like that). They come back with pastries as well.






Then comes the big walk: how is it that the young couple can do this, given the long flight, the lack of sleep, the tiredness?

We do it anyway. Starting here:






We cut across to the right bank and suddenly we are part of a huge wave of humanity. There's no escape. Or is there? We find the carousel. (Or are you of the opinion that it should be referred to as a merry-go-round?)







We continue. Snowdrop is thrilled to have these two guide her through the tumult.






And then to have her dose of freedom.






Joy is running where your spirit pulls you.






Relief is having other help you master the tough steps in life.






My two young families.







Views we pass along the way...






And now it is evening and we are all supposed to go out to dinner, but Snowdrop is feeling a bit under the weather and so the parents stay home with her and I go out with just the youngest couple. Perhaps it is at it should be -- after all, I haven't seen them for such a long time. We eat at a wonderful place -- Au Passage, clear across town. Small plates, young crowd, delicious food, not trendy for show but showy nonetheless -- how do these people do such artful stuff??? (This is our side carrot dish...)






We're nearly done now -- the day is so late for the youngest couple of course, but too for the older set (that would be me). We stop at just one place in this neighborhood that has a mixture of many trendy and less trendy places  -- Pop In -- where we have one last drink before returning home.






Oh, the evening doesn't end there. Snowdrop's parents are eager for stories and updates and we all have an exhilarating time recalling, exaggerating, sharing. And now I am the only one up and you have to forgive me the lack of editing because really, we all should have been asleep many many hours ago.

Friday in Paris

Ah, we're back to fresh croissants for breakfast! As good as the day-olds were, it's the whole process of going to a bakery in the morning that is so deeply satisfying: it's the aromas, the displays of new baked goods...





... and even the lines of customers waiting for their necessity/indulgence -- it's all rather special.

I choose Les Gourmandises Eiffel for today's pains au chocolate and croissants. Funny -- we have a dozen recommended bakeries in the area and I go back to the two I tried the first day here. Shouldn't I try all the others? Shouldn't I?

I backtrack and go to Sainte Duchesne Boulangerie (a third option! nine more to try!) for a little viennoiserie for Snowdrop: a mini pain aux raisins.






And, returning to another favorite, I stop at Harry Cover for fruits. Why go there when the city is filled with beautiful fruit displays? Well, you have to love a vendor who seems to care about every berry he sells...






... and who carefully hand picks cherries for your pack...






... and who then unloads your sack, so that the proper order is preserved: apricots on the bottom, then cherries, then croissants, then the delicate raspberries.


Breakfast is a feast.






And Snowdrop loves fraises des bois! (As well as cherries. And blueberries. And strawberries. And raspberries. And as of today -- apricots, which were so magnificent in and around Sorede that for a minute I recoil.)






And so today we are a family of four.

Snowdrop feels now perfectly at home here.




(Here she is, running as if with a football.)






Then I say the magic words -- want to go out for a walk?
Really? Really??






But where to? Oh where to?

That's easy. To the place where I will return when we will be a family of six. To the place where I go all the time to get strength to inhale beauty to find peace, even when I am one. To the Luxembourg Gardens!

But we take a long while to get there. (Too, it is a long hike. ) I dont have as many photos today, but I have the important ones. Yes, there are fewer street scenes, like this...






But there's lots of love, like here:






It is definitely lunchtime now and I ask where we should eat: at the grungy Cafe Madame that's cheap and good and very local and very welcoming? At the prim but well regarded Bread and Roses Cafe Bakery?  At the bookish Les Editeurs? At some random place that catches our eye?

We wind up at the Cafe Madame and it's a good choice.






The waiter is funny (at least he makes a concerted effort in this direction and I like effort) and kind toward Snowdrop (this part comes easy to him). The food is fine. It's a place where I would never want to see the kitchen -- something tells me it's cramped and loosey goosey with what goes where, but the fact is, the croque monsieur I order (because Snowdrop loves it so much!) is as good as the one at the more swank cafe, where I ate yesterday.






We're right by the gardens, but we're not ready to let ourselves loose there yet. We're also close to one of my favorite children's clothing stores. Madame knows of Snowdrop from previous visits. (I'm not such a big customer. It's a matter of habit here: a seller works to establishes a personal relationship with the buyer.)

