"What it is?" Rachel asked me the other day.
It looked like she was poking her eye, but she was stopping just short of that and rubbing her finger along her eyelashes.
"What it is?" She asked again and again and again. "What it is?"
"Those," I told her, "Are called eyelashes."
"Oh," she sighed, still rubbing her finger gently across them, "I like those!"
She still gets eyebrow and eyelash confused, but she's slowly working through the finer details of anatomy.
The other day, while I was still in bed and Andrew and Rachel were breakfasting together, Rachel informed Andrew that Baby Miriam was inside her tummy. They woke me up by "putting" Miriam back in Mommy's tummy. This may or may not have involved some tickling.
Later that same day, I told Rachel that I could feel the baby kicking and that she could come and feel her if she wanted to. Instead of coming over to me, Rachel put her hands on her own stomach.
"Yeah, baby's kicking," she said, "Right there."
My question is that if Rachel has taken over carrying the baby...why am I still tired?
Another thing Rachel has been saying lately is "I don't," as in, "I don't nap time" or "I don't bed time." She says it as matter-of-factly as if she's informing me she's just given up a nasty habit.
Oh, you don't nap time? Well, I'm trying to give it up, myself.
As far as I can figure she's using "nap time" and "bed time" as verbs...or she's leaving off the verb altogether and is sticking with the dummy "do" verb to express all her actions. With all the extra verbs we use in our sentences to help the main verbs make sense, I can't blame her for being a little bit confused. She's rather serious about don't-ing nap time, though. She tells it to me when she wakes up in the morning, every time I yawn, during lunch, while playing blocks...you know, just in case I forget that she doesn't nap time.
Last night she told Andrew, right before family prayer (and therefore, right before bedtime), "I don't bed time."
He looked at her and said, "Well, you don't verbs, either, but you still have to bed."
And then we laughed as only language nerds can.
We've been playing a lot of games recently. Rachel likes to play games. Playing games with her is interesting, but she usually does an okay job if the game she wants to play is a real game that we know about--like UNO or Princess Go Fish or something like that. Occasionally she'll ask to play "big, red game" and I have no idea what that is or means or how to play and any game I've tried to invent with the given criteria has been an absolute flop, involving tears and tantrums and everything.
While we're playing real games, however, she's a hoot. Every time she gets to play a card she says triumphantly,
"PLAY GAME!"
Every. Single. Time. It's hilarious.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Question: What do you get when you cross a baby doll and a t-rex?
Fact: A giraffe.
It's interesting to me to watch Rachel play. She's definitely a girl. Not that we didn't know that...
All of her little games involve families. Today she was playing with a little giraffe (that Aunt Nicky gave to her when she was born) and a tyrannosaurus-rex. The dinosaur was holding the giraffe and the giraffe was giving it kisses and saying, "I want Daddy!"
Then she threw both toys down and running out of the room (and away from me) saying, "I need Mommy!"
She came back with her baby doll, who acted as the giraffe's Mommy.
Watching her play teaches me so much about how she perceives life. For example, the mothers in all her scenarios sleep a whole lot, which bothers the baby toy to no end. It seems as soon as the Daddy enters the scene the Mommy finds an excuse to go to sleep and then the baby starts crying, "No sleeping, Mommy!"
Hmmmm...could that possibly be representative of our current situation?
As soon as Andrew comes home I usually do say something like, "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes."
I'm tired. What can I say?
The other night I went to bed at 7:00. Actually, Andrew sent me to bed after I sat down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. I think that's the first time I've ever gone to bed before Rachel her whole life long (excluding when she didn't have a sleep schedule at all, but she doesn't remember that) and she acted like her world was falling apart. Anyway...
It's fun to see her acting out families all the time. It seems to me that families are naturally important to girls. I know Bridget's daughter, Miriam, likes to act out families. When I was younger I always annoyed David when we played together because my cars could talk to each other and lived in families. His? Didn't. Neither did his dinosaurs. Weird, I know. I'm just glad he was patient enough to deal with family dynamics in play as well as in real life. Otherwise, who would I have played with?
I asked Andrew about this and he said that he didn't remember making his toys play in families.
I guess it doesn't matter what kind of toys you give to your children--dolls, dinosaurs, or cars--girls are going to play the role of nurturer and boys are going to play the role of hunter/gatherer.
This isn't to say that Rachel's dinosaurs don't suddenly turn predator and destroy everything in their path, because they do...it's just that most often they are peaceful father figures.
It's interesting to me to watch Rachel play. She's definitely a girl. Not that we didn't know that...
All of her little games involve families. Today she was playing with a little giraffe (that Aunt Nicky gave to her when she was born) and a tyrannosaurus-rex. The dinosaur was holding the giraffe and the giraffe was giving it kisses and saying, "I want Daddy!"
Then she threw both toys down and running out of the room (and away from me) saying, "I need Mommy!"
She came back with her baby doll, who acted as the giraffe's Mommy.
Watching her play teaches me so much about how she perceives life. For example, the mothers in all her scenarios sleep a whole lot, which bothers the baby toy to no end. It seems as soon as the Daddy enters the scene the Mommy finds an excuse to go to sleep and then the baby starts crying, "No sleeping, Mommy!"
Hmmmm...could that possibly be representative of our current situation?
As soon as Andrew comes home I usually do say something like, "I'm going to lie down for a few minutes."
I'm tired. What can I say?
The other night I went to bed at 7:00. Actually, Andrew sent me to bed after I sat down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. I think that's the first time I've ever gone to bed before Rachel her whole life long (excluding when she didn't have a sleep schedule at all, but she doesn't remember that) and she acted like her world was falling apart. Anyway...
It's fun to see her acting out families all the time. It seems to me that families are naturally important to girls. I know Bridget's daughter, Miriam, likes to act out families. When I was younger I always annoyed David when we played together because my cars could talk to each other and lived in families. His? Didn't. Neither did his dinosaurs. Weird, I know. I'm just glad he was patient enough to deal with family dynamics in play as well as in real life. Otherwise, who would I have played with?
I asked Andrew about this and he said that he didn't remember making his toys play in families.
I guess it doesn't matter what kind of toys you give to your children--dolls, dinosaurs, or cars--girls are going to play the role of nurturer and boys are going to play the role of hunter/gatherer.
This isn't to say that Rachel's dinosaurs don't suddenly turn predator and destroy everything in their path, because they do...it's just that most often they are peaceful father figures.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Independence Day 2009
We had hoped in vain to be able to go to the 4th of July party hosted by the American/Canadian embassies—apparently it’s this huge carnival-like thing. Unfortunately, you had to get tickets beforehand and in order to get tickets you had to present a passport (American or Canadian) and ours were still being held hostage at the Mugama.
Andrew begged to splurge on some corn on the cob, though, so we got some this week, along with a few handfuls of cherries (which are about as expensive as buying gold), and I even made some Jell-O.
We went out to dinner with my “cousin” JC, who flew out from France to visit his friend Maïte, who is here from Germany doing an internship.
While we were waiting for them in front of the Mugama, a couple came and sat on the bench next to ours. They had a very curious-looking container filled with a few centimeters of water and two little green blobs. Rachel had to investigate.
She quickly made friends enough with the man holding the container and ended up getting to watch his turtles the whole time we were waiting for JC and Maïte. She loved them.
He asked her if she knew which one was a boy and which was a girl.
“Yes!” she said.
“Okay, which one?” he asked (he spoke English very well).
“That one,” she said, pointing to the bigger one.
