The kid's been giving me good material lately.
He walked into the kitchen to greet us after his nap. He passed me and said quite nonchalantly, "Hey butthead."
I suppose any good father would get angry and give him a good scolding. I just giggled, a lot, trying to hide my amusement with little success, mostly because I am convinced he hasn't heard this anywhere and it is therefore an invention of his own creativity. And I also have a feeling it was meant quite innocently: if we combine "sweetie" and "pie" or "cutie" and "head" why not "butthead?"
And is it just the middle schooler left in me, or is there something really genuinely funny about the way "butthead" sounds?
Don't worry grandmothers, I told him it's not something we say. Between giggles.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Life goes on hard.
We were sing the Beatles' "Life Goes On" at the dinner table, ending with "lalalala life goes on..."
The kid finished the sentence. "Hard. Life goes on hard."
I asked him what he meant.
"Hard. Dangerous." He continued.
"Fires. Guns. Soldiers. Soldiers and guns."
We were already a little concerned at this point. He kept going, staring off into the distance. "Lions. Tigers."
Then with a straight face he yelled, "MEATBALLS FALLING FROM THE SKY!"
(starting to sound like a chip off the old block?)
The kid finished the sentence. "Hard. Life goes on hard."
I asked him what he meant.
"Hard. Dangerous." He continued.
"Fires. Guns. Soldiers. Soldiers and guns."
We were already a little concerned at this point. He kept going, staring off into the distance. "Lions. Tigers."
Then with a straight face he yelled, "MEATBALLS FALLING FROM THE SKY!"
(starting to sound like a chip off the old block?)
Monday, August 12, 2013
life with three
yesterday at 9:30AM i said, "let's get out of the house as soon as possible." everyone was in agreement.
we pulled out of the driveway at 2:30PM.
--
the kid confessed that he discovered if he sticks his nose next to the girl's mouth, she latches on and sucks on it.
--
after a visit to the ER with a split chin, the other kid is only getting more confident in his recklessness, including trying to ride his 'bike' up the stairs. recently a friend observed his antics in the livingroom and said, 'i understand why you've been making trips to the hospital.'
we pulled out of the driveway at 2:30PM.
--
the kid confessed that he discovered if he sticks his nose next to the girl's mouth, she latches on and sucks on it.
--
after a visit to the ER with a split chin, the other kid is only getting more confident in his recklessness, including trying to ride his 'bike' up the stairs. recently a friend observed his antics in the livingroom and said, 'i understand why you've been making trips to the hospital.'
Friday, August 09, 2013
the kid and i in paris
When he says he likes taking the train, 10% of it is the excitement of a train, the other 90% is taking advantage of the one occasion where I freely let him play Angry Birds. Because when it came to our arrival at Saint Lazare one hour and seven minutes later, he decided he wanted to walk to the first destination rather than take the Metro, because he was tired of trains.
Walk we did. And it's a dangerous thing walking hand in hand with a strong and distractable child, because just when think you're keeping a good pace, he stops cold without warning and yanks your arm out of its socket. First was to see a construction truck lifting a pallet to a top floor window. Second was walking past the toy store. He ducked in far enough to grab the latest Play Mobil catalog then followed along as I coaxed him back out. Third was walking past a pet store on a random side street in the 8eme.
It was a classy acquarium store: fish on the first floor, birds and rodents downstairs. The owner greeted us warmly as we were surely the first customers of the day. I explained we were just looking and he said "And it's good so far, no?" It was. I told him we were spending the day in Paris. "Just one day?!" Putting that puzzle piece together with the accent, he asked if it was a stop between flights, and I explained that no, we live in Normandy and the kid has been wanting to come in. "Well I'm honored that you'd consecrate part of your one day in Paris to my shop and me." At one acquarium all the giant goldfish came to greet us. When we put our fingers on the glass, they followed. "Your fish are very social," I told the man. "Yes, it's true, they are very kind like the shop owner."
When we arrived at Parc Monceau, chosen primarily because it's beautiful and not far from Saint Lazare, the kid informed me he didn't want to go to the playground right away. He preferred to sit on a park bench and browse his Play Mobil catalog. He did just this, like a 70-year-old man reading the newspaper. He also took advantage of the moment and finished his pain au chocolat from home. This is the life, people.
