Well there we go. Maia and I have just completed a major part of the emotional damage we call Growing Up. We have just finished Charlotte's Web.
OHMYGOD!!! Why didn't anyone tell me?? I remember the fluffy/cartoon/Disney, yes-it-is-sad-but-happy-in-the-end version. Not this mawkish, nay terrifying tome. I have been editing a little bit in the telling, avoiding the great swathes of overblown prose and moderating the nastiness of the rat, Templeton.
Halfway through the last chapter this evening, I was tempted to change the ending and make it a Happily Ever After story but couldn't think quick enough. I tried to deflect her with the offer of a different story, but she was not to be deterred. I then thought that she might just be listening to my voice, rather than really absorbing the story. Nope. When Charlotte died, Maia cried.
Then she broke my heart - she said that she didn't want to be like Charlotte. Wow. So Charlotte's Web made me cry as a kid, and now again as an adult because my daughter has suddenly linked death with something that could possibly happen to her and the people she loves.
Now I feel like crap. I spoke to her about memories and how we live on in the love we have for everyone, and the love that they have for us. I promised her that no one she loved was going to die for a very very, long time. Then I sat with her until she fell asleep. And spent the whole time cursing E.B. White.
Maybe we will stick to Roald Dahl from now on. No big themes in his work, right?? Ugh. Time to buy a book about pink fairies.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Bob Bob Bobbing Along
Grown up haircut alert! Photos to follow, but Miss Maia Maia Jumbalaya has got a new, grown-up, super-cute hair cut. It is a little bob, hitting just below her ears, topped by a little fringe (that she can now see out of).
She was a touch concerned that she wouldn't be a princess any more (as princesses always have long hair) but was persuaded that princesses with short hair have a better chance of keeping their crown on their head. Less hair to blow about in a strong wind.
And pirate princesses always have short hair. All the better for sword fighting, you see.
And as for Architecht-Doctor-Lawyer-Musician-Ice-Cream maker Princesses, well, you never see them with their hair trailing out the window waiting for the prince to climb up it, do you? Nah, it is only boring princesses who never DO anything who have long hair.
She was a touch concerned that she wouldn't be a princess any more (as princesses always have long hair) but was persuaded that princesses with short hair have a better chance of keeping their crown on their head. Less hair to blow about in a strong wind.
And pirate princesses always have short hair. All the better for sword fighting, you see.
And as for Architecht-Doctor-Lawyer-Musician-Ice-Cream maker Princesses, well, you never see them with their hair trailing out the window waiting for the prince to climb up it, do you? Nah, it is only boring princesses who never DO anything who have long hair.
Bare Bones
Maia is learning about the "skelington" at Big School. We have a little chat on our walk home everyday about what she has learnt, what she ate, who she played with - that sort of thing. Yesterday, she said to me
"Mummy, if I peeled all my skin off, and all that was left was bones, what would you do?"
"Hmmm," I said (choosing not to tell her that I would weep forever because people don't survive as just bones...) "Probably help you put your skin back on again, like a pair of toasty warm pajamas."
"Mummy!" she said, shocked to the core by my ignorance, "No! You must call a Ambliance and tell them to come and help me! Then the Doctors will make me better. Now what number do you call? Nine-nine-nine. That's right."
She then fixed me with a glare that left me in no doubt that she thought she was probably not safe in my care. Especially if any skin-peeling was going to occur.
I assured her that I would remember to absolutely call the ambliance in such a situation. Slightly mollified, she told me about her lunch. Lasagne. Without bones.
"Mummy, if I peeled all my skin off, and all that was left was bones, what would you do?"
"Hmmm," I said (choosing not to tell her that I would weep forever because people don't survive as just bones...) "Probably help you put your skin back on again, like a pair of toasty warm pajamas."
"Mummy!" she said, shocked to the core by my ignorance, "No! You must call a Ambliance and tell them to come and help me! Then the Doctors will make me better. Now what number do you call? Nine-nine-nine. That's right."
She then fixed me with a glare that left me in no doubt that she thought she was probably not safe in my care. Especially if any skin-peeling was going to occur.
I assured her that I would remember to absolutely call the ambliance in such a situation. Slightly mollified, she told me about her lunch. Lasagne. Without bones.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Humble.... Moi?
Maia is not lacking for self-confidence. She is not shy, and she certainly is not retiring.
We had a couple of examples of this last week.
On the way back from school last Tuesday with new possible-pal Arwen (and new possible-pal por moi, Maria), Maia was chatting away, telling us all about her room, her house and what she had done at school that day. She paused for a beat, turned round to Maria and with a nod of the head and not a dash of humility said
"You know, I am a Funny Kid"
Later in the week, The Mother's Union brought the kids round for tea. George and Sue arrived first. Maia had dolled herself up in a fabulously clashing combination of purple tights, yellow summer dress, all the jewels she could find and her pink Clicky-Clacky heels. She sashayed into the kitchen and said to us
"You know, when Isabel arrives, she is going to see me and I am TOO pretty, she won't believe it!"
I love it. I love the fact that she has such a wildly positive and happy image of herself. I don't think I could bear it if she thought she was naughty/ugly/a pain.
Not sure how much is due to her nature or is somehow inherent, and how much is due to the fact that I tell her how wonderful she is every day.
Well, I figure if I don't, other people might forget to tell her...although I imagine Maia would probably be the first to remind them.
We had a couple of examples of this last week.
On the way back from school last Tuesday with new possible-pal Arwen (and new possible-pal por moi, Maria), Maia was chatting away, telling us all about her room, her house and what she had done at school that day. She paused for a beat, turned round to Maria and with a nod of the head and not a dash of humility said
"You know, I am a Funny Kid"
Later in the week, The Mother's Union brought the kids round for tea. George and Sue arrived first. Maia had dolled herself up in a fabulously clashing combination of purple tights, yellow summer dress, all the jewels she could find and her pink Clicky-Clacky heels. She sashayed into the kitchen and said to us
"You know, when Isabel arrives, she is going to see me and I am TOO pretty, she won't believe it!"