“Is that the boy or the girl?” he asked.
“Boy turtle!” she declared.
“That’s right! She’s a turtle-expert already!” he said.
Either that or it was a lucky guess. It was nice to have such great entertainment for Rachel while we were waiting. Her favorite was when the little one (the girl) would climb onto the back of the big one (the boy) and he’d walk around the tank, taking her for a ride. Rachel thought that was hilarious.
Her least favorite part was when they’d climb up the side of the container. She was afraid they were going to get her, even though they were each no bigger than a silver dollar and weren’t even close to being able to climb out of their habitat.
She found a little stuffed turtle in her toy box and she’s been playing with it all day today. It’s funny how she remembers about toys that have lain so long forgotten at the bottom of the toy box one day and they suddenly become her favorite and most entertaining toy.
We were a little worried about meeting JC because this was really our first time meeting. We weren’t sure if he would recognize us. But then I remembered that we’re pretty obviously American and all three of us are considered “blond” here. We’d be pretty easy to spot. And we were.
JC found us right away and came up to introduce himself and Maïte. Then we all walked to Tabouleh together.
Tabouleh is a fabulous restaurant that serves the most delicious Levantine food. We love it. The food is good and the atmosphere is a perfect mix of old Bedouin and more modern Arab art; more likely than not Um Kolthum or Fayrouz will be singing a song in the background. It’s frequented by foreigners and locals alike. It’s just a great place.
I think the only Egyptian food it serves is foul. Unfortunately, Egyptian food isn’t that great. Levantine cuisine, on the other hand, is fabulous (as long as you stay away from brain sandwiches and things like that).
We ordered a bunch of appetizers to share: hummus, falafel and tahina, fatoush, baba ganoush, and some grilled cheese. Their hummus is the absolute best. Our baba ganoush never came…instead we got some mystery dish, which was also good.
Andrew and I shared a shish tawook and JC and Maïte shared some shwerma. So good!
It was fun to get to know JC a little bit, and to visit with Maïte, too. She has a friend who is doing an internship with the head of antiquities, Zahi Hawas, and she got permission to take both JC and Maïte on a VIP tour of the pyramids. It sounded amazing! They got to go inside and see chambers that are usually closed to the public; they even got to go right into the sphinx compound.
I’m a little jealous, but I’ll survive.
We only took a few pictures of the evening. The flash on our camera was a little hyper-active for some reason and every picture we took was at the risk of going permanently blind. Therefore every picture is also a little bit unflattering, but here’s an okay one of me, Rachel, and JC.
Maïte invited us to join them on a felucca ride after dinner, but it was already 9:00 PM! We would have loved to go, but Rachel didn’t get to bed until after 10:30 as it was. Had we gone on the felucca ride it would have been midnight, if not later!
Instead we said our goodbyes and took the metro home.
We had to do sparklers when we got home, because Rachel knew we had them and wouldn’t let us forget that we promised we could play with them. She’s so good at remembering things like that—too good, really. So we bid the 4th of July farewell by using up a package of sparklers.
Rachel was really excited about it until she learned what they did.
Once she saw that these were no ordinary candles, she screamed and hightailed it out of there as fast as she could so that she could watch from a safer (father) distance.
After a few singles, we decided that bedtime would come faster if we used the package of sparklers up faster. That way we wouldn’t have to lie when we said they were all gone to get Rachel to go back inside. Andrew started lighting three and four at a time.
Rachel did eventually get brave enough to try to light her sparkler—she had been holding one the whole time, but wouldn’t ever let us light it. She never actually got close enough to light it herself, but at least she was brave enough to try.
In the end holding a sparkler was still much too scary and so I had to hold it for her.
It was fun to get to see a few “fireworks” this July—we’ll be seeing a lot more during Ramadan, I’m sure.
Happy Independence Day!
Don't hate me...I'm American
I thought this might be a good place to vindicate myself. I'm not brave enough to do it here.
Andrew read this article on By Common Consent about wanting to be a proud American. The fast Sunday in July was mentioned in the article as being rather awkward for the author's family, since his wife isn't American. Andrew left a comment mentioning that that Sunday is rather awkward for our family as well. It's the one fast Sunday of the year when I almost purposely tune out everything everyone says and find myself squirming in my seat when I accidentally listen.
I wasn't raised singing The Star-Spangled Banner with my hand over my heart. I wasn't raised reverencing the American flag. I wasn't raised saying the Pledge of Allegiance every day or week or month or at all in school. I wasn't raised in America.
That said, I am an American citizen and I am not offended by any of these behaviors. I even try my best to participate in these activities. I do.
I think it's a good thing to remember how blessed we are to live in a comparatively free country. I think it's a good thing to remember and honor the soldiers who fought for that freedom. I appreciate all the good things about America, I really do. I got an A in every American History class I took in high school and college. I sing the national anthem. I use trash cans. I've been to Mt. Rushmore. I vote.
I'm a fine citizen, I think.
But I wasn't raised thinking that the United States was the most wonderful and privileged country in the whole world--the "best." And you probably won't find me expressing my appreciation and patriotism by decorating my Christmas tree in a stars and stripe theme. Sorry.
I remember once, soon after I had moved to the States, a friend asked me how it felt to now live in the best country in the world. I looked her in the eye and said,
"This isn't the best country in the world."
"Then which country is?!" She asked incredulously, obviously gravely offended, "Canada?!"
"Well, no," I answered back, genuinely confused about a) why she was offended and b) why she would think that, "None of them are."
And that is, indeed, my opinion. There is no "best" country in the world and I find it difficult to listen to people express, during testimony meeting (or, you know, anywhere), how they feel so blessed to live in America--the "best" country in the world. Not that I haven't felt blessed to live in America, because I have.
But still that first Sunday in July is the most awkward Sunday for me the whole year long.
One commenter (among many) questioned this by saying:
"I don’t see any general reason to be more uncomfortable hearing the national anthem of the United States in an American congregation than the national anthem of the corresponding country in any foreign congregation."
He, in my opinion, misunderstands the awkwardness. I completely agree with what he says. I know several national anthems and have no problem singing any of them, whether in that country or out of it: American, British, Canadian, Russian, whatever.
My feelings of discomfort stem not from singing the national anthem, but from the feeling that the meeting has turned from worshiping God to worshiping America. Also, often what people intend to sound patriotic (love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it) actually comes off strongly nationalistic (the doctrine that your national culture and interests are superior to any other). Nationalism at the pulpit seems akin to idol worship to me. It is difficult for me to say amen to speakers who sound too nationalistic for that reason. I guess that's two reasons, the first being that they seem to be worshiping America, not God, and the second that they assert that America is "the best." I don't agree with either of those things and both things make me feel uncomfortable.
That said, I do think it is appropriate to mention in prayers, and the like, gratitude for living in the country in which one resides. I think we should thank God for all our blessings: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, freedom, traffic laws, and always being able to find brown sugar (or what have you) at the grocery store.
We spent the previous two 4th of Julys in the States and those two fast Sundays were very uncomfortable for me. Andrew was very supportive, stroking my hand and whispering that he agrees with me, not them--that America is good, but not the best. I haven't spent many 4th of Julys in the States, really. Those two and maybe a couple of others. My family actually isn't even in the States right now; they're up in Canada visiting my sister, Abra. They missed out on Canada Day by being in the States and the 4th of July by being in Canada.