Too, Snowdrop is oozing charm. Madame and her friend are full of sweet caresses and words of endearment. Ma poupee! (my little doll), madame repeats again and again. Snowdrop responds with her best manners, waving and smiling and generally being not the child I know who is way delayed with her nap time.






(Dresses to choose from...)






And still we are not at the park. One more errand! Pastry shop!

(Snowdrop wonders - why are they staring at all these cakes? Can't we just get them all?)






Finally, the park.

Freedom.











Pastries.






And perhaps the best part for the little girl -- a completely unconstrained romp through the toddler playground (which as you may remember consists only of sand pits).






(Is a pigeon like a small chicken? Will it listen when I talk to it?)






(A Snowdrop downdog.)






(Watching another child: a twelve month old, form Paris. We compare notes.)






(Grandma, a flower! Just like at the farmette!)






It's as if a nap is very yesterday. Today, there is Paris.

We walk back deeply satisfied. Snowdrop stays awake during the long hike and she protests a nap when we get home. There is a lot going on in her little world right now. I expect when she does finally get back home, she'll crash. For now, she is on the go.

And in fact, her mom and I take her out on one more quick walk -- to the grocery store! We need milk. We need diapers. We need Badoit fizzy water. We need snacks for the other young couple that arrives tomorrow.

Finally, the day draws to a close. The skies open up and we have a beautiful weather forecast (albeit only for tomorrow). I dash out to grab a supper for myself, trying out today yet another of the numerous little places in the neighborhood (Bistro St. Dominique). Snowdrop's mom and dad will be going out to visit night spots I never knew existed. Me, I order a home made terrine and a plain omelette and I ask (the unpardonable question in France) if I can be out within forty minutes.
Of course!  -- the genial waiter answers. We aren't called a bistro for nothing!







Evening comes. Snowdrop is in bed now, her parents are out on the town. It's very quiet here on the 6th floor  apartment by the Eiffel Tower. A special kind of quiet.

Thursday in Paris

I think most working parents in the U.S. regard rearing children while maintaining a job stressful. We know of course that our corporate culture isn't family friendly and it is no surprise that fewer vacation days and less time off to parent (to say nothing of fears about saving for braces, for camp, for college, for anything at all) only aggravate these stresses. This is a much discussed subject and I offer no new insights there. But I do have to say that purely from a "navigate through the day" perspective, parents in France have an easier time of it, simply because the geography of cities, towns and villages -- the urban landscape, if you will, offers so much more for families with children.

And I say this despite the unfriendly (toward young families) infrastructure here, so don't accuse me of heaping praises on the French government, which, in my opinion, has done more to facilitate bike riding in the Paris than to allow for an easy maneuver of a stroller up and down metro steps. They say that disability laws mandate elevators. Ha! I defy you to find one in some of the stations! (Though again, there are numerous hands to help anyone trying to go up or down with a babe.)

The reason I think it's so much easier to parent/nanny/grandparent here is because of the parks.

The closed off safe areas for very young children are a dream. Numerous benches line the perimeters, strollers are set to the side, parents talk, children play. It's that simple.

Walking up and down city blocks with a stroller makes me feel like I am one of many, because there are hundreds around me -- grandparents, parents, nannies -- who are doing just the same. As we pop in and out of stores, the greetings are warm, the emphasis on social interaction is strong and your child is taught early on that this is the norm. A smile requires a smile back.

Though I must note that "family friendly" means something else here. Americans wont, for example, find French restaurants "family friendly." Much is expected of both you and that little one. You may receive a friendly welcome, but there will be no special menus, no high chairs for wee ones. If you bring your child inside she or he must join the adult world of food and manners. That can be very tough, though again, a child has a lifetime of learning to do and she or he are coached throughout their young years to act in a way that is "sage." It's one of the lessons found in school and even in preschools, so you have help in guiding your child through these life skills. Again, you're not alone. And when you need the extra respite (you already have preschool -- close to 99% of French three year olds attend free preschool), you have the parks.

All this to say that the three days I've had with Snowdrop here have been wonderful.

So, easy as pie, or rather easy as a strawberry tart, you ask? Well sure, but Snowdrop is young and there are times when she just needs a good cry. This happened twice today and I'll tell you about both when my recounting of the day calls for it.


