I am very keen that Maia starts to learn another European language early - probably French or Spanish. So imagine my delight when she came home from the Funny Farm and started to sing Frère Jacque.
I was imagining summers in Paris, visiting her while she was en vacances from her diplôme at the Sorbonne when I tuned back into the song.
Frère Jacque,
Frère Jacque,
Dorme vous?
Dorme vous?
Jammy semolina,
Jammy semolina,
Din Dan Don,
Din Dan Don.
Hmmm. Aucun problème, nous avons assez de temps.*
*with thanks to BabelFish
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Sunday, November 28, 2004
A Trip to London Zoo, After Which a Lion Was Renamed.
Sunday afternoon was a bit rainy, a bit overcast and rather cold. All in all, a very British November day. A day for sitting under a duvet and supping hot chocolate. Or a day to troop about London Zoo, trying to spot the few animals daft enough to be out in the cold and wet. Zoo it was!
Part of the reason for the trip to the Zoo was to tie in with a rather special present, brought all the way from Washington DC for Maia. Dr Kris and her mum Kathy had found a Lion. Not just any Lion, but a thoroughly resplendent feline, all tufty caramel fur topped with a rather 1970s ginger mane. For some reason, prior to his introduction to Maia, Dr Kris and Chris had decided that Bartholemew was, in fact, gay. So, on this rainy Sunday, outside London Zoo, Maia was introduced to Bartholemew The Gay Lion*.
As soon as she saw him, Maia was smitten. A huge cuddle, followed by much affectionate face squeezing cemented the friendship. This was one very loved Lion. However, she struggled somewhat with the name.
Our zoo tour took in the giraffes ("One, two, three!"), some red bush pigs and piglets ("Babe!") monkeys, capuchins, a skunk, a Lesser Spotted Shrew ("That is a mouse"), a sloth ("We should leave him alone. He is tired"), some mangrove fish in mud ("This is not my favourite")... In fact the phrases "This is not my favourite" and "We should leave him alone" came up rather alot. If this makes it sound as though she didn't have a good day, it is not meant to - she really did. She just appreciated the animals, then decided it was time to move on to the next ones.
Dr Kris and Chris decided that a spotty cat called a servin was their favourite, while I went for the giraffes. I think Maia decided that her favourite was the elephant. Odd, given that we didn't see any elephants, but if she wants the elephant as her favourite, then she can have it...
Throughout the day, BTGL (forgive me, but Bartholemew The Gay Lion takes SO LONG to type!) was perched in the puchchair wearing various coats cast off by Maia and, later, Maia's Princess Rabbit tiara.
We rode on a roundabout, stopped for milk and cookies (Maia spent most of the time flirting with Chris and eating the majority of his crisps), coloured in a paper butterfly or two, bought a Nemo balloon and were almost the last to leave.
Maia kissed Dr Kris and Chris goodbye, was helped into her carseat, grabbed BTGL and promptly fell asleep.
When she woke up, I asked her what her lion was called. She replied "Barf-on-you". And so he is duly renamed.
A great day.
*I would like to point out that we are, after all, equal opportunities stuffed toy owners. Some of our best friends are man-made fibre, not suitable for under 3s.
Part of the reason for the trip to the Zoo was to tie in with a rather special present, brought all the way from Washington DC for Maia. Dr Kris and her mum Kathy had found a Lion. Not just any Lion, but a thoroughly resplendent feline, all tufty caramel fur topped with a rather 1970s ginger mane. For some reason, prior to his introduction to Maia, Dr Kris and Chris had decided that Bartholemew was, in fact, gay. So, on this rainy Sunday, outside London Zoo, Maia was introduced to Bartholemew The Gay Lion*.
As soon as she saw him, Maia was smitten. A huge cuddle, followed by much affectionate face squeezing cemented the friendship. This was one very loved Lion. However, she struggled somewhat with the name.
Our zoo tour took in the giraffes ("One, two, three!"), some red bush pigs and piglets ("Babe!") monkeys, capuchins, a skunk, a Lesser Spotted Shrew ("That is a mouse"), a sloth ("We should leave him alone. He is tired"), some mangrove fish in mud ("This is not my favourite")... In fact the phrases "This is not my favourite" and "We should leave him alone" came up rather alot. If this makes it sound as though she didn't have a good day, it is not meant to - she really did. She just appreciated the animals, then decided it was time to move on to the next ones.
