Not my grandkids, but sorta cute.

Hugless in France
(written several years ago as I now have 5, almost 6 grandchildren)

One thing that is hard for me while living in Paris is that I can’t see my family as much as I used to. I miss my parents and my children a lot but, except for new hair cuts or hair colors or maybe a little weight loss or gain, they don’t change from time to time like my grandchildren do. If you miss just a month out of their lives, especially in the first two or three years, you miss so much. I especially miss their chubby little arms around my neck in a hug that only grandchildren can give. Between the time I saw my two oldest grandsons they went from being toddlers to little boys. It happened so quickly. My newest grandson, Jackson, was just starting to lift his head and look around curiously when I last saw him. I could already see his little personality developing in between his feedings and naps. Since then he has learned to crawl and is pulling himself up on furniture getting ready to walk. And I have missed it all.
Thank God for computers and telephones. I talk to my children about once a month but a lot more often via the Internet. I often get photos of the two oldest grandsons, Cooper and Evin, e-mailed to me and Evin has his own web site that his Dad set up which I visit often and see new photos posted so I feel like I am in their lives a little bit. At least I see some of the changes taking place. I’m looking forward to the time when they get old enough to exchange e-mails with me. Since Cooper will be starting first grade soon, that probably won’t be much longer.
Because Jackson isn’t a year old yet, he and his parents haven’t been here to visit me. I know I wouldn’t want to make that long trip with a baby. Cooper and Evin, however, have been here with their parents. Their mother made sure they watched Rug Rats in Paris so when they came they were all primed for the sights. Evin said, “I’m going to Parwis and I’m going to see the Eiffel Towwar.” They loved the Eiffel Tower and were surprised at how large it was. I made all sort of plans to entertain them. The first thing we had to do, even though they were 3 and 5, was to buy umbrella strollers as they weren’t used to walking so much. After that they were fine. They would happily climb in the strollers when we set off.
It was December when they came for a visit and our first visit was to Galeries LaFayette and Printemps to look at the fabulous window decorations animated with such characters as mice and cats. Red lights hung above the sidewalk and were wrapped around every tree. Christmas is a fantastic time to see Paris.
I had read about Deyrolle, a store full of stuffed animals. As you are walking by on the street your eye will suddenly be caught by a zebra or horse in the window. It changes monthly. I thought my grandsons would enjoy this so we entered and climbed the stairs where we were met by a pair of lions looking real but a little moth eaten. This place was started in the 1800’s before there was television, computers, or encyclopedias, and few zoos, and people wanted to see what a certain animal looked like. Sometimes one of the stuffed animals will be rented out for a party or a fashion shoot. You can see an ostrich, sea turtle, bear or tiger. We saw domestic animals as well. There are old fashioned wooden cases filled with drawers you pull out full of collections of beetles or butterflies. The floor is ancient and has dips and tilts all over the place but it adds to the ambiance. It is all fascinating to me and my grandsons liked it, too. We could buy a butterfly in a little display frame or a book about animals. It seems to me to be something that is uniquely Parisian and I like the feeling of going back in time when I enter.
Being boys they also enjoyed a boat trip down the Seine, a climb up the Arc de Triomphe, as well as the Eiffel Tower. We ran out of time before I could take them down to see the Catacombs or do a tour through the sewer system. There will still be a lot to do the next time they come to visit.
Maurice has twin grandchildren almost five years old now named Tom and Lola. They are so cute and help fill the void for the desire to be around my grandsons. Of course, they don’t speak a word of English, although they can mimic a word or phrase perfectly like little parrots. They aren’t quite sure what to make of me but they always seem glad to see me and when we are walking down a street they will hold my hand. Lola is just starting to figure out relationships and has realized that Maurice was once married to one of her grandmothers. She asked him recently why I didn’t speak French, so she is starting to understand. Tom doesn’t seem as interested in all of the inner workings of the modern family. It is a source of frustration to me that both of them have been able to talk circles around me in French since they were three. They rattle off sentences to me and, if I am lucky, I can pick up a word or two and know what they are talking about. Tickling is universal and I can make them laugh. I can look at their toys or art work and say, in my bad French, “This painting you did is so beautiful!”.