We are back on track with night versus day and she is once more the great sleeper of yore. So much so, that I cannot wait with breakfast: I have mine before she wakes up. (Ten o'clock? Really, Snowdrop?)

The meal is a repeat of yesterday's: a croissant picked up (yesterday) at Julien and then the usual accoutrements.






She has the same, again taking in the view of not only the Tower, but of the tops of trees as they sway with the winds. A top story apartment (American 7th floor) has its virtues!





(Did you catch the raindrops on the windowpanes?)

I give her a bath. This is delightfully easy here because she loves the spout that comes out of the weird fish's mouth. When it's time to put an end to bathing, she protests to high heaven.






I dress her and I take this photo, only because there are so many mirrors in the apartment!






It's supposed to rain on and off today and right now it's off, so I quickly get her ready and we head out. This time I take both her jacket and rain coat. And it turns out we will need both. Very soon.

I have the idea that we should check out what most would regard as Paris's premier park -- the Tuilerie Gardens stretching from the Champs Elysees to the Louvre. It's not my favorite park, but I'm thinking -- maybe I should consider it with Snowdrop eyes? 


We're off. She is always happy to be off. Perhaps that is why it is so easy to be with her here: she and I have the same agenda: to be out.

(Here she is on the bottom half of the Champs Elysees. You think she is singing "Aux Champs Elysees? Maybe!)
 





We come to the Tuilerie Gardens.They're relatively quiet and I have to wonder -- where is everyone? I mean, the weather is not that bad.

I let her out of her stroller. She is happy about that, but she is uncertain of the possibilities.

There are a lot of puddles.  She forges ahead.






And then she remembers that one of her favorite activities of late is to push the stroller. (I have to turn it around because she can only push it from the low end.)

This way, grandma!


]



Good call.

We find the carousel.






Oh, there is no hesitation today. I pick for her an outside horse that goes up and down.






And she so doesn't want to get off at the end that I purchase another run. The ticket agent is kind -- he tells me - go a third time. For free.  I switch her from a horse to a plane ride. I am reaching my limit of the round and round. But she is happy as can be, giving me her most special wave to show her delight.






When we disembark, I promise her a romp at a "playground." But the one nearby is slated really for older kids (in fact it states that it's targeting the 3 - 12 year old set). She thinks for a while. What can I do here?






She picks out the hammock and she really gets into it. Boys play ball in the background, she sways back and forth, all is well... until...





... a young little guy (her age?) comes by with his dad. he wants the hammock. We are, of course, all about sharing. The little guy climbs in. I smile. Snowdrop waits for the next move. He's really uncertain about the swaying bit. He wants his dad to climb in too. Well now, this is a challenge. His dad obliges nonetheless. The boy repositions himself to make room and basically sits on top of Snowdrop whose feet get twisted and stuck in the rope holes. She wails in utter dismay.

I take her out, the dad, who has on his hands a very tentative child, retreats. Snowdrop settles back into the hammock.

We leave soon after and she is happy to get back in the stroller. Good thing, because now the rains come down. Oh, do they come down!

I raise my free "save the bats" umbrella (Ed's contribution to my trip), wrap her legs in the tres chique Target raincoat and pull down the stroller awning, but I know both of us will get wet anyway. 

We come to the glass pyramid that adorns the entrance to the Louvre. Like the Eiffel Tower, this structure has figured prominently in her reading material on Paris (back home) and I am excited to have her see it in real life.

As I try hard to take some form of photo, what with the rain, the unphotogenic stroller-bound Snowdrop, a very lovely American comes over and asks if she can take our picture with my camera. I demure, but finally acquiesce. And I am so grateful to this stranger in our midst. She gave me a lovely memento.






She tells me -- I took a handful. Maybe in one of them her finger will be out of her mouth.
Well, it isn't, but so what!






As we cross the river...





... making our way to exactly that portion of the left bank that I at other times regard as home, I realize that the little girl must be hungry. I'm determined to stop at one of the many cafes here that would serve a hearty croque monsieur (basically a ham and cheese grilled sandwich).

We come across one rather instantly. La Palette. With a nice outdoor space that is heated by warming lamps.