Dr Kris and Chris decided that a spotty cat called a servin was their favourite, while I went for the giraffes. I think Maia decided that her favourite was the elephant. Odd, given that we didn't see any elephants, but if she wants the elephant as her favourite, then she can have it...
Throughout the day, BTGL (forgive me, but Bartholemew The Gay Lion takes SO LONG to type!) was perched in the puchchair wearing various coats cast off by Maia and, later, Maia's Princess Rabbit tiara.
We rode on a roundabout, stopped for milk and cookies (Maia spent most of the time flirting with Chris and eating the majority of his crisps), coloured in a paper butterfly or two, bought a Nemo balloon and were almost the last to leave.
Maia kissed Dr Kris and Chris goodbye, was helped into her carseat, grabbed BTGL and promptly fell asleep.
When she woke up, I asked her what her lion was called. She replied "Barf-on-you". And so he is duly renamed.
A great day.
*I would like to point out that we are, after all, equal opportunities stuffed toy owners. Some of our best friends are man-made fibre, not suitable for under 3s.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Adventures with Noonah and Alec - Princess Rabbit
The Parmiter's Craft Fair (Fayre?) has been a staple in the Mitchell/Mitchell-Packington/ Packington household for years. Each year, Mum goes along and returns (a little tipsy from the mulled wine) with some homemade cakes, a knick-knack or two and having seen all the people she used to teach with.
This year, Alec, Sarah (his fabulous gf) and Maia accompanied Mum on her trip.
Maia took to the mulled wine and mince pie stall with gusto, demolishing a mince pie in record time. She didn't seem to notice that her mulled wine was suspiciously water-like, or if she did, she didn't mind.
Wandering around the various stalls brought out the magpie in her, as she went for every shiny, silvery, sparkly thing that caught her eye.
Next, she spotted the face painting stall. Enthralled, she demanded to have her face painted. Did she want a flower? No. Did she want to be a tiger? No. She wanted to be a rabbit.
"A rabbit? Are you sure? Ok then..."
So, very patiently, she sat still until the transformation was complete.
Later on, her magpie eyes spotted a fabulously shiny, silvery and sparkly tiara. For only 10p she was transformed into Princess Rabbit, and would answer to nothing else all day.
This year, Alec, Sarah (his fabulous gf) and Maia accompanied Mum on her trip.
Maia took to the mulled wine and mince pie stall with gusto, demolishing a mince pie in record time. She didn't seem to notice that her mulled wine was suspiciously water-like, or if she did, she didn't mind.
Wandering around the various stalls brought out the magpie in her, as she went for every shiny, silvery, sparkly thing that caught her eye.
Next, she spotted the face painting stall. Enthralled, she demanded to have her face painted. Did she want a flower? No. Did she want to be a tiger? No. She wanted to be a rabbit.
"A rabbit? Are you sure? Ok then..."
So, very patiently, she sat still until the transformation was complete.
Later on, her magpie eyes spotted a fabulously shiny, silvery and sparkly tiara. For only 10p she was transformed into Princess Rabbit, and would answer to nothing else all day.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Maia Makes Sandcakes
While Mum was away in Portugal, I was making dinner for Maia and myself. Stupidly, I had decided to make something that required full attention was paid so that it didn't burn/go gungey.
So I set Maia up with a tape player (playing Mog, of course) and got on with making dinner. Maia soon tired of Mog and pottered about, keeping herself amused. She had been quiet for about 2-3 minutes when I got suspicious.
"Maia darling, whatcha doing?"
"Playing with sand"
"sand?"
I went thorugh to the room by the kitchen (passing an open kitchen cabinet on the way) to find Maia, the floor and a cat or two covered in flour.
Well, we have now discovered that flour doesn't make good sandcastles, but it makes a great mess!
So I set Maia up with a tape player (playing Mog, of course) and got on with making dinner. Maia soon tired of Mog and pottered about, keeping herself amused. She had been quiet for about 2-3 minutes when I got suspicious.
"Maia darling, whatcha doing?"
"Playing with sand"
"sand?"
I went thorugh to the room by the kitchen (passing an open kitchen cabinet on the way) to find Maia, the floor and a cat or two covered in flour.
Well, we have now discovered that flour doesn't make good sandcastles, but it makes a great mess!
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
***PICTURE!***
OK, I know it is a really old one (from our Bahamas trip in March 2003) but I just rediscovered it, and damn, it's cute! So here you go..."Maia with Improvised Hat"
Posted by Hello
Wednesday, October 20, 2004
Adventures with Daddy - Butt of the Joke
Maia and Pat were playing on the bed.
