February in Paris

“Je voudrais pasta avec fromage, s’il vous plait.” Eight-year-old Taylor, who at home looks askance at anything stranger than pasta with cheese on her plate, had practiced her dining-out phrase to perfection. Her brother, 12-year-old Max, was ready to try anything, with one exception — “No innards.”

While “February in Paris” isn’t as hummable as “April in Paris,” our family group — parents, kids, and me, the grandmother — discovered there is no better month to introduce youngsters to the City of Light. Yes, it was brisk; but clear, sunny skies never asked us to open our umbrellas. Most important, with tourists all but nonexistent, Paris in February belongs to those who live there. With our decision to rent an apartment, we planned to fit right in.

Looking for a place to stay, my fingers walked through rental websites looking for a place to stay. Choices galore took me to 12 rue Jacob in the sixth arrondissement. After a deep gulp at the price, the 1,000-square-foot apartment began to look reasonable when considering the dollar against the euro and the going rate for Paris hotel accommodations. Added to that, we’d not have to eat every meal out.

The location was superb. With a market street of incomparable abundance just around the corner, dining at home would be easy and a gastronomical delight. For the children’s first passport journey, there would be no dining at McDonald’s. Our own two feet could take us to many of Paris’ most memorable sights. For farther journeys, close Métro stations could whisk us on our way. As for Disneyland Paris? Quelle horreur!

Sights to see, from the neighborhood to Napoleon’s tomb

The apartment’s website included a "Neighborhoods" listing of things to see and do, including suggestions for children. For example, a grisly, kid-appealing piece of French Revolution history was but a three-minute walk from our apartment. There, in the Cour du Commerce St. André, Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotine thought up his “humane” device, practicing it to perfection on his herd of sheep.

More kid-memorable visits: Napoleon’s tomb, where his stuffed horse and dog proved more fascinating than his elaborate tomb; Sainte-Chapelle, for its glorious stained-glass windows; the Eiffel Tower, climbed to its very top; and the flower and plant market on Place Louis-Lépine on Sunday, when it flutters as a bird market.

One bit of invaluable information we took advantage of was the little-known fact that a Paris Museum Pass allows holders to completely avoid lines. While many museums are free to youngsters, a pass for adults is not only a money-saver, but eliminates what kids detest even more than grown-ups — standing in a queue. Flashing our passes at the door, we walked right in.

Another plus for a pass is that it eliminates exhausting museum marathons. At no additional cost, you can return again and again. On our first visit to the Louvre, we scooted about on a treasure hunt for half a dozen of masterpieces. Later visits we dedicated to mummies, and the Assyrians, ending in the sunlight-flooded hall housing the whimsical, huge, winged bulls from the Palace of Sargon II.

At the Musée d’Orsay, we took the escalators straight up to the Impressionists, to whom the grandchildren had been introduced at home via a library book. The Pompidou Center was a hit for the amusing Stravinsky fountain in front and the fourth floor’s pop art collection. There we enjoyed art we could literally get into and other pieces presenting familiar objects in creative, smile-producing ways.

Le Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature, housed in a magnificent 17th century- mansion, included a thought-provoking room filled with more than 100 trophies, many  were endangered species. “The museum made me sad,” said Max, “but I’m glad I saw it.”

Living la vie Parisienne

Only-in-Paris activities that everyone enjoyed, and opened the city to me in new ways, included pushing toy sailboats around the pond in the Tuileries and visiting the playground in Luxembourg Gardens. Both invited interaction with French children. We ice skated on the rink in front of the Hôtel de Ville; sipped hot chocolate under heat lamps at sidewalk cafés; and walked down to the Pont du Carrousel to see the lights of Paris reflected in the Seine. Even getting about via the Métro became a game, with Max and Taylor figuring out which lines would take us where we wanted to go.

Our apartment quickly began to feel like home. Daily we blessed its spaciousness that saved us from overdosing on multigenerational togetherness. The youngsters delighted in popping out in the morning to head to the boulangerie on the market street, with Taylor quickly adding croissants to her list of approved foods. Our neighborhood patisserie, stocked with jewel-like cakes and tarts, also offered impeccably prepared salads and entrées that we carted back to the apartment for dinner. Museum cafés became our choice for casual and inexpensive lunches in interesting surroundings.

Too soon, we hauled our suitcases down the winding staircase, crossed the cobbled courtyard and made our way for the final time through the little door within the large entry door of 12 rue Jacob. Undoubtedly, each of us will return to the City of Light. But never will it be the same as discovering February in Paris with my grandchildren.