I learned very quickly how to say “Stop!” just in case they do something that scares me such as getting too near a street. We were at a huge park once with Tom and Lola and their parents. Suddenly, none of us could see Tom. He had totally disappeared. In the States if this happens, the parents go berserk, thinking the worse, racing around madly trying to find the child. Here, the father just mildly set off, not upset at all. He did find Tom but I was surprised that the parents weren’t more panicked. The same thing happened with Lola on a packed street in the Marais. We found her talking to a lady. Neither she, nor her mother were upset.
I live in fear that I will be left alone with them and something will happen where they have to communicate with me and I won’t be able to help them. I baby sat them the other day by myself which I agreed to as they were both taking a nap. I sat there the whole time praying they wouldn’t wake up. Maurice wants them to start staying with us for longer periods of time. I always say, “Fine. As long as you never leave me alone with them.” They are used to staying with baby-sitters and relatives as their parents have to go all over the world frequently for business trips so they wouldn’t be crying for their parents the whole time. Until I am a lot more fluent I sort of stay on the periphery not really involved with them which doesn’t stop them from talking to me. They are cute kids.
As might be expected, French children eat differently here. There are hundreds of foods and drinks I have never heard of such as Banania, a type of chocolate breakfast drink full of vitamins-not bananas as I thought at first seeing the box. Maurice’s grandchildren happily eat cheeses that I don’t think my grandchildren would touch. Macaroni and cheese or tacos with cheese on top is probably where their knowledge of cheese stops. One day I was serving myself some cheese from a wedge of Brie while Lola carefully watched. I made the mistake of cutting my piece off the pointed edge. I was informed by Lola that you only cut cheese off of the side. Who knew?
When Tom and Lola were younger I noticed that they would always have their baths before being fed dinner. Then they would eat and make the usual mess children make when they eat and, also, have to have their diapers changed. This didn’t make sense to me. Why not save the major cleaning for when it is all over? I used to use baths to help make my children sleepy, too, so they would go to sleep more easily when their bed time came. I’m not sure if the bath thing with Tom and Lola is something just in their family or if it is common in all French families.
I haven’t noticed a whole lot of difference in child care between Americans and French. I often pass two year olds on the streets here in Paris having a “meltdown” and screaming. I haven’t seen parents swat their children on the streets but I have seen the twins get spanked at home. The French parents seem fairly strict here with instant reaction if something naughty is done by the child. I would say, just from my observations, that American children “get away” with a lot more.
There is also a big difference in how the French dress their children. I see little babies in the winter dressed in heavy snowsuits so well lined that the poor kids can’t bend their arms or turn their heads, which are covered in thickly woven hats. When I see one of these miniature snowmen on the subway or train, which are always very warm, I don’t know how they stand it. My grandsons would start squirming and crying in misery. I’ve never seen such hot blooded people as my grandsons. There is no way they can even be dressed in winter pajamas. They wake up crying and miserable if their bedrooms aren’t at arctic levels. When the temperature in Paris gets below 70 degrees I see mothers dressing their children in hats and coats. I guess if you are dressed like that all of your life you become used to stifling rooms, buses and metros. I just remember pulling a hat off of one of my children when they were infants and their little heads would be sweating like crazy. Once again, it’s a cultural thing.
There are wonderful clothing stores for children in Paris and they are found in great numbers everywhere. For those with money to burn, designer clothing stores are available. I always had trouble spending much money on clothing for my children when I knew they would either ruin it while eating or drinking or outgrow it in a matter of months. For my grandchildren I head for more affordable stores where I can find things that won’t be seen in the States. I got a little T-shirt for Jackson with a rabbit holding a watch hurrying somewhere and it said, “Je suis retard!” which means “I am late!” but, being an American, I thought it would get double takes from people in the States wondering about the word “retard”. I have to stay out of the stores because it is so easy to overspend. Everything is so cute and stylish.
I look forward to the time when my grandchildren are old enough to come spend a summer with me. I think I will love seeing France through their young eyes. And I won’t have to worry about dressing them for winter.