Pat playfully smacked her on the bottom, saying "I'm smacking your bottom! I'm smacking your bottom!"
Maia ran through to me (in the other room, folding laundry) and said "Daddy was smacking my bottom!" in a hilarious faux-outraged voice. So I said "If you don't want Daddy to smack your bottom, then go through and say 'That's not nice, Daddy. Don't smack my bottom." She did.
Pat then pinched her bottom, all the while saying "I'm pinching your bottom! I'm pinching your bottom!"
Again, Maia ran through to me. "Daddy is pinching my bottom!". So again I said "If you don't want Daddy to pinch your bottom, go through and say 'That's not nice, Daddy. Don't pinch my bottom." She did.
Then she looked at Pat sternly and said
"Kiss it. Kiss my bottom!"
Through tears of laughter, he did.
Pat playfully smacked her on the bottom, saying "I'm smacking your bottom! I'm smacking your bottom!"
Maia ran through to me (in the other room, folding laundry) and said "Daddy was smacking my bottom!" in a hilarious faux-outraged voice. So I said "If you don't want Daddy to smack your bottom, then go through and say 'That's not nice, Daddy. Don't smack my bottom." She did.
Pat then pinched her bottom, all the while saying "I'm pinching your bottom! I'm pinching your bottom!"
Again, Maia ran through to me. "Daddy is pinching my bottom!". So again I said "If you don't want Daddy to pinch your bottom, go through and say 'That's not nice, Daddy. Don't pinch my bottom." She did.
Then she looked at Pat sternly and said
"Kiss it. Kiss my bottom!"
Through tears of laughter, he did.
Feline Dissent
It appears that it is not just the grown-up humans in the house who have had enough of Mog.
I discovered, last night, that a suspicious liquid had soaked through the (well thumbed) pages of Mog the Forgetful Cat.
Perhaps we will have to write our own series. Suggestions on a postcard please.
Here are some to get you started...
Manky the Revengeful Cat
Scotty the Inconitnent Cat
Beckett the Avenger
Narley Harley...
I discovered, last night, that a suspicious liquid had soaked through the (well thumbed) pages of Mog the Forgetful Cat.
Perhaps we will have to write our own series. Suggestions on a postcard please.
Here are some to get you started...
Manky the Revengeful Cat
Scotty the Inconitnent Cat
Beckett the Avenger
Narley Harley...
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Through Gritted Teeth...
Mog?
Again?
Are you sure you wouldn't like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Or The BFG?
Or ANYTHING else?
No?
Definitely Mog? Not Postman Pat, or Mr Cheerful, or Giraffes Can't Dance, or Commotion in the Ocean, or Dinosaur Roar?
OK then. Here we go again..
"Once there was a cat called Mog..."
Again?
Are you sure you wouldn't like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? Or The BFG?
Or ANYTHING else?
No?
Definitely Mog? Not Postman Pat, or Mr Cheerful, or Giraffes Can't Dance, or Commotion in the Ocean, or Dinosaur Roar?
OK then. Here we go again..
"Once there was a cat called Mog..."
Thursday, October 14, 2004
New Boots
We bought Maia some really cool Clarks boots - little lace up desert boots in suede. She loves them, and stomps about in them quite merrily.
However, they are NOT:
Super Boots
Great Boots
Dancing Boots
Running Boots
Funky Boots
Cool Boots
or any other descriptive term you can come up with.
This is because Maia has decreed that they are Jumping Boots. To refer to them as anything else will earn you a serious telling off.
However, they are NOT:
Super Boots
Great Boots
Dancing Boots
Running Boots
Funky Boots
Cool Boots
or any other descriptive term you can come up with.
This is because Maia has decreed that they are Jumping Boots. To refer to them as anything else will earn you a serious telling off.
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Funny Face from the Funny Farm
I got quite a shock this afternoon, picking Maia up from the Funny Farm. In order to pass the time on a grey, rainy autumn day, a box of face-paints had been produced and used to full effect.
On my arrival I was greeted by a bright pink faced Maia, with heavy blue eyebrows, looking for all the world like a rather small, PeptoBismol coloured Oompa Loompa.
I think the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is being filmed in Leavesden, just down the road... Off to go see if anyone from central casting is interested.
On my arrival I was greeted by a bright pink faced Maia, with heavy blue eyebrows, looking for all the world like a rather small, PeptoBismol coloured Oompa Loompa.
I think the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is being filmed in Leavesden, just down the road... Off to go see if anyone from central casting is interested.
