a trip to paris, a kid's obsessions

and the invisible string connecting the two

Dear fellow wonderer,

Let me tell you two of my obsessions. One: kids’ quirky interests. Always, forever I’ve loved watching kids and seeing what lights them up. (More on why I believe these interests matter more than ever, below.) Two: time. The passing of it, the portals between now and then, how you can shoot through one of those portals in a single second, clock-time dissolving away.

Combine the two and you arrive at one of my favorite fascinations: seeing childhood interests connect, invisible string-style, to adult life. And, well, if that fascination plays out in Paris? As good as baguette for breakfast, slabbed with salt-crystalled butter.

A few years back, my daughter DMed me: “I see this in our future.” Attached was an instagram story: a young woman turning 30, her mom turning 60, the two celebrating together in Paris. She and I kept talking about such a trip. The year arrived. A week in Paris, just the two of us.

Maybe you’re in the thick of life with kids. Maybe you could use a someday dream.

We travel well together, my girl and I. We share several interests, some of those the light-up interests from when she was a kid. A few:

Travel journals. When our three were growing up, our family took a foreign trip every few years, justifying the expense as part of a homeschool education. (Plus: off-season travel!) For months before visiting a new place, I’d play librarian, gathering books, videos, maps, Dover coloring books by the dozen, you name it. We’d study the history of the place, the art, the food, the culture. We’d start sketching plans in our travel journals.

L. has kept travel journals since our first trip to Paris in 2000, when she was four.

By the time she was ten in Spain, she was a pro.

(An entire chapter in my manuscript centers on her love for that painting, Las Meninas. There’s a whole world in that painting.)

Like her mama, she’s an avid journaler in general. She’s had a running streak of writing daily in her journal for years. I have no idea how many years.

On this trip, we greedily gathered ephemera to collage. Twice before dinner, we bought a bottle of 13-euro Pét-Nat from the wine shop down the block, put on some yé-yé music in our hotel room and spread out our gleanings. I’d lugged along my little instax printer so we could glue in photos.

We got so into our two-page spreads that we fell behind. On my way home, I spent a night at her place in Brooklyn and we carried on. I’m still finishing mine. A FaceTime journal share is in the cards–maybe I’ll open some Pét-Nat.

Fashion. She’s loved clothes since she could tug on her own hat. As a kid, when we embarked on studying a new era in history, without fail she’d want to research what the women and children wore. She’d sketch. She’d sew outfits for her dolls.

When we studied the renaissance, she drew costumes for characters from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. When she played Titania in the play, she designed and sewed her own costume.

Her Project Runway birthday party when she was what, thirteen? Bags and bags of scavenged fabric and notions, glue sticks and sewing machines. Random pairs of girls spread across our downstairs, making it work.

Visiting the Dior Museum in Paris with her was tasty as the very expensive entremet framboise (fancy ass raspberry cake) we split in the museum café. (I needed to visit this museum after watching The New Look on Apple TV. The story of Christian Dior and Coco Chanel–played by Juliet Binoche!– during WWII. Mesmerizing.) In each room of the museum we’d pick our dream dress. She loved this yellow one; I picked the pink.

We also adored café-sitting, watching the passing Parisian fashion parade. Noted: The lack of athletic wear. (I’m with you, Parisians!) Noted: So many blouses. Scarves. Outsized pants with girly shoes.

In Paris at four, she was tickled to get a scarf and little blue mary janes.

This time I bought her ballet flats–she’d been ogling red ones–and a matching black pair for myself.

With no male family members to curtail our browsing, we spent an unseemly amount of time in shops. Looking more than buying. Though we did bag two blouses, two sweaters, some perfume, those shoes, and a for-days-debated trench. (One of us could not resist the cheetah lining. You guess who.)

Photography: Avid amateurs, we two. (Her big brother is the pro who inspires us.) She loved taking photos even as a little kid. In a high school photography class, she took one of my most favorite shots of her little brother.

On this trip, she brought along two film cameras. Her photos came out so good! I want to post them all!

It is very fun to travel in a stunning city with a human subject who is patient and pose-willing. Who, it must be said, embellishes the gorgeousness with her own gorgeousness.

Who is willing to skip like a ballerina back to the hotel after dinner or to pose in a Métro station as requested by her mother.

(I may get in trouble for these two.)

Food: This is the girl who, at fourteen, did a deep dive into 100 years of American food history. Who tested the effects of baking soda on baked goods for the science fair. Who once baked four types of cupcakes with four types of frosting with her friend one summer day, because they were bored.

Obviously, if you like food, Paris is kinda fun.

We picnicked in the Jardin Luxembourg for old time’s sake; we ordered French fries alongside our three-course lunch. We came to understand why baguette for breakfast is a thing (horizontally-sliced super fresh baguette, toasted for warmth, not color, served with marmalade and that crystally butter. Nothing better with your café crème.)

She’s mostly vegetarian; I’m mostly vegan (though I caved and submitted to butter and cheese.) It’s easier to eat that way in Paris these days. We discovered Pristine, a “produce driven” restaurant in our 9th arrondissement neighborhood, lively and packed with locals who didn’t seem to miss the meat. We loved it so much we went twice.

Another fine reason to make her your travel partner: she never says no to dessert.

Travel journals, fashion, photography, food. Pretty basic interests, not like the quirkier deep dives my kids took over the years. (Hitchcock films! Fake travel blogs! A periodic table of Marvel characters!) I’m thinking a lot about these obsessions–childhood obsessions being my own obsession–and why they matter, maybe more than ever these days. Consider this: in a world that barrages kids with information and entertainment, distracting and dispelling their attention, what could be better than a single interest that compels them to focus? It doesn’t matter if that interest is Pokémon or Wicked or the freaking Marvel universe. The ability to center on something, to gather information on something, to lose track of time and tune out the noise of the world for that one thing, well. I think it’s a vital skill for this age.

Clearly, L. and I didn’t take a trip to Paris so I could nerd out on her childhood interests. What a gift it was to have so much one-on-one time with her (more than I’ve ever had?) in such a stunning locale. My husband, great lover of travel, was a gem for not climbing into my suitcase. For all of it, I’m grateful.

But also? Glimpsing the invisible string of my girl’s childhood glittering there in her young womanhood? A treat I didn’t know to wish for.

xo, patricia