Both countries right now, I daresay, are still quite caught up in the revelry of their patriotic holidays: wearing the colors of the flag, watching fireworks, eating traditional foods. And I think that's just fine. Fun, actually. I think it's fun! It is definitely a good thing; but it can go too far, especially when it is taken into the chapel where our thoughts are supposed to be turned specifically to the Lord.
This is our (mine and Andrew's) second 4th of July in Egypt (the first was in 2006) and I just loved our fast and testimony meeting this Friday because it was just like any other fast and testimony meeting. People got up and bore testimony of their Savior and of the gospel and it was wonderful!
One young man in our primary, Josh, got up to bear his testimony and he was on fire. It was short and sweet and as honest as can be. He was sick with an ear ache that wouldn't go away. His mother had tried everything to make him feel better, but nothing was working. Finally, he asked his father for a priesthood blessing. After the blessing he started to feel better.
"I think," he said, swallowing the sob growing in his throat, while a few rogue tears sneaked through, "That the priesthood is a really good thing for us."
Then he closed his testimony. That was it. He thinks the priesthood is a really good thing for us. And he thinks it with all of his heart. I would venture to say that, not only does he think or believe, he knows. The spirit he brought into the room with his testimony was impressively strong.
And I sat there, thinking about how glad I was to be an American.* Me!
I, who have been accused of being unpatriotic and un-American! I sat there and thought that.
I thought about how privileged I am to be able to live here and still attend the church of my choice without persecution from my neighbours...or the government...even though we aren't a recognized denomination here. I thought about how privileged I am to have my freedoms and rights as an American be protected for me, even in countries that don't necessarily have those same freedoms and rights.
If I was born an Egyptian I wouldn't have those same rights. I wouldn't be able to speak out against the policies of my government or write my own idea on a ballot if I didn't like the choices offered to me or go to the church of my choice. I do live a rather privileged life here, and everywhere, because of the freedoms with which I've been blessed. And I'm definitely grateful for that!
*Alright, so if I'm going to be completely honest, I thought about how lucky I was to be a "Westerner" (because Canada and much of Europe and other parts of the world that aren't even Western (like Japan and South Korea) are just as free as the States and their rights (which are basically the same as the rights of Americans) are also somewhat protected abroad). But America was included in my thoughts, even though I feel no less-free in, say, Canada than I do in America.
Also, I have a song by Arrogant Worms stuck in my head right now because of the title of the post...even though the title of the post isn't even related to the song at all. "Forgive us, we're Canadian, we try hard to be nice! You, too, can be Canadian if you follow this advice..."
"Don't hate me, I'm American" fits into that line perfectly, though. So now I'm singing. Actually, since the song is so great, here are the words:
Andrew read this article on By Common Consent about wanting to be a proud American. The fast Sunday in July was mentioned in the article as being rather awkward for the author's family, since his wife isn't American. Andrew left a comment mentioning that that Sunday is rather awkward for our family as well. It's the one fast Sunday of the year when I almost purposely tune out everything everyone says and find myself squirming in my seat when I accidentally listen.
I wasn't raised singing The Star-Spangled Banner with my hand over my heart. I wasn't raised reverencing the American flag. I wasn't raised saying the Pledge of Allegiance every day or week or month or at all in school. I wasn't raised in America.
That said, I am an American citizen and I am not offended by any of these behaviors. I even try my best to participate in these activities. I do.
I think it's a good thing to remember how blessed we are to live in a comparatively free country. I think it's a good thing to remember and honor the soldiers who fought for that freedom. I appreciate all the good things about America, I really do. I got an A in every American History class I took in high school and college. I sing the national anthem. I use trash cans. I've been to Mt. Rushmore. I vote.
I'm a fine citizen, I think.
But I wasn't raised thinking that the United States was the most wonderful and privileged country in the whole world--the "best." And you probably won't find me expressing my appreciation and patriotism by decorating my Christmas tree in a stars and stripe theme. Sorry.
I remember once, soon after I had moved to the States, a friend asked me how it felt to now live in the best country in the world. I looked her in the eye and said,
"This isn't the best country in the world."
"Then which country is?!" She asked incredulously, obviously gravely offended, "Canada?!"
"Well, no," I answered back, genuinely confused about a) why she was offended and b) why she would think that, "None of them are."
And that is, indeed, my opinion. There is no "best" country in the world and I find it difficult to listen to people express, during testimony meeting (or, you know, anywhere), how they feel so blessed to live in America--the "best" country in the world. Not that I haven't felt blessed to live in America, because I have.
But still that first Sunday in July is the most awkward Sunday for me the whole year long.
One commenter (among many) questioned this by saying:
"I don’t see any general reason to be more uncomfortable hearing the national anthem of the United States in an American congregation than the national anthem of the corresponding country in any foreign congregation."
He, in my opinion, misunderstands the awkwardness. I completely agree with what he says. I know several national anthems and have no problem singing any of them, whether in that country or out of it: American, British, Canadian, Russian, whatever.
My feelings of discomfort stem not from singing the national anthem, but from the feeling that the meeting has turned from worshiping God to worshiping America. Also, often what people intend to sound patriotic (love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it) actually comes off strongly nationalistic (the doctrine that your national culture and interests are superior to any other). Nationalism at the pulpit seems akin to idol worship to me. It is difficult for me to say amen to speakers who sound too nationalistic for that reason. I guess that's two reasons, the first being that they seem to be worshiping America, not God, and the second that they assert that America is "the best." I don't agree with either of those things and both things make me feel uncomfortable.
That said, I do think it is appropriate to mention in prayers, and the like, gratitude for living in the country in which one resides. I think we should thank God for all our blessings: life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, freedom, traffic laws, and always being able to find brown sugar (or what have you) at the grocery store.
We spent the previous two 4th of Julys in the States and those two fast Sundays were very uncomfortable for me. Andrew was very supportive, stroking my hand and whispering that he agrees with me, not them--that America is good, but not the best. I haven't spent many 4th of Julys in the States, really. Those two and maybe a couple of others. My family actually isn't even in the States right now; they're up in Canada visiting my sister, Abra. They missed out on Canada Day by being in the States and the 4th of July by being in Canada.
Both countries right now, I daresay, are still quite caught up in the revelry of their patriotic holidays: wearing the colors of the flag, watching fireworks, eating traditional foods. And I think that's just fine. Fun, actually. I think it's fun! It is definitely a good thing; but it can go too far, especially when it is taken into the chapel where our thoughts are supposed to be turned specifically to the Lord.
This is our (mine and Andrew's) second 4th of July in Egypt (the first was in 2006) and I just loved our fast and testimony meeting this Friday because it was just like any other fast and testimony meeting. People got up and bore testimony of their Savior and of the gospel and it was wonderful!
One young man in our primary, Josh, got up to bear his testimony and he was on fire. It was short and sweet and as honest as can be. He was sick with an ear ache that wouldn't go away. His mother had tried everything to make him feel better, but nothing was working. Finally, he asked his father for a priesthood blessing. After the blessing he started to feel better.
"I think," he said, swallowing the sob growing in his throat, while a few rogue tears sneaked through, "That the priesthood is a really good thing for us."
Then he closed his testimony. That was it. He thinks the priesthood is a really good thing for us. And he thinks it with all of his heart. I would venture to say that, not only does he think or believe, he knows. The spirit he brought into the room with his testimony was impressively strong.
And I sat there, thinking about how glad I was to be an American.* Me!
I, who have been accused of being unpatriotic and un-American! I sat there and thought that.