The day was a long string of negotiations, trying to teach a 5-year-old about the nature of time, train schedules, distances in a city, prioritizing and choosing between one thing or the other. Some decisions were easy: when he said "eat in a restaurant," he informed me in the train, he actually meant McDonalds. Happy Meal. Toy. I was a little disappointed to not find a croque-monsieur at a bistrot for him, but he said it firmly enough that I knew there was no negotiating, though he did accept settling for the inferior French version of McDo called Quick, with which a 30 minute wait in line was anything but, and though I was the one to suggest it for convenience's sake, going to Quick instead of McDo was almost as disappointing as going to McDo instead of a bistrot.
The second park we visited turned out to be a big disappointment. It was a park we visited a few years ago and everything was closed after we got stuck in a 3 hour traffic jam. I was really looking forward to a second chance at visiting what seem like wonderful places to play, but upon our arrival we saw they were once again practically all closed for maintenance. The kid handled it much better than I did, and sensing my disappointment he reassured me: "I'm sorry Papa. But we're fine, Papa! We'll find other things to do! It's OK!" That sort of role reversal kind of put me to shame, so I pulled myself together and we moved on to other things.
Like the submarine exhibit. I thought for sure it'd be free, and was a little frustrated to find the 3Euro admission fee. At least there were audio guides. When the man at the counter asked if we spoke French, the kid responded with no hesitation, "Oui!" But I asked the kid (in French) if he preferred English. "Oui!" That made the man ask, "You're bilingual? How lucky!" We went with our English audio guides and enjoyed the inside of the submarine, and the kid kept talking about it for the rest of the day, that old old submarine he called it, and even asked to go back one more time. Turned out it was the worth the six euros.
I asked him if he wanted to rent a paddle boat at the Paris Plage. No hesitation: "No." This completely surprised me. I asked again. "No, I want to do fun things like slides. Besides, we have a boat at home." Puzzled, I asked, "What boat?!" "You know, the toy boat in the bathtub." Ah, of course, no need to rent a paddle boat then. Scratch that off the list. Easy enough.
I suggested we go to the playground in the park next to the Louvre Pyramids. We've visited only once, but his trap-door memory searched the files of mental notes and catalog of elaborate maps and he asked, "You mean the one where you go up the ladder and crawl across the net and go over the bridge and under the roof and then down the slide?" "Yes, that's the one," astonished. "Yeah, let's do it!" We did. He loved it.
And he knew when he was ready to move on to the next priority. I was surprised, but on his own initiative he came to me and said, "Papa, I'm ready to go see the dinosaur."
Off we went. As he's learned most of his numbers at school last year, I tried to seize the opportunity to let him practice in the metro, telling him what we were looking for and letting him navigate. As I informed him of the next step on the train, he looked at me with big round eyes saying with much enthusiasm, "Don't worry, Papa," (yes, he really does interject "Papa" in every single sentence he says to me) "I have EAGLE EYES!" As we got off the metro and started our way, he was having trouble spotting the number. It's because we were standing almost directly under the sign and he's not as tall as your typical metro user. I gave him a hint to look up. He did and spotted it, knowing I had spotted it first, and said just as enthusiastically, "YOU have eagle eyes TOO, Papa!"
Once again I showed him a map and gave him the option: metro (save those poor feet!) or walk along the seine (get out and enjoy this beautiful day!). He chose to walk, for which I was glad despite my concern for his sore feet and our limited time. Getting down along the Seine and beginning the walk, he finally sighed in a daydream, "Papa, I really want to live in Paris someday."
Later, in another daydream, he said, "Papa, I wonder what happened to the old submarine captain. I think he either went to South America or died. But I think he went to South America."
We saw the dinosaur, a chrome T-Rex sculpture recently featured on Colossal.
With that we started our trek home, and he now started to ask to be carried. Not in the whiney insistence that tells you he actually could walk and is just being lazy, but more so in a begging no-really-I-can't-take-another-step-this-is-serious kind of way. Sure enough, as we waited for the next metro, standing on the platform before the automatic door, he decided to sit down on the ground, four feet away from the provided benches. As we made our way through stations, we got on several escalators, and each time he'd turn around and sit down on the metal stairs. For the last distance I carried him from the escalator to our final train. A surreally difficult experience, as in our first year navigating through public transportation was always done with him in my arms. It's no so easy anymore, which also thankfully means he can walk farther and faster. I put him down and instead of protesting he sighed a pathetic "Thank you" as though he were actually saying, "You've saved my life."
