Not for the weak-stomached

ALINA: Me went prout the other day. (Prout being kiddie-slang French for having gas.)

ME: Oh, really?

ALINA: Me was in ma bed, and me heard a noise at my bottom...Mama, why you laughin'?

Porridge

I've got a theory. I think that for me (and I believe I am not alone), fairy tales are almost as much about the words you use as about storyline. I mean, think about it. The Three Bears could eat anything for breakfast: ham and eggs, waffles, chicken fried steak, oatmeal. But in every rendering of The Three Bears you've ever read, they eat porridge. I submit to you the theory that Goldilocks and the Three Bears is not Goldilocks and the Three Bears unless someone says, "Somebody's been eating my porridge."

The giant doesn't have to say "Fi, Fie, Fo, Fum." Or the Gingerbread Man "Run, run, as fast as you can..." "The better to eat you with, my dear." "Not by the hear of my chinny-chin-chin." These phrases make these stories what they are.

Here's my dilemma. Alina just received a couple of books of fairy tales. In French. In French, the giant is not a master of alliteration. The bears eat bouillie. The Gingerbread Man has to change what he says depending on if he's using tu for one person following, or vous for multiple people.

It's just wrong.

Thomas can read them to her in French if he wants, but I think I'll continue telling the stories in English while turning the pages at the appropriate point in the story.

Random America Pictures

A Promise Kept (Almost)

I practiced every day last week except Sunday. Now, here goes for this week!

Meow...

...or should I say, hello! My name is Pangoban, or Pongo for short. At least that's what they keep calling me here where I'm living now, at the Constantini's. They had a long discussion and kept talking about some movie, Brendan and the Secret of Kells, that they really liked. I guess there's a cat in that movie, and they decided to name me after him.

Like most cats, I prefer to keep an aura of mystery about myself. Therefore, we will skip over my early life. Suffice to say that I am between 18 months and 2 years old, and that I was recently living in a campground. A nice lady and her daughter came to the campground. They fed me and, when it was time for them to go, they decided to take me with them. They brought me to a town called Melle, and even took me to a cat-doctor, to make sure I was fit to live with humans.

It could have been very nice living with their family. There was just one problem. They already had a cat, and I hate other cats. Hissssssss. We didn't get along at all. I spent 2 dreary weeks living in their basement until, one day, they put me in a little cage and brought me here, to the Constantini's. I had met these people before. They had come to the basement and let their little girl pet me. But, how was I to know they had actually come on purpose to meet me, to see if I would fit in with their family?

You'd probably like to know about my tail, wouldn't you? Well, the cat-doctor said it looks like it is probably a malformation I've had since birth. And, if that isn't the truth, I'll never tell!

Rocks in the Offering Plate

I hope our treasurer won't be too surprised after church tomorrow.

You see, yesterday, I was picking strawberries in the garden and Alina was digging with her shovel. Then she made the surprising statement, "Me gettin' (she uses -ing verbs now!) some rocks for God." Unsure that I had understood, I asked her to repeat and, sure enough, that's what she said. I caught myself before I told her she was just being silly, and thought about the fact that she routinely presents me, Thomas, and her grandparents with rocks. They're little gifts. So, I asked her what she thought God would do with His rocks. She answered, "Throw them in water." Which is completely logical, as that's one of Alina's favorite activities.

Slightly at a loss as to exactly how to deal with this, I finally explained to Alina that since we can't see God, the church is here to do God's work. And so, that if we want to give things to God, often we will give them to the church.

Which is why there will be rocks in our offering plate tomorrow.

A Promise

Sunday night, I made myself a promise. I decided that I will play my violin every day this week, no matter what. Finding practice time is a struggle for me. I'm frustrated by my lack of time, energy, and motivation. The hardest thing is feeling like I'm always starting over. I've achieved certain techniques, learned certain pieces, but every time I pick up my instrument, I feel like I need to review the basics because it's been so long since the previous time I practiced. So, I've decided to change that. I have no unrealistic expectations about how long I will practice each day, only that it will happen.

It happened yesterday. Of course, I only played in a discreet pizzicato, as I was in the living room and at least one little person was sleeping during my 2 10-minute sessions. Hopefully, this aspect will improve quickly. Why? Two reasons. First, we have finally followed the good and well-meaning advice we have received and instituted naptime at our house. No one is actually naive enough to believe this will involve any sleeping on Alina's part, but she's learning how to occupy herself alone in her room for a half an hour every afternoon, while her sister, theoretically at least, does sleep. Also, I've just purchased a baby monitor on ebay. I should get it in a few days, and this will allow me to go into the studio and practice while the girls are sleeping, even if Thomas is not home.

I'm also actively searching out performance opportunities for this year. The first schoolyear we were in Melle, I had several opportunities. Last year, nothing. I was OK with that, because baby-making sucked up most of my energy, anyway. But now I definitely feel the need to play with and for other people.

Wish me luck.