I thought about how privileged I am to be able to live here and still attend the church of my choice without persecution from my neighbours...or the government...even though we aren't a recognized denomination here. I thought about how privileged I am to have my freedoms and rights as an American be protected for me, even in countries that don't necessarily have those same freedoms and rights.
If I was born an Egyptian I wouldn't have those same rights. I wouldn't be able to speak out against the policies of my government or write my own idea on a ballot if I didn't like the choices offered to me or go to the church of my choice. I do live a rather privileged life here, and everywhere, because of the freedoms with which I've been blessed. And I'm definitely grateful for that!
*Alright, so if I'm going to be completely honest, I thought about how lucky I was to be a "Westerner" (because Canada and much of Europe and other parts of the world that aren't even Western (like Japan and South Korea) are just as free as the States and their rights (which are basically the same as the rights of Americans) are also somewhat protected abroad). But America was included in my thoughts, even though I feel no less-free in, say, Canada than I do in America.
Also, I have a song by Arrogant Worms stuck in my head right now because of the title of the post...even though the title of the post isn't even related to the song at all. "Forgive us, we're Canadian, we try hard to be nice! You, too, can be Canadian if you follow this advice..."
"Don't hate me, I'm American" fits into that line perfectly, though. So now I'm singing. Actually, since the song is so great, here are the words:
We always say we’re sorry, we like to stand in line.
When you ask us how we’re doing, we always say “Just fine!”
Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.
We disagree on everything but we try to be polite
and we don’t believe in violence, except on hockey night.
We’ve adopted European ways, replacing yards with meters,
but we still must ask the question, how many miles in a litre?
Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.
We could talk for hours on end about the constitution,
which is dry as toast but sure as heck beats war or revolution!
We don’t much like to wave the flag, we find patriotism shocking.
So we celebrate on Canada day by going cross-border shopping.
Forgive us we’re Canadian, we try hard to be nice.
You too can be Canadian if you follow this advice.
We know how to dress for winter, we’re not afraid of snow
and we love our country quietly, and hope Quebec won’t go…
Forgive us we’re Canadian, and some might think us bland
But there’s no where that we’d rather live….
Than this vast and frozen land!
Friday, July 03, 2009
Flashback Friday: Once I babysat Snow White
My mom's cousin Burt lives less than a block away from my parents' house. He's actually in Andrew's parents' ward, which is in my parents' stake. I never knew Burt too well when I was really young but I got to know him and his family a bit better when we moved to Utah, probably because of our close proximity.
I'd watch their cat when they went on vacation and would babysit their grand kids when their kids were in town and wanted to go out as "grown ups." I don't know any of Burt's children very well because most of them were grown, married, and had kids of their own before we'd even moved to Utah.
Once I had agreed to babysit Burt's grand kids on a day that I was scheduled to work at the pool. Forgetting that I was booked to babysit, I promised to take Josie swimming when my shift was over. So instead of picking me up from work, my mom just dropped my little sister off and we went swimming together. And then one of my coworkers called me out of the pool, saying that I had a phone call.
It was my mom. I was supposed to be babysitting Burt's grand kids. I panicked because that's what I do best, but it was really no big deal. Burt had dropped his granddaughters off at our house and Dad was watching a movie with them. She'd come and pick me and Josie up and then I'd take the girls over to Burt's house to get them ready for bed.
The only problem was that my dad couldn't remember their names. I asked the older girl what her name was.
"Snow White," she said.
"Oh, really?" I asked, "And what's your little sister's name?"
"Emily," she answered honestly.*
"So, your parents named your sister Emily and you Snow White?"
"Yes."
Alright. I took Emily and Snow White and walked over to Burt's house. Periodically throughout the evening I would test Snow White.
"What's your name?" I'd ask in the middle of a story.
"Snow White," she'd answer immediately.
"What does your mommy call you?" I'd ask while helping her brush her teeth.
"Snow White," she'd answer confidently.
The child was never swayed. For all I knew she really was Snow White. Then her parents and grandparents got home.
"How'd it go?" they asked.
"Fine, except I have no idea what the oldest girl's name is," I admitted, "She told me it was Snow White, so that's what I called her all evening."
"Oh, she probably loved that!" her mom said.
She did. Trust me, she did. But she also had a real name. Something normal. Like Caitlin.
My cousin Jenna's daughter Savannah went through a stage where she would answer to nothing but Kitty Kat. She'll answer to Savannah now, but they still call her Kitty Kat sometimes.
I'm glad mine is not the only child who insists on being called something other than their actual name.**
*As embarrassing as this is, I can't, for the life of me, remember these girls' names. I haven't seen them for years and years.
**We talked with Andrew's parents on the phone this evening and Rachel wouldn't tell them she was a Pretty Princess, but she did say Cinderella. But only once. As soon as we got off Skype she not only said goodbye (which she wouldn't do while they were still there), but immediately began insisting on being called Princess 'Rilla again.
"Get up in your chair, Rachel, and you can have some cake," Andrew said.
(We promised her cake hours ago.)
"No, I'm Pen-cess 'Rilla!" she corrected.
"Get up in your chair, then, Cinderella, and you can have some cake," he corrected.
I've never seen her be obedient quite so fast...
I'd watch their cat when they went on vacation and would babysit their grand kids when their kids were in town and wanted to go out as "grown ups." I don't know any of Burt's children very well because most of them were grown, married, and had kids of their own before we'd even moved to Utah.
Once I had agreed to babysit Burt's grand kids on a day that I was scheduled to work at the pool. Forgetting that I was booked to babysit, I promised to take Josie swimming when my shift was over. So instead of picking me up from work, my mom just dropped my little sister off and we went swimming together. And then one of my coworkers called me out of the pool, saying that I had a phone call.
It was my mom. I was supposed to be babysitting Burt's grand kids. I panicked because that's what I do best, but it was really no big deal. Burt had dropped his granddaughters off at our house and Dad was watching a movie with them. She'd come and pick me and Josie up and then I'd take the girls over to Burt's house to get them ready for bed.
The only problem was that my dad couldn't remember their names. I asked the older girl what her name was.
"Snow White," she said.
"Oh, really?" I asked, "And what's your little sister's name?"
"Emily," she answered honestly.*
"So, your parents named your sister Emily and you Snow White?"
"Yes."
Alright. I took Emily and Snow White and walked over to Burt's house. Periodically throughout the evening I would test Snow White.
"What's your name?" I'd ask in the middle of a story.
"Snow White," she'd answer immediately.
"What does your mommy call you?" I'd ask while helping her brush her teeth.
"Snow White," she'd answer confidently.
The child was never swayed. For all I knew she really was Snow White. Then her parents and grandparents got home.
"How'd it go?" they asked.
"Fine, except I have no idea what the oldest girl's name is," I admitted, "She told me it was Snow White, so that's what I called her all evening."
"Oh, she probably loved that!" her mom said.
She did. Trust me, she did. But she also had a real name. Something normal. Like Caitlin.
My cousin Jenna's daughter Savannah went through a stage where she would answer to nothing but Kitty Kat. She'll answer to Savannah now, but they still call her Kitty Kat sometimes.
I'm glad mine is not the only child who insists on being called something other than their actual name.**
*As embarrassing as this is, I can't, for the life of me, remember these girls' names. I haven't seen them for years and years.
**We talked with Andrew's parents on the phone this evening and Rachel wouldn't tell them she was a Pretty Princess, but she did say Cinderella. But only once. As soon as we got off Skype she not only said goodbye (which she wouldn't do while they were still there), but immediately began insisting on being called Princess 'Rilla again.
"Get up in your chair, Rachel, and you can have some cake," Andrew said.