Adventures with Noona - Maia Knows Me Well
It is a sunny, clear, cool Autumn morning and Maia and I have just enjoyed an early breakfast of banana and strawberry smoothie followed by brown toast and egg. Now it is time to go to the Funny Farm. Maia mostly dresses herself, with a little help from me. She then sits happily playing with the 'talking book' (Pappy's Birthday present to her).
I tell her I am going up stairs to get dressed. She nonchalantly looks up and appraises me and says 'Put on a skirt and a stripy top and have some wine'
I do follow her orders but leave out the wine for the moment, 8am is too early even for me.
I tell her I am going up stairs to get dressed. She nonchalantly looks up and appraises me and says 'Put on a skirt and a stripy top and have some wine'
I do follow her orders but leave out the wine for the moment, 8am is too early even for me.
Monday, October 11, 2004
New Catchphrase
We have bought Maia a tape and book set of Mog The Forgetful Cat, her first of the classic series by Judith Kerr.
In the book, Mog, a rather dim-but-lovely tabby cat, gets herself and her family into adventures and scrapes, with everything working out well in the end. However, during these adventures and scrapes, the Thomas family (owners of Mog) regularly say "Bother that cat!"
Maia thinks this is a wonderful phrase and enthusiastically joins in whenever the phrase appears in the book or tape. She is so enamored of it that she even shouts it out when book and tape are nowhere to be seen or heard. One slight problem is her inability to properly enunciate the "th" sounds....so the phrase sounds somewhat ruder than it should. Bother that lisp.
In the book, Mog, a rather dim-but-lovely tabby cat, gets herself and her family into adventures and scrapes, with everything working out well in the end. However, during these adventures and scrapes, the Thomas family (owners of Mog) regularly say "Bother that cat!"
Maia thinks this is a wonderful phrase and enthusiastically joins in whenever the phrase appears in the book or tape. She is so enamored of it that she even shouts it out when book and tape are nowhere to be seen or heard. One slight problem is her inability to properly enunciate the "th" sounds....so the phrase sounds somewhat ruder than it should. Bother that lisp.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
*Coughsplutter* Foils Travel to Barcelona
Maia has a cold and a bit of a chest infection. As she is coughing and hacking like someone with a 50-a-day habit, I took her to the doctor yesterday evening. He told me what I already knew - that it was Not a Good Idea to take her on a plane. So, we are no longer going to Barcelona to see Pat for his birthday. However, as of this morning, he is booked on a flight to come over here for the weekend instead.
It has really brought home to me how free from artifice kids are - she is feeling rubbish and there is no hiding it. When she feels grotty, she grizzles and grumbles and groans. The flip side is, of course, that when she is grot (and snot) free, she is sunny and happy.
So, I have got a prescription to deal with the snottiness, and a Saturday afternoon painting session which may deal with the grottiness.
Might not have Spanish sunshine this weekend, but we will try and ensure a sunnier Maia.
It has really brought home to me how free from artifice kids are - she is feeling rubbish and there is no hiding it. When she feels grotty, she grizzles and grumbles and groans. The flip side is, of course, that when she is grot (and snot) free, she is sunny and happy.
So, I have got a prescription to deal with the snottiness, and a Saturday afternoon painting session which may deal with the grottiness.
Might not have Spanish sunshine this weekend, but we will try and ensure a sunnier Maia.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce
Maia has discovered jumping and bouncing.
An example:
bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "Look Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "No, LOOK Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce
"Wow, good bouncing Maia. Would you like to do some dancing?"
"Yes."
music starts....
bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce
An example:
bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "Look Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce "No, LOOK Mummy, look" bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce
"Wow, good bouncing Maia. Would you like to do some dancing?"
"Yes."
music starts....
bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Adventures with Daddy: What Colour is a Lesson?
Well the easy answer, for those of you who don’t know, is quite simple. It’s blue.
Having spent the weekend with Maia sans Erica, I now have a greater appreciation for the power of children's poetry and for biltong.
Maia's love of poetry meant that the car drive of over an hour to see her great Uncle Douglas, (GREAT) Aunt Hilary and cousin Harry, was an example of how good her attention span has become. She sat in her car seat and quietly absorbed the various poems, while her father listened in abject horror as a little girl who told lies was burnt in a house fire and one little boy who wandered away got noshed by a lion. One of the poems was about a little girl on her first day at school, wondering what colour a lesson is and whether a teacher is someone who brings the tea...(there is a connection).
