On Tuesday, September 18, Henry and Sarah and Tim ate at a lovely restaurant directly behind the Musee d’Orsay called Le Rouge Vif. Lovely food, even more lovely proprietor and his wife. We began chatting with them about food, wine, and children. (This is pretty much the basis for all of our discussions, for what it’s worth.)

Learning of our calendar, they offered a bike for us on which their daughter did not quite fit. Would we like it? Sure we said, and moments later, in the Tuileries, Henry learned to ride without training wheels. You may recall those stories people tell of when they learned to ride, when they realised their parents were no longer holding onto them, and they were actually riding. I used to think that was an intentional letting go on the parent’s part. I have since learned that the sole reason parents let go is that they had completely run out of steam, and were standing there with their hands on their knees, huffing and puffing while their progeny motored along without them. That too is how Henry learned.

Above is a clip of Henry riding through a passageway in Les Halles. His father is indeed very proud.