(We promised her cake hours ago.)
"No, I'm Pen-cess 'Rilla!" she corrected.
"Get up in your chair, then, Cinderella, and you can have some cake," he corrected.
I've never seen her be obedient quite so fast...
'Rillas continued
Just yesterday Rachel started pointing to herself while declaring, "Petty pen-cess!"
It took Andrew and I a while to realize that she was calling herself a pretty princess. We call her that a lot because she is our pretty little princess. Somehow she knows what princesses are, even though we have no princess movies or stories or toys. I know she's watched some of The Little Mermaid at the House's house and she's probably caught a few other snippets of princess life here and there, but it wasn't likely at our house. Wherever and however she learned about them, she's enamored by them.
She really confused her primary teacher today. Every time Anne said Rachel's name, Rachel pointed to herself and said, "Petty pen-cess!"
During sharing time when I asked Rachel to come over to me, she wouldn't until I obediently re-asked her by saying, "Yes, fine. Come over here, Pretty Princess."
Anne gasped as the realization sunk in, "Oh, that's what she's been saying all day!"
We just finished playing games as a family. Rachel likes to play a very watered-down version of UNO, using Winnie the Pooh cards, numbers 1 through 4, in all four colors, without any fancy wilds or draw 2 cards or anything like that. She also has a Winnie the Pooh memory game and a Bible Stories set of cards. So far we've only ever played with those.
Today, though, I remembered that we had a set of face cards, Disney Princess style. (I know I said we didn't have any princess toys; I don't think face cards really count as a toy--they're a game). We broke those out and played a very watered-down version of Go Fish, using only the portraits of Belle, Ariel, Snow White, Aurora, and Cinderella.
Rachel was very excited to be using princess cards and she quickly learned the names of the different princesses. She plays Go Fish very politely, saying,
"Pease, may I has more dis card?" while she points to one of the cards in front of her on the table.
When it was Andrew's turn, he asked Rachel if she had a Cinderella card, which she did.
"Oooh, 'Rilla!" she sang while she handed Andrew her card, "Petty girl-rilla! Petty pen-cess 'rilla!"
As if she wasn't confused enough, we've just introduced a whole nother dimension to the 'rillas!
**UPDATE**
Rachel and I just had a conversation in the bathroom. It was mostly Rachel talking, and this is what she said,
"I'm pen-cess! I'm pen-cess 'Rilla! I'm girl, too! I'm pen-cess girl 'Rilla!"
It took Andrew and I a while to realize that she was calling herself a pretty princess. We call her that a lot because she is our pretty little princess. Somehow she knows what princesses are, even though we have no princess movies or stories or toys. I know she's watched some of The Little Mermaid at the House's house and she's probably caught a few other snippets of princess life here and there, but it wasn't likely at our house. Wherever and however she learned about them, she's enamored by them.
She really confused her primary teacher today. Every time Anne said Rachel's name, Rachel pointed to herself and said, "Petty pen-cess!"
During sharing time when I asked Rachel to come over to me, she wouldn't until I obediently re-asked her by saying, "Yes, fine. Come over here, Pretty Princess."
Anne gasped as the realization sunk in, "Oh, that's what she's been saying all day!"
We just finished playing games as a family. Rachel likes to play a very watered-down version of UNO, using Winnie the Pooh cards, numbers 1 through 4, in all four colors, without any fancy wilds or draw 2 cards or anything like that. She also has a Winnie the Pooh memory game and a Bible Stories set of cards. So far we've only ever played with those.
Today, though, I remembered that we had a set of face cards, Disney Princess style. (I know I said we didn't have any princess toys; I don't think face cards really count as a toy--they're a game). We broke those out and played a very watered-down version of Go Fish, using only the portraits of Belle, Ariel, Snow White, Aurora, and Cinderella.
Rachel was very excited to be using princess cards and she quickly learned the names of the different princesses. She plays Go Fish very politely, saying,
"Pease, may I has more dis card?" while she points to one of the cards in front of her on the table.
When it was Andrew's turn, he asked Rachel if she had a Cinderella card, which she did.
"Oooh, 'Rilla!" she sang while she handed Andrew her card, "Petty girl-rilla! Petty pen-cess 'rilla!"
As if she wasn't confused enough, we've just introduced a whole nother dimension to the 'rillas!
**UPDATE**
Rachel and I just had a conversation in the bathroom. It was mostly Rachel talking, and this is what she said,
"I'm pen-cess! I'm pen-cess 'Rilla! I'm girl, too! I'm pen-cess girl 'Rilla!"
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Visas
The easiest way to know which visa of ours is most current is to look in Rachel's passport. Hers is the most empty of all of ours and only has the trips we've taken while living in Egypt recorded, meaning that 11 of the 20 pages in her passport are full, already. Looking through either Andrew's or my passports is unfruitful, at best. Whenever we go anywhere we have to locate the appropriate (valid) visa for passport control ourselves. It's far too confusing, otherwise. And now that we've had to get extra pages put in it's even more so.
We relinquished our passports to the AUC visa folk near the beginning of June. Our last visa expired on June 30 and we wanted to give them plenty of time to get new visas for us because these things take time. Lots of time. We're so happy to have a representative from AUC whose job is just to go to the mugama and get visas for people. That way we don't have to go to the mugama to get visas for ourselves. Phew.
It's still annoying, though, since we have to do it so often and it takes so long. We just got our passports back today. Apparently we're back to being tourists. We haven't once received a student visa. We're beginning to wonder if those even exist here. For the life of me, I can't figure out any rhyme or reason to the way visas are handed out here. We've had 6 visas issued to each of us so far and we haven't even lived here for a full 12 months.
Here are the visas we've been issued to date:
What really boggles my mind is why we've suddenly become tourists again and why there are so many discrepancies between the details of the long-term tourism visas.
September through February is 5 months, but June through September is only 3 months since that visa technically only covers July, August, and September. Yet they are the same price (maybe). The first long-term tourism visa in our passports is listed as costing 3.10 LE, in each of our passports. It isn't really that cheap since we also have to get the re-entry visa and that costs 61.10 LE, but still. 3.10 LE is dirt cheap. That's like 55 cents. I'm going to assume that it was a misprint since our current long-term tourism visas, which last only 3 months, are each listed as 83.10 LE.
Somehow I just don't feel like I'm getting the same bang for my buck when a visa lasts only 3 months, compared to lasting for 5.
The mysterious AUC people (I have no idea who they are because I'm not allowed on campus) warned Andrew that he might have to get the more expensive visa (the long-term tourism plus re-entry one), so they asked him for more money, saying that they'd clip the change to his passport. Giving extra money to Egyptians is always a gamble. Usually they come up with change, but sometimes...you just wonder...
Luckily these folks were honest and Andrew's passport came back with a whole 50 piasters paper clipped to it. 50 piasters! That's less than 9 cents in USD. It comes in bill form, though, and is highly paper-clippable. Way nicer than getting 9 pennies back (or 8 pennies, depending on which way you round). How would they have managed to return that kind of change?
Obviously the better visa to get is the long-term non-touristic visa. This one only lasted for 4 months, but counted as a re-entry visa all on its own (I'm not sure why the long-term touristic ones don't) making it much more cost effective and taking up far less room in our passports. Who knows if we'll ever see one of these puppies again. They're kind of my favorite. (Is it normal to have a favorite visa?)
I wonder what kind of visa we'll get, come September/October. Maybe we'll even catch a glimpse of the elusive, largely rumored and rarely seen, so-called "student visa."
