fun in threes, sometimes fours
the girl
She can ride it if she likes. It's got a basket, a bell that rings, and things to make it look good. (Who can name the source?)
Yet she was vastly more interested in putting things in said basket (though I suppose it's techically not a basket...).
Busy and calm -- a typical Christmas for us, I suppose. Days of preparation and cleaning, and finally, the table is set, the barszcz is ready, and the guests are all making themselves comfortable.
Barszcz, mushroom soup, cabbage and mushroom pierogis -- the courses tumble onto the table, one after the other, and I'm thinking the same thing I always do: so much time spent preparing this food, and yet it's just disappearing. No matter how slowly we serve, it never seems to be slow enough truly to savor the food and the conversation. It's like eating one's favorite cookies as a kid, with the conflicting urges: devour them yet save them.
After dinner, we head to the living room for gifts and a Belgian ale sampling. First up, the king of Belgian ales: Chimay.
Gifts for everyone, but K and I are waiting for a couple.
L, having had a birthday less than weeks ago, has few surprises in an effort to keep from "spoiling" her. The truth is, she already has so many toys that we can hide many and she doesn't notice. But she was thrilled with her DVD: Horton Hears a Who. We've been reading it before bed for weeks now, and she adores the story. Any time the Wickersham brothers appear, she starts yelling, "No! Not nice!" She might attack the TV when we show her the film.
Nana and Papa get our new obsession: hardcover photo books from Blurb. One was a book of pictures of the Girl throughout the last year; the second was a photo book about Nana and Papa's trip to Central Europe for our 2004 wedding.
Christmas Day begins with some swinging and time with our guests' dogs, who have been relaxing in the basement. Throughout the week, whenever we would ask L who's coming, she would squeal, "Doggies!" Four friendly dogs and she was absolutely in heaven.
Christmas Day brought new guests and new adventures. L had a couple of playmates, one of whom having L's temperament and energy level. There was lots of climbing, chasing, and screams of laughter. It gave us a chance to see what it would be like to have more children. Someday. Right now, L is enough to keep four adults busy.
We got our Christmas tree last Friday, but with the party and accompanying chaos, we didn't get it decorated until Monday. For L, the empty decorations box was the most interesting.
She played for a little bit, posing as well: she's taken to saying "Cheese" whenever the camera is aimed in her direction.
Eventually, L was especially helpful. "L turn!" she cried every time K or I hung an ornament from the tree. At first, she herself needed some help.
But in true L-independent fashion, she quickly declared she must do it "Sama! Sama!"
That declaration that she must do it "Alone!" is both a blessing and a curse. It bodes well for her future, but it often results in rice spread for a square mile beneath her chair and yogurt smeared about everywhere. Then again, is it really a curse, your daughter learning to do things independently? Some cleaner and a paper towel takes care of it, so what's the big deal? Besides, what are we going to do -- discourage independence?
"When you wake up," I told L before her Sunday afternoon nap, "it will be time for 'Happy to you!'" She'd been waiting all week, and she was too excited to fall asleep immediately, but eventually she drifted off.
When she awoke, it was her day.
First, lunch. In two years she's gone from milk and mush to shrimp, an all-time favorite.
Papa held the Girl as Nana practiced with their new camera. "It was rated best in this level at this price by this place and that," said Papa, proudly relating the story of how he got it for a song.
The guests arrived and L became the center of attention. She's used to it, I guess: she demands it often enough, though fussing or simply asking.
"Mama, trzym," she says. "Hold" in Polish, but L-ized. She's not shy about asking for attention, though we we she'd ask for it like that more often.
Candles out and it was time for gifts. L had a little helper, F: the son of Polish friends we met here. He wanted to help with the candles, but L and I had practiced. She knew what she was doing.
F began by helping L with her presents; by the end, he was unwrapping them for her. A year ago, that might have been problematic: the Girl was more interested in the paper and boxes than the presents. This year, she knows what's inside is what counts. Hopefully, it's a lesson she'll apply universally.
The GIrl came away with quite a haul: Tinker Bell, a couple of games, a Madeline book, a Pooh phone. It was tempting to hide some of the toys and bring them out a little later, but for now they're all out -- literally.