We got on our train back home with 7 minutes to spare, meaning negotiations and choices all worked out alright, we played Angry Birds until the battery died, and we slept well last night, and I think both of us were pretty pleased to have a day with one another.
Walk we did. And it's a dangerous thing walking hand in hand with a strong and distractable child, because just when think you're keeping a good pace, he stops cold without warning and yanks your arm out of its socket. First was to see a construction truck lifting a pallet to a top floor window. Second was walking past the toy store. He ducked in far enough to grab the latest Play Mobil catalog then followed along as I coaxed him back out. Third was walking past a pet store on a random side street in the 8eme.
It was a classy acquarium store: fish on the first floor, birds and rodents downstairs. The owner greeted us warmly as we were surely the first customers of the day. I explained we were just looking and he said "And it's good so far, no?" It was. I told him we were spending the day in Paris. "Just one day?!" Putting that puzzle piece together with the accent, he asked if it was a stop between flights, and I explained that no, we live in Normandy and the kid has been wanting to come in. "Well I'm honored that you'd consecrate part of your one day in Paris to my shop and me." At one acquarium all the giant goldfish came to greet us. When we put our fingers on the glass, they followed. "Your fish are very social," I told the man. "Yes, it's true, they are very kind like the shop owner."
When we arrived at Parc Monceau, chosen primarily because it's beautiful and not far from Saint Lazare, the kid informed me he didn't want to go to the playground right away. He preferred to sit on a park bench and browse his Play Mobil catalog. He did just this, like a 70-year-old man reading the newspaper. He also took advantage of the moment and finished his pain au chocolat from home. This is the life, people.
The day was a long string of negotiations, trying to teach a 5-year-old about the nature of time, train schedules, distances in a city, prioritizing and choosing between one thing or the other. Some decisions were easy: when he said "eat in a restaurant," he informed me in the train, he actually meant McDonalds. Happy Meal. Toy. I was a little disappointed to not find a croque-monsieur at a bistrot for him, but he said it firmly enough that I knew there was no negotiating, though he did accept settling for the inferior French version of McDo called Quick, with which a 30 minute wait in line was anything but, and though I was the one to suggest it for convenience's sake, going to Quick instead of McDo was almost as disappointing as going to McDo instead of a bistrot.
The second park we visited turned out to be a big disappointment. It was a park we visited a few years ago and everything was closed after we got stuck in a 3 hour traffic jam. I was really looking forward to a second chance at visiting what seem like wonderful places to play, but upon our arrival we saw they were once again practically all closed for maintenance. The kid handled it much better than I did, and sensing my disappointment he reassured me: "I'm sorry Papa. But we're fine, Papa! We'll find other things to do! It's OK!" That sort of role reversal kind of put me to shame, so I pulled myself together and we moved on to other things.
Like the submarine exhibit. I thought for sure it'd be free, and was a little frustrated to find the 3Euro admission fee. At least there were audio guides. When the man at the counter asked if we spoke French, the kid responded with no hesitation, "Oui!" But I asked the kid (in French) if he preferred English. "Oui!" That made the man ask, "You're bilingual? How lucky!" We went with our English audio guides and enjoyed the inside of the submarine, and the kid kept talking about it for the rest of the day, that old old submarine he called it, and even asked to go back one more time. Turned out it was the worth the six euros.
I asked him if he wanted to rent a paddle boat at the Paris Plage. No hesitation: "No." This completely surprised me. I asked again. "No, I want to do fun things like slides. Besides, we have a boat at home." Puzzled, I asked, "What boat?!" "You know, the toy boat in the bathtub." Ah, of course, no need to rent a paddle boat then. Scratch that off the list. Easy enough.
I suggested we go to the playground in the park next to the Louvre Pyramids. We've visited only once, but his trap-door memory searched the files of mental notes and catalog of elaborate maps and he asked, "You mean the one where you go up the ladder and crawl across the net and go over the bridge and under the roof and then down the slide?" "Yes, that's the one," astonished. "Yeah, let's do it!" We did. He loved it.
And he knew when he was ready to move on to the next priority. I was surprised, but on his own initiative he came to me and said, "Papa, I'm ready to go see the dinosaur."