What a headache! I just realized that we'll all have to get visas at the beginning of October and the baby isn't due until the end of October. I wonder if the visa people will have the decency to put the baby on the same visa schedule as the rest of the family. My guess is they probably won't. You can call me cynical or you can assume that I've just lived here long enough to know...or is that the same thing?
After hearing about my friend Jen's experience getting her baby's paperwork done, I'm positive we're in for an adventure. Her baby was denied an entry stamp in his passport (foreign babies born here have to first apply for a passport in their home country and then get an entry stamp for entering Egypt...via the birth canal...I wonder what the stamp for that looks like--will it have a plane, boat, car, or pregnant lady on it?) because his middle name wasn't his father's name and they therefore couldn't prove that his father was his father, even though his father was listed on the birth certificate. (They eventually did get the entry stamp, in case you were wondering.)
Weird things like that happen all the time. Like the time they tried to detain Rachel when we came home from Greece because they couldn't find the right visa in her passport. Did I mention hers is the empty one? How did they find the correct visa in my passport but not in hers? And how could they possibly suggest that someone come and take my baby away to be detained until her visa could be sorted out?
"Give me her passport, I'll find it myself!" I half-screamed at the passport control guy. Don't mess with mama bear at 2 AM after an international flight. Just don't.
Another time Andrew and I had to have his mom search through our important documents at home to find our marriage certificate and scan it for us so that Andrew could present it to the folks at the mugama. They simply wouldn't believe we were married until they saw that document and wouldn't give Rachel or me temporary-residence status until we could prove that we were dependents of Andrew. The only document they would accept was our marriage certificate. And they were miffed that it wasn't the original. We've only had to show that once, though, and it was for our second temporary-residence visa, not the first.
I wonder if the other visa-giver-outers were smart enough to realize that since we have the same last name and have a baby together and because I followed Andrew halfway around the world that we're married. It's not like getting married young here is uncommon so I fail to see why we were suspect. Or maybe the rules are different for touristic vs. non-touristic purposes.
Or maybe it's simply because all rules are arbitrarily enforced here (that could be it).
So, I'm almost tempted to throw Andrew's name into baby's name just to be on the safe side.
Miriam al-Noor bint-Andrew Heiss or Thomas Spencer bin-Andrew Heiss.*
Kind of catchy, I guess. Or we could go with the more Scandinavian style Miriam al-Noor Andrewsdotter Heiss or Thomas Spencer Andrewson Heiss. That almost goes back to Andrew's mom's maiden name: Anderson. Maybe we'll just throw that in; it is a family name, after all, and it looks more normal and sounds better than Andrewson.
I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. It will definitely be an experience, I'm sure. Getting anything accomplished with all the bureaucracy here always is.
*We're still pretty positive it's a Miriam but have a hopefully-more-decisive ultrasound scheduled for the end of this month. There were no boy parts last time so unless that's changed...it's a girl. But it might have changed since our last ultrasound was technically before the magical 20 week mark, by which time testes are supposed to have dropped.
We relinquished our passports to the AUC visa folk near the beginning of June. Our last visa expired on June 30 and we wanted to give them plenty of time to get new visas for us because these things take time. Lots of time. We're so happy to have a representative from AUC whose job is just to go to the mugama and get visas for people. That way we don't have to go to the mugama to get visas for ourselves. Phew.
It's still annoying, though, since we have to do it so often and it takes so long. We just got our passports back today. Apparently we're back to being tourists. We haven't once received a student visa. We're beginning to wonder if those even exist here. For the life of me, I can't figure out any rhyme or reason to the way visas are handed out here. We've had 6 visas issued to each of us so far and we haven't even lived here for a full 12 months.
Here are the visas we've been issued to date:
13 August 2008 thru 13 September 2008 -- One month touristic visa -- 15 USDDoes that make sense to anyone? It kind of reminds me of those MasterCard commercials. "A temporary residence visa, 53.10 LE. A two-year stint as poor international students in Egypt? Priceless."
13 September 2008 thru 13 February 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Touristic Purposes -- 83.10 LE or 3.10 LE -- Plus a Re-entry Visa (thru 12 February 2009) -- 61.10 LE (total: 144.20 LE or 64.20 LE)
13 February 2009 thru 30 June 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Non Touristic -- 53.10 LE
30 June 2009 thru 30 September 2009 -- Temporary Residence for Touristic Purposes -- 83.10 LE -- Plus a Re-entry Visa (thru 29 September 2009) -- 61.20 LE (total: 144.20 LE)
What really boggles my mind is why we've suddenly become tourists again and why there are so many discrepancies between the details of the long-term tourism visas.
September through February is 5 months, but June through September is only 3 months since that visa technically only covers July, August, and September. Yet they are the same price (maybe). The first long-term tourism visa in our passports is listed as costing 3.10 LE, in each of our passports. It isn't really that cheap since we also have to get the re-entry visa and that costs 61.10 LE, but still. 3.10 LE is dirt cheap. That's like 55 cents. I'm going to assume that it was a misprint since our current long-term tourism visas, which last only 3 months, are each listed as 83.10 LE.
Somehow I just don't feel like I'm getting the same bang for my buck when a visa lasts only 3 months, compared to lasting for 5.
The mysterious AUC people (I have no idea who they are because I'm not allowed on campus) warned Andrew that he might have to get the more expensive visa (the long-term tourism plus re-entry one), so they asked him for more money, saying that they'd clip the change to his passport. Giving extra money to Egyptians is always a gamble. Usually they come up with change, but sometimes...you just wonder...
Luckily these folks were honest and Andrew's passport came back with a whole 50 piasters paper clipped to it. 50 piasters! That's less than 9 cents in USD. It comes in bill form, though, and is highly paper-clippable. Way nicer than getting 9 pennies back (or 8 pennies, depending on which way you round). How would they have managed to return that kind of change?
Obviously the better visa to get is the long-term non-touristic visa. This one only lasted for 4 months, but counted as a re-entry visa all on its own (I'm not sure why the long-term touristic ones don't) making it much more cost effective and taking up far less room in our passports. Who knows if we'll ever see one of these puppies again. They're kind of my favorite. (Is it normal to have a favorite visa?)
I wonder what kind of visa we'll get, come September/October. Maybe we'll even catch a glimpse of the elusive, largely rumored and rarely seen, so-called "student visa."
What a headache! I just realized that we'll all have to get visas at the beginning of October and the baby isn't due until the end of October. I wonder if the visa people will have the decency to put the baby on the same visa schedule as the rest of the family. My guess is they probably won't. You can call me cynical or you can assume that I've just lived here long enough to know...or is that the same thing?
After hearing about my friend Jen's experience getting her baby's paperwork done, I'm positive we're in for an adventure. Her baby was denied an entry stamp in his passport (foreign babies born here have to first apply for a passport in their home country and then get an entry stamp for entering Egypt...via the birth canal...I wonder what the stamp for that looks like--will it have a plane, boat, car, or pregnant lady on it?) because his middle name wasn't his father's name and they therefore couldn't prove that his father was his father, even though his father was listed on the birth certificate. (They eventually did get the entry stamp, in case you were wondering.)
Weird things like that happen all the time. Like the time they tried to detain Rachel when we came home from Greece because they couldn't find the right visa in her passport. Did I mention hers is the empty one? How did they find the correct visa in my passport but not in hers? And how could they possibly suggest that someone come and take my baby away to be detained until her visa could be sorted out?