Of course, Nana got the sweetest present of all.
Happy to you, L. Two down, one hundred and two to go. Sto lat!
It’s clean-up time now, but the party was a success — and so was the extinguishing of the candles.
More to come.
Later today, L will celebrate her second birthday party. Her birthday is not until Tuesday, but one doesn't have parties on Tuesdays. We've been practicing: thank you, happy birthday to you (which comes out "happy to you"), dziekuje, sto lat, blowing out candles, and so on.
Last night, K baked a cake, as I did some touch-up work on our new door.
The cake, when finished, was quite a masterpiece:
Today, we tried blowing up some balloons, but L was a bit wary:
Right now, she's asleep. "When you wake up," I told her, "It'll be time for 'Happy to you!'"
I'm surprised she even managed to go to sleep.
We’re getting ready to go to the zoo — just L and I, a newly forming bi-Sunday tradition. L is excited: she’s chattering on and on in her own way: 10% Polish, 20% English, 70% L-ese. (One of the problems with raising a bilingual baby is that you never know whether she’s trying a new Polish word, a new English word, or just making up something in her own language.)
In the midst of the babbling, L suddenly says, “Mamma, afant.”
“Afant? I don’t know what that is,” K responds, as always, in Polish.
“Afant!” declares L.
“Honey, I don’t know…” K begins, then L switches languages.
“Slonik!” translates L.
“Oh! ‘Elephant!'”
Part of learning to talk is learning to tell stories, to string together a group of sentences in a coherent, meaningful way. Yet we’re learning that there are many different levels of coherence and meaningfulness.
Take, for example, this story L told me yesterday: “i whee i boom i cry!” (She’s saying Polish “i” — and, pronounced “ee” — and not the English first person singular personal pronoun.) Facial expressions and hand gestures accompanied this lovely story, which I would translate thus: “I was sliding down the slide! I was having a great time when I fell down. It hurt, and I cried.”
When K came home a few days ago, L told her the following story: “i Bida i no no i time out!” Translation: “I was playing and decided to pick up Bida[, our cat,] which is a no-no. Dad sent me to time out.”
Stories with three episodes. We are in the midst of what Stephen Pinker joking referred to as the “All-hell-breaks-loose” stage of language learning.
In the first of many such adventures, we took L to see the latest incarnation of Disney on Ice this weekend.
She sat calmly before the show began. She sat calmly during the show. The only time she showed much emotion -- other than clapping -- was when someone skated behind the curtain, disappear forever, she was sure.
It was a fairly good production, with a little something for everyone. They stayed with the later Disney films: Lion King, Little Mermaid, and Lilo and Stitch. During the second half they went a little deeper into the Disney catalog, with a fairly long Peter Pan scene.
Unfortunately, they didn't do any of L's favorites. Without a doubt, her absolute favorite -- thanks to Nana and Papa's extensive collection -- is Dumbo, but no proboscidean adventures were included.
Writers often keep a pen and pad on their nightstand in case inspiration strikes in the haze of near sleep. Poet Luci Shaw, visiting my college years ago, explained that she can never remember it the next morning, and to prevent that thought from being lost, she keeps writing materials by her bed. Some even keep illuminated pens and tablets, thereby saving their sleep by not having to turn on the light.
Inspiration can even jolt some writers out of a deep sleep, I've heard.
Twice in last few weeks, I've been jolted out of a deep sleep, but not by anything so pleasant as inspiration. I sit upright in bed suddenly, and there's not a sound in the house, but within moments, I hear L crying. I rush to her bedroom and find her out of her crib, on the floor, stunned to be there, still half asleep herself. What woke me, K, and even L was the thump of her falling to the floor.
"It's time we buy the foot board to turn the crib into a day bed," we both say the morning after.
That night, though, it's all about calming a confused, half-asleep girl, there is only one question: how in the world did she fall out of bed?
The next morning, she shows us. Pointing to the top of the crib, she explains, "I boom!" (She pronounces "I" as the Polish i, which means "and" and is pronounced like our letter "e". So in fact, she was not saying "I boom" but "and boom.")
Afterward, she points to the floor, adding another "i boom" for good measure. She willingly shows us as well.