Off we went. As he's learned most of his numbers at school last year, I tried to seize the opportunity to let him practice in the metro, telling him what we were looking for and letting him navigate. As I informed him of the next step on the train, he looked at me with big round eyes saying with much enthusiasm, "Don't worry, Papa," (yes, he really does interject "Papa" in every single sentence he says to me) "I have EAGLE EYES!" As we got off the metro and started our way, he was having trouble spotting the number. It's because we were standing almost directly under the sign and he's not as tall as your typical metro user. I gave him a hint to look up. He did and spotted it, knowing I had spotted it first, and said just as enthusiastically, "YOU have eagle eyes TOO, Papa!"
Once again I showed him a map and gave him the option: metro (save those poor feet!) or walk along the seine (get out and enjoy this beautiful day!). He chose to walk, for which I was glad despite my concern for his sore feet and our limited time. Getting down along the Seine and beginning the walk, he finally sighed in a daydream, "Papa, I really want to live in Paris someday."
Later, in another daydream, he said, "Papa, I wonder what happened to the old submarine captain. I think he either went to South America or died. But I think he went to South America."
We saw the dinosaur, a chrome T-Rex sculpture recently featured on Colossal.
With that we started our trek home, and he now started to ask to be carried. Not in the whiney insistence that tells you he actually could walk and is just being lazy, but more so in a begging no-really-I-can't-take-another-step-this-is-serious kind of way. Sure enough, as we waited for the next metro, standing on the platform before the automatic door, he decided to sit down on the ground, four feet away from the provided benches. As we made our way through stations, we got on several escalators, and each time he'd turn around and sit down on the metal stairs. For the last distance I carried him from the escalator to our final train. A surreally difficult experience, as in our first year navigating through public transportation was always done with him in my arms. It's no so easy anymore, which also thankfully means he can walk farther and faster. I put him down and instead of protesting he sighed a pathetic "Thank you" as though he were actually saying, "You've saved my life."
We got on our train back home with 7 minutes to spare, meaning negotiations and choices all worked out alright, we played Angry Birds until the battery died, and we slept well last night, and I think both of us were pretty pleased to have a day with one another.
Wednesday, August 07, 2013
off to paris
I've been promising the kid a date in paris for far too long now. It's finally happening tomorrow.
Before bed I asked him again what his requests were. Simple:
1. Take the train.
2. Go to lots of parks. With slides and swings.
3. Eat at a restaurant.
4. Sleep in a gîte.
As he settled into bed he added:
5. See the Eiffel Tower "sprinkle."
6. Maybe we could take a ride in a fancy bus?
7. Come home late at night, when it's dark out.
We'll see what we can do.
Before bed I asked him again what his requests were. Simple:
1. Take the train.
2. Go to lots of parks. With slides and swings.
3. Eat at a restaurant.
4. Sleep in a gîte.
As he settled into bed he added:
5. See the Eiffel Tower "sprinkle."
6. Maybe we could take a ride in a fancy bus?
7. Come home late at night, when it's dark out.
We'll see what we can do.
Sunday, August 04, 2013
The Odor of Youth
We took the girl to church today.
Getting ready to leave outside, another girl about 8 or 9 years of age came and crouched down to admire her in her carseat. She was smitten, talking of how much she loved little babies, finishing by saying,
"...et puis ils ont toujours une certaine odeur; l'odeur de jeunesse."
"...ce qui te plaît ?" I asked.
"oui, beaucoup."
"They always have a certain odor...the odor of youth." It sounds much more eloquent in French, especially when such a sophisticated 8 year old is saying it. And though a more dynamic equivalent would be something more straight forward like "baby smell," I knew exactly what she was referring to and couldn't agree more.
Getting ready to leave outside, another girl about 8 or 9 years of age came and crouched down to admire her in her carseat. She was smitten, talking of how much she loved little babies, finishing by saying,
"...et puis ils ont toujours une certaine odeur; l'odeur de jeunesse."
"...ce qui te plaît ?" I asked.
"oui, beaucoup."
"They always have a certain odor...the odor of youth." It sounds much more eloquent in French, especially when such a sophisticated 8 year old is saying it. And though a more dynamic equivalent would be something more straight forward like "baby smell," I knew exactly what she was referring to and couldn't agree more.
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