"Give me her passport, I'll find it myself!" I half-screamed at the passport control guy. Don't mess with mama bear at 2 AM after an international flight. Just don't.
Another time Andrew and I had to have his mom search through our important documents at home to find our marriage certificate and scan it for us so that Andrew could present it to the folks at the mugama. They simply wouldn't believe we were married until they saw that document and wouldn't give Rachel or me temporary-residence status until we could prove that we were dependents of Andrew. The only document they would accept was our marriage certificate. And they were miffed that it wasn't the original. We've only had to show that once, though, and it was for our second temporary-residence visa, not the first.
I wonder if the other visa-giver-outers were smart enough to realize that since we have the same last name and have a baby together and because I followed Andrew halfway around the world that we're married. It's not like getting married young here is uncommon so I fail to see why we were suspect. Or maybe the rules are different for touristic vs. non-touristic purposes.
Or maybe it's simply because all rules are arbitrarily enforced here (that could be it).
So, I'm almost tempted to throw Andrew's name into baby's name just to be on the safe side.
Miriam al-Noor bint-Andrew Heiss or Thomas Spencer bin-Andrew Heiss.*
Kind of catchy, I guess. Or we could go with the more Scandinavian style Miriam al-Noor Andrewsdotter Heiss or Thomas Spencer Andrewson Heiss. That almost goes back to Andrew's mom's maiden name: Anderson. Maybe we'll just throw that in; it is a family name, after all, and it looks more normal and sounds better than Andrewson.
I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens. It will definitely be an experience, I'm sure. Getting anything accomplished with all the bureaucracy here always is.
*We're still pretty positive it's a Miriam but have a hopefully-more-decisive ultrasound scheduled for the end of this month. There were no boy parts last time so unless that's changed...it's a girl. But it might have changed since our last ultrasound was technically before the magical 20 week mark, by which time testes are supposed to have dropped.
Charlie T. Right
Charlie T. Right is our primary’s CTR bear. He visits a new child each week to help them remember to choose the right. You can’t tell from this picture, but he has a big, green shield on his tummy that says CTR on it.
This week was Rachel’s turn with Charlie. She got to write in Charlie’s journal about what she did with him this week. Here is what she wrote:
All About Me:
Name: Rachel Anneliese Heiss
I am: 23 months old.
Some of my favorite foods are: freezies, fruit, yogurt, rice, macaroni, ice cream, cereal, apples, and pizza.
My hobbies include: swimming, coloring, playing games, reading, cooking, and yoga.
My favorite place to go: church and outside.
My CTR moment: I tried very hard to remember to say sorry when I hurt other people. I also worked at staying reverent during prayer time.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Charlie came to sit with me during primary because I was sad. He helped me to be happy until Mommy could pick me up. Then he came home with me. I call him “My Charlie,” which Mommy thinks might turn into a problem. Charlie did everything with me today.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Charlie helps me remember to say sorry when I forget to choose the right. He helps me remember to be reverent for prayers. Today I hurt my toe. Charlie helped me be brave while Mommy washed it and put a band aid on it. Then we got to watch a show about sharing. I asked Charlie to kiss my toe better, and he did. I’m happy Charlie is with me.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I loved having Charlie stay with me. I will miss him very much. I hope the next child to have him will enjoy him as much as I did!
_____________________________________________________
Rachel really did everything she could with Charlie. If Charlie didn’t go somewhere or do something with us, it was because we forced Rachel to leave him at home.
Charlie sat at the dinner table with us, slept in Rachel’s bed (wearing pyjamas), talked with Rachel’s grandparents on Skype, came on family walks with us, helped Rachel play, helped bake a cake. Basically everything.
He didn’t get to go to the doctor’s office or the swimming pool with us, but Rachel told him about it when we got home. As soon as we got home.
He’s kind of become her second half and it will probably break her heart terribly to have to give him away in primary. But at least she’ll be good during sacrament meeting…because she’ll get to hold Charlie.
_____________________________________________________
Rachel wants to type something, too:
k;kvkvvvvvvvvkkvyuuyuyuyuyuyuyyyyyyyyyyuuyuuuuuuuuuuuuuul.x/vvvvvvxxxrxxrrrrrxr vcccccccccccccccccccccccccxxxxxxxbbbbbnm m/m///////////////v/ ;;;;;;;;;;;; nfwjqauOJ:j;QQQJQ;QJ2dqqdj;dddddj;oddddddddjj nnnnnnnnnnnngg gnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggmmggdgdggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggmggn mggm mmmmm gmggggggggmmmmmmmmmmm
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
O Canada
Andrew stopped by Moudy's (our little store of everything-you-could-ever-want-for-your-house on Road 9) to get a game for my birthday. While he was there, he noticed they had sparklers and mentioned that we should get some for the 4th of July.
I scoffed at him. Seriously? Sometimes!
Canada Day is before the 4th of July. Thinking of celebrating the 4th of July before celebrating Canada Day is like thinking of celebrating Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en.
Oh, wait. We do celebrate Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en. And again after. I need a new analogy.
It's like celebrating St. Patrick's Day before Valentine's Day. It's blasphemous.
I haven't actually celebrated all that many 4th of Julys in my life, at least not while present in the States. I've been in the States for...maybe 4 that I remember....We definitely have celebrated the 4th of July the years we've been in the States together as a married couple, which is altogether fitting and proper. However, we're not in the States and so I don't think it's fair that we should play up the 4th while playing down the 1st.
I am Canadian, hear me roar!
We didn't ever go back to Moudy's to get the sparklers, but we did have fun. Rachel and I spent the whole day at the pool, but somehow still found the time to make a cake. It was our friend Joseph's birthday yesterday and he didn't do anything to celebrate so we promised him cake. Rachel was talking about "Joseph's Cake" all day today and was so excited to help make it.
I iced it in white icing and then decided I'd draw a maple leaf on it out of jam. But it's so hot that the jam just ran all over the place instead of turning into a maple leaf. Bummer. So instead I spread it all over the top of the icing and sprinkled coconut on top. It was still red and white--giving it a subdued hint of nationalism--which was fair because half the reason for the cake was Joseph's birthday and he's not Canadian and I don't even know if he likes red.
After cake we put Rachel to bed since it was late and since she had been at the pool all day and was still a little emotional about the whole duck thing. Then we played games.
I would just like to mention that, while playing Fluxx, we got to use the "Today's Special" card twice. Why? Because today's special. It's a holiday (Andrew!) and don't you forget it (Andrew)!
So, Happy 142nd Birthday, Canada! And Happy 26th Birthday, Joseph!
And since this post has already mentioned so many random things like stores and holidays and games that have nothing to do with each other, I thought it would be a good time to mention that Andrew and I both have a set of great-grandparents who spoke German in the home. His great-grandparents are directly from Germany. My great-grandparents, Art and Ida Conrad, moved from Provo, Utah, to Taber, Alberta, Canada in 1917. They're part of the reason I'm Canadian.
Anyway, Ida spoke German in the home. Her parents, Nicholes and Anna (Wintsch) Muhlestein were both born in Switzerland (in Bern and Zurich, respectively) and so she grew up speaking German.
Art's family is of German-speaking descent as well, but they immigrated far earlier than the Muhlesteins (like in the 1700s vs. the 1800s, which is a whole century, basically). The Conrads hail from Wiese, Germany, and spent quite a bit of time in Pennsylvania, where, I believe, they also spoke German for a few generations.