Snowdrop wants to get out of the stroller and I let her sit her on the chair next to mine. She is curious about everything on the table and I struggle to keep the knife, then glass and Badoit water bottle, then pepper shaker out of her curious hands, at the same time that I try to take a picture of this most lovely sight: granddaughter finally having lunch at cafe with grandma. We've worked on this back home and here we are, putting those lessons to the test.

Unfortunately, I am clumsy. In getting up to give her a toy that is not a dangerous object off the table, I bump said table and the glass rolls to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. Snowdrop still reaches for the utensils, the pepper. When i remove these, she cries tears of bitter disappointment.

I take her out, scolding myself for being so unprepared for this.

She settles instantly and monsieur the waiter brings the meal and I tell him that honestly, it was me, not the little one who broke the glass. He doesn't care, of course, but I want to clear this child's reputation,  because really, she is such a spirited, good child!

Here she is, tasting my sandwich.







She loves it so much that I hardly get a bite in.

Here she is, looking up with those questioning eyes -- did I do alright?






You did more than alright, sweet child. A million times more than alright.

Oh, and this is why sometimes you just have to let others take a picture of you and your granddaughter: if you rely on the mirrors you pass by, your little short one will barely be visible.






We come to the Buci market and I see they have quite the big supply of fraises de bois (the "wild strawberries that I've loved since childhood).






I buy them for later. Right now, I let Snowdrop polish off a tub of raspberries. Doesn't it seem that she is she giving them that expert evaluation? A ranking? She eats every last one. Are they better/worse/the same as the ones she ate yesterday?





Towards the evening, Snowdrop's parents return from their short trip to the south. We recount our days: they were charmed by Nice, but I had the easier hand to work with: I had had my days with Snowdrop here in Paris! (In fairness, I love Nice too and I imagine someday Snowdrop will be thrilled to dip her toes into the azure waters of the sea -- there, or, for that matter, on either coast of her homeland. In my view, children notice more the immediate tasks at hand, rather than the unusual settings within which they are placed.)

We go out together, but then I give them time with their little girl.





And I go off to find a quick supper.

It's a challenge to eat well in France outside the official eating hours. (Lunch: 12 - 2:30. Dinner: 7:00 onwards, though only the visitor will show up at 7.) But it's not impossible. Tonight, I check out a small neighborhood place run by ma & pa -- it's called Sancerre, because it features the wines and foods of that region of France. (If you have to pick the quintessential French white white, some would say you would pick Sancerre. I myself would pick a white Burgundy, but I can see the draw.) And when I say foods, I don't mean great cuisine. I mean sausages and hams and omelettes, served with a glass of Sancerre.

The place opens extra early -- at 6:30 -- and I am there then, ordering an omelette. Except for Madame Ma and Monsieur Pa, who use this quiet time to also eat their own dinner. 





And they talk about the Egyptair disappearance and I listen, more to feel the nuance of their language then to get the latest update on what happened over the Mediterranean. (The tragic air crash is something that happens rarely, but it does capture a large amount of our attention. Easy to see why. I fly a lot and I like the idea of perfect safety. But of course so much of daily life is unsafe. Flying, thankfully, remains one of the safest of our ventures.)

Since the restaurant remains empty in the first half hour I am there, I decide to find out more about what it's like to run this very humble place in the fairly posh 7th arrondissement of Paris.

We've been doing it for 38 years, says monsieur.
I'm impressed.
He does a mental calculation. Fifty some of cooking in Paris.
So you're the chef? I smile.
Yes, he is the chef in the kitchen, his wife answers for him.

But I order a tart and it will never win the best strawberry tart competition in Paris, but it is damn good in a very homey sort of way. Who baked it, I ask, even though I can readily guess it was madame.






I sit there for a while, long after I've finished the meal. The TV is on. Madame and monsieur ma & pa are  keeping an eye on some game show now. I sip a glass of Sancerre and take out my computer. A single woman (my age?) comes in and orders a plate of sausages, A man comes with his dog and orders just a glass of Sancerre. I feel like I am many many miles away from Paris.





I'm home by 8. I want the young couple to get to know Paris by night on their own. I'll happily snuggle into my space and keep an ear on Snowdrop. Go, go, play! I never did that in Paris. I don't know why. To me, Paris is homey. I go out early, I stay out not at all. Just like at home.