I love it. I love the fact that she has such a wildly positive and happy image of herself. I don't think I could bear it if she thought she was naughty/ugly/a pain.
Not sure how much is due to her nature or is somehow inherent, and how much is due to the fact that I tell her how wonderful she is every day.
Well, I figure if I don't, other people might forget to tell her...although I imagine Maia would probably be the first to remind them.
Awright Treacle
Maia tried and failed to get me out of bed this morning. Hannah is staying, and we shared a bottle of wine last night while watching rubbish telly. Which, let me tell you, is not quite the ideal preparation for a bouncy Maia at 7.30 am.
Anyway, Maia Pie is a big girl now, so I told her to go play for a while. Having failed to get me to get up and play, Maia went downstairs to Mum's flat (where Hannah is staying) and failed to get her to play either.
So, after foraging a banana from Hannah's kitchen (sorry honey, will replace) Maia pottered about, playing with the cat.
She came upstairs after a while with a pretty insistent request that went something like this
"GET UP MUMMY! I am boring with this now."
Her pajama top was covered with a sticky black substance that she claimed was ink. She said she tasted it, but it wasn't that tasty. When she wanted to get it off her finger, she wiped it on her pajamas.
Jolted from my lie-in by a fear that we might have to rush to Casualty with a rather random explanation of how it was that I allowed my child to drink ink, I asked her to come and show me exactly what she had tasted.
We hared downstairs, where she presented me with a pot of Lyle's treacle.
I tasted it too, and it really isn't that nice. Which is a bit of a relief. I think had it been tasty, Maia would have had more than a fingerful, and then would have been sky-high for the rest of the day.
Lesson learnt.
For Ideal Lie-ins, Hide the Treacle...Awright?
Anyway, Maia Pie is a big girl now, so I told her to go play for a while. Having failed to get me to get up and play, Maia went downstairs to Mum's flat (where Hannah is staying) and failed to get her to play either.
So, after foraging a banana from Hannah's kitchen (sorry honey, will replace) Maia pottered about, playing with the cat.
She came upstairs after a while with a pretty insistent request that went something like this
"GET UP MUMMY! I am boring with this now."
Her pajama top was covered with a sticky black substance that she claimed was ink. She said she tasted it, but it wasn't that tasty. When she wanted to get it off her finger, she wiped it on her pajamas.
Jolted from my lie-in by a fear that we might have to rush to Casualty with a rather random explanation of how it was that I allowed my child to drink ink, I asked her to come and show me exactly what she had tasted.
We hared downstairs, where she presented me with a pot of Lyle's treacle.
I tasted it too, and it really isn't that nice. Which is a bit of a relief. I think had it been tasty, Maia would have had more than a fingerful, and then would have been sky-high for the rest of the day.
Lesson learnt.
For Ideal Lie-ins, Hide the Treacle...Awright?
Friday, January 12, 2007
BLogJam
I know, I know BLOG.
We have lots of stories from South Africa, lots of pictures to go with them: lions, giraffe, hippos, Christmas etc etc. I will work my way through and get them to you as and when.
in the meantime, enjoy these 3!
We have lots of stories from South Africa, lots of pictures to go with them: lions, giraffe, hippos, Christmas etc etc. I will work my way through and get them to you as and when.
in the meantime, enjoy these 3!
Friday, January 05, 2007
BIG School
Maia has had her first taste of Big School, and so far, has not spat it out.
She is at the school directly behind the house - although we haven't yet rigged up the catapult, so have to walk down the road, round the front and to the side gates to get there.
They are breaking her in gently over the course of 3(!) weeks. Gentle for her, a bit harder on us - though it must be really hard on people who don't have flexible jobs. Anyway, she went for mornings last week, mornings up till lunch in the classroom this week, mornings plus lunch in the dining hall the week after, then all day from the middle of the month. Ugh.
She looks VERY grown up in her uniform (pics to follow) and has mastered the names of her teacher, the teaching assistant and a few of the kids.
When we left yesterday, she tried to give the teacher a kiss, but was given a hug instead. School staff can't kiss children at the school for fear of it being labeled inappropriate contact (which is understandable, but still really sad). When we left, Maia asked if that meant the teacher didn't like her, and (heartbroken) I assured her it didn't, but that things change when you get to Big School. One of those things is that teachers aren't allowed to kiss you goodbye. But they can give you a hug... She seemed to accept that as OK.
In fact, she really is taking it all in her stride. Good lass.
She is at the school directly behind the house - although we haven't yet rigged up the catapult, so have to walk down the road, round the front and to the side gates to get there.
They are breaking her in gently over the course of 3(!) weeks. Gentle for her, a bit harder on us - though it must be really hard on people who don't have flexible jobs. Anyway, she went for mornings last week, mornings up till lunch in the classroom this week, mornings plus lunch in the dining hall the week after, then all day from the middle of the month. Ugh.
She looks VERY grown up in her uniform (pics to follow) and has mastered the names of her teacher, the teaching assistant and a few of the kids.
When we left yesterday, she tried to give the teacher a kiss, but was given a hug instead. School staff can't kiss children at the school for fear of it being labeled inappropriate contact (which is understandable, but still really sad). When we left, Maia asked if that meant the teacher didn't like her, and (heartbroken) I assured her it didn't, but that things change when you get to Big School. One of those things is that teachers aren't allowed to kiss you goodbye. But they can give you a hug... She seemed to accept that as OK.
In fact, she really is taking it all in her stride. Good lass.
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