I know...it is not just Mondays that I spend with my granddaughter Emma, we actually spend four afternoons together each week. But there is something special about Mondays. We have seen each other over the weekend most weeks but sometimes not. But, on Mondays it is my turn to pick her up at school and to walk home together for our afternoon of Curious George and sometimes a bit of Frozen. But, the most special time is actually the walk home together.

It is not a long walk...10 minutes, maybe 15 if Emma is not too motivated. But we chat all the way home. The conversation is mostly in English and that alone gets us looks from the people on the streets of Paris. But there are some French words mixed in and we don't always understand each other perfectly, but the time together, just the two of us, is priceless. Our conversation is usually linked to her day at school. Me: What did you do today Em?" Her: I don't remember? Me: Did you paint? Did you have Music? Did you have PE? Did you enjoy recess? Her: No or maybe yes but when we strike the right memory of the day she opens up to a long conversation about how she painted, or sang or played with somebody. There is always the "Did you take a nap today?" question but who knows why since the answer is always the same..."just a little bit." Naps are too time consuming for a girl of her age.

Some days we talk about her new shoes, or boots as they may be and other days we talk about menus on the tables of the restaurants we pass. Sometimes we stop to do a bit of window shopping...we especially like the little solar powered figures that wave or dance. If there are music boxes we need to stop and crank them around once or twice to hear them play that metallic version of La Vie en Rose...one can't help but wonder what Edith Piaf would think of this sound.

On some days we stop for a chicken at the charcuterie or a baguette at the patisserie. One cannot buy a baguette without sharing at least one chunk with Emma...she would rather have bread than a cookie almost anytime. If fact, one day I bought her her own little baguette which she carried so sophisticated under her arm and she refused to share it with anybody. She is definitely French.

We have our rituals. When we cross the street she makes Didi wait until she checks for cars. (I have no idea where Didi came from or why she chose that name for me but since her other grandfather is Pipi I think I will stick with Didi) If there is a car coming she "warms" me to stop. Then for the next half a block we talk about how she "warmed" me, which naturally warms my heart. She is amazing. I take her "four o'clock" with me in a small little paper bag with handles. Always two cookies, a squeeze tube of some fruit and a bottle of water...must be Evian and sparkling is preferred though seldom delivered. She eats cookies as we walk home.

We are never allowed to take the elevator, or "alligator" as she calls it, always the stairs. It doesn't matter how tired Didi might be or how much his knee might be hurting that day...it is the stairs or nothing. She loves the echo in the stair well with its marble steps and hard plaster walls. She climbs each of the circular steps and counts them or sometimes we, by that I mean she, sing. She knows the words to "Let it Go" and other songs from the movie Frozen all in English. I think that is pretty good for a 3 year old girl living in France.

When we come in the door it is shoes off, potty time and then hand washing. Then we can get down to the business of watching one show of Curious George. We don't get much more time than that...Mom comes at 5:30 or so...but it is all priceless and it reminds me every time I am able to pick her up that this is the reason we came to France. The time with grandchildren is truly priceless...simple, yes; slow, yes; repetitive, sometimes; but always priceless.