Harry (who is an outstanding junior tennis player) was playing in the club final at Wentworth and we tagged along to watch. Maia and I calmly undid all the good work of Erica and Heather by drinking Ribena and eating blueberry Muffins there might have been some chocolate as well. After the game, which Harry won to nil, Maia decided that she wanted to play tennis. Thoughts of Wimbledon and fame and fortune as her coach wafted lazily through my head as I chased her round and round one of the courts. I then tried to get her to play catch. (Note to self...this needs a LOT more work before fame and fortune).
And then home...more poetry and biltong (mentioned earlier). Biltong is dried meat from South Africa - it's dried to an ancient recipe, handed down, some say, by the god Zeus - or not. It is an aquired taste and one which Maia has aquired...if you listen carefully, you might be able to hear ancestors on my South African side cheering quietly. So, the journey home was poetry and biltong - and a moment shared in silence (broken up by jaws masticating biltong) between Maia and myself that I will cherish for as long as I live.
When we got home I prepped dinner and just as I was about to hand Maia her food she asked
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
I spent five minutes patiently explaining what a lesson was. This was met with a perplexed expression. She asked me again.
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
The answer is simple....it's blue.
Having spent the weekend with Maia sans Erica, I now have a greater appreciation for the power of children's poetry and for biltong.
Maia's love of poetry meant that the car drive of over an hour to see her great Uncle Douglas, (GREAT) Aunt Hilary and cousin Harry, was an example of how good her attention span has become. She sat in her car seat and quietly absorbed the various poems, while her father listened in abject horror as a little girl who told lies was burnt in a house fire and one little boy who wandered away got noshed by a lion. One of the poems was about a little girl on her first day at school, wondering what colour a lesson is and whether a teacher is someone who brings the tea...(there is a connection).
Harry (who is an outstanding junior tennis player) was playing in the club final at Wentworth and we tagged along to watch. Maia and I calmly undid all the good work of Erica and Heather by drinking Ribena and eating blueberry Muffins there might have been some chocolate as well. After the game, which Harry won to nil, Maia decided that she wanted to play tennis. Thoughts of Wimbledon and fame and fortune as her coach wafted lazily through my head as I chased her round and round one of the courts. I then tried to get her to play catch. (Note to self...this needs a LOT more work before fame and fortune).
And then home...more poetry and biltong (mentioned earlier). Biltong is dried meat from South Africa - it's dried to an ancient recipe, handed down, some say, by the god Zeus - or not. It is an aquired taste and one which Maia has aquired...if you listen carefully, you might be able to hear ancestors on my South African side cheering quietly. So, the journey home was poetry and biltong - and a moment shared in silence (broken up by jaws masticating biltong) between Maia and myself that I will cherish for as long as I live.
When we got home I prepped dinner and just as I was about to hand Maia her food she asked
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
I spent five minutes patiently explaining what a lesson was. This was met with a perplexed expression. She asked me again.
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
The answer is simple....it's blue.
Going Potty
Maia Miss M is out of nappies during the day, and into Big Girl's Pants. In fact, Big Girl's Pants is not an exaggeration - she is so little that the very smallest ones we can find are a bit baggy on her.
We have a potty song that must be sung (at top volume) while she sits down and it goes like this:
(to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelulah)
Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty,
and she's going to do a pee or a poo!
It is getting to the stage where she nigh-on refuses to perform without her choral accompaniment.
Guess she will be fine if she ever lives in a house with no lock on the loo door!
We have a potty song that must be sung (at top volume) while she sits down and it goes like this:
(to the tune of Glory Glory Hallelulah)
Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty
Maia's sitting on the potty,
and she's going to do a pee or a poo!
It is getting to the stage where she nigh-on refuses to perform without her choral accompaniment.
Guess she will be fine if she ever lives in a house with no lock on the loo door!
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
Flights of Fancy Cheese
Last night I was making a salad when Maia started chatting away about Cinderella. I started to listen more closely and discovered that she thought I was putting Cinderella in the salad.
Worried that her imagination had taken a rather Grimm turn, I explained that I was using tomato, onion, olives, basil and mozzarella. No mistreated young princesses in MY salad.
It was only after I passed her a selection of the salad ingredients did I discover that mozzarella is mozzerella no more. It is, of course, Cinderella.
Worried that her imagination had taken a rather Grimm turn, I explained that I was using tomato, onion, olives, basil and mozzarella. No mistreated young princesses in MY salad.
It was only after I passed her a selection of the salad ingredients did I discover that mozzarella is mozzerella no more. It is, of course, Cinderella.
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