How unfortunate that neither Andrew or I speak German. We really should, but we don't. I guess we should just be happy, though, that our families ran into each other in Orem, Utah, despite our ancestors' wanderlust* from Europe to America to Canada and all the world over.
If you can't tell I'm kind of on a genealogy kick. My family has been sharing stories and memories on blogs and facebook and I'm just eating it up. Keep it coming, keep it coming!
*That's a German word. Are you proud of me? I'm improving already!
I scoffed at him. Seriously? Sometimes!
Canada Day is before the 4th of July. Thinking of celebrating the 4th of July before celebrating Canada Day is like thinking of celebrating Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en.
Oh, wait. We do celebrate Thanksgiving before Hallowe'en. And again after. I need a new analogy.
It's like celebrating St. Patrick's Day before Valentine's Day. It's blasphemous.
I haven't actually celebrated all that many 4th of Julys in my life, at least not while present in the States. I've been in the States for...maybe 4 that I remember....We definitely have celebrated the 4th of July the years we've been in the States together as a married couple, which is altogether fitting and proper. However, we're not in the States and so I don't think it's fair that we should play up the 4th while playing down the 1st.
I am Canadian, hear me roar!
We didn't ever go back to Moudy's to get the sparklers, but we did have fun. Rachel and I spent the whole day at the pool, but somehow still found the time to make a cake. It was our friend Joseph's birthday yesterday and he didn't do anything to celebrate so we promised him cake. Rachel was talking about "Joseph's Cake" all day today and was so excited to help make it.
I iced it in white icing and then decided I'd draw a maple leaf on it out of jam. But it's so hot that the jam just ran all over the place instead of turning into a maple leaf. Bummer. So instead I spread it all over the top of the icing and sprinkled coconut on top. It was still red and white--giving it a subdued hint of nationalism--which was fair because half the reason for the cake was Joseph's birthday and he's not Canadian and I don't even know if he likes red.
After cake we put Rachel to bed since it was late and since she had been at the pool all day and was still a little emotional about the whole duck thing. Then we played games.
I would just like to mention that, while playing Fluxx, we got to use the "Today's Special" card twice. Why? Because today's special. It's a holiday (Andrew!) and don't you forget it (Andrew)!
So, Happy 142nd Birthday, Canada! And Happy 26th Birthday, Joseph!
And since this post has already mentioned so many random things like stores and holidays and games that have nothing to do with each other, I thought it would be a good time to mention that Andrew and I both have a set of great-grandparents who spoke German in the home. His great-grandparents are directly from Germany. My great-grandparents, Art and Ida Conrad, moved from Provo, Utah, to Taber, Alberta, Canada in 1917. They're part of the reason I'm Canadian.
Anyway, Ida spoke German in the home. Her parents, Nicholes and Anna (Wintsch) Muhlestein were both born in Switzerland (in Bern and Zurich, respectively) and so she grew up speaking German.
Art's family is of German-speaking descent as well, but they immigrated far earlier than the Muhlesteins (like in the 1700s vs. the 1800s, which is a whole century, basically). The Conrads hail from Wiese, Germany, and spent quite a bit of time in Pennsylvania, where, I believe, they also spoke German for a few generations.
How unfortunate that neither Andrew or I speak German. We really should, but we don't. I guess we should just be happy, though, that our families ran into each other in Orem, Utah, despite our ancestors' wanderlust* from Europe to America to Canada and all the world over.
If you can't tell I'm kind of on a genealogy kick. My family has been sharing stories and memories on blogs and facebook and I'm just eating it up. Keep it coming, keep it coming!
*That's a German word. Are you proud of me? I'm improving already!
So Bad!
Last night Andrew and I didn't communicate very well about bedtime routines. I had helped Rachel use the washroom and then about 15 minutes later Andrew took her to the washroom again. She was pretty upset about it.
"It's hard, Daddy," she explained, giving a few pushes to show that she was really trying to go.
"Just try a little longer, Rachel," Andrew said, "You always have to go potty before bed."
We make her go potty so often. Right when she wakes up, before and after naps (if she takes one), before we go outside to go anywhere, before bed, anytime she wakes up during the night, before and after swimming...I could go on and on. We just don't usually make her go potty every 15 minutes. I don't even have to go potty every 15 minutes and I have a baby bouncing on my bladder.
"Daddy," Rachel said finally, completely exasperated, "I am so done!"
She stood up and walked away from the potty, leaving it completely empty.
"Rachel didn't do anything," Andrew told me, while wrestling her into a diaper.
"That's probably because I just took her like 15 minutes ago..." I said.
"Oh." He said.
Rachel has been using the word "so" ever since and it's terribly effective for her.
We spent most of our day at the swimming pool today. Amiee gave Rachel an inflatable duck--she was watching Rachel in the kiddie pool while I gave her kids some swimming help (and we got in trouble for that because Maadi House has so many rules it's ridiculous)--that Rachel had been swimming in for the whole day. She loved it and didn't want to part with it and Amiee said they didn't need it anymore, so it came home with us.
I deflated it, which made Rachel a little upset. Or a lot upset. She cried about it for almost the whole way home and I was completely out of patience; I was about to deflate her, too.
"Rachel, the duck is for swimming. You can't just play with it because it might get a hole and then you won't be able to swim with it anymore. It's only for the pool. Stop asking about it. Stop crying about it. Stop whining about it. Just stop."
She looked up at me with big tears in her eyes and said,
"I want it, Mommy! I need it, Mommy! I want it so bad! I want it soooo bad!"
Her "soooo bad" was so sincere and so passionate that I almost handed it right back to her (have I mentioned recently that I'm a pushover?), but I stayed firm (and didn't even laugh at her cuteness).
"Sometimes we can't have the things we want, even if we want them soooo bad!" I told her.
And then held her and rocked her while she cried and sniffled, repeating, "I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy!" in a hushed, woebegone voice. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly; it was almost as if she was making a wish.
"I know, I know, I know," I answered her, stroking her tear-stained face.
When Daddy arrived home, she told him that she wanted the ducky soooo bad. We took it out and she showed it to him and he explained (again) why we couldn't play with it like a toy and that it was only for the pool.
I think part of the reason this is soooo funny is the way she pronounces so. I'll have to catch it on tape or think of a way to describe it fully. It's soooo adorable.
"It's hard, Daddy," she explained, giving a few pushes to show that she was really trying to go.
"Just try a little longer, Rachel," Andrew said, "You always have to go potty before bed."
We make her go potty so often. Right when she wakes up, before and after naps (if she takes one), before we go outside to go anywhere, before bed, anytime she wakes up during the night, before and after swimming...I could go on and on. We just don't usually make her go potty every 15 minutes. I don't even have to go potty every 15 minutes and I have a baby bouncing on my bladder.
"Daddy," Rachel said finally, completely exasperated, "I am so done!"
She stood up and walked away from the potty, leaving it completely empty.
"Rachel didn't do anything," Andrew told me, while wrestling her into a diaper.
"That's probably because I just took her like 15 minutes ago..." I said.
"Oh." He said.
Rachel has been using the word "so" ever since and it's terribly effective for her.
We spent most of our day at the swimming pool today. Amiee gave Rachel an inflatable duck--she was watching Rachel in the kiddie pool while I gave her kids some swimming help (and we got in trouble for that because Maadi House has so many rules it's ridiculous)--that Rachel had been swimming in for the whole day. She loved it and didn't want to part with it and Amiee said they didn't need it anymore, so it came home with us.
I deflated it, which made Rachel a little upset. Or a lot upset. She cried about it for almost the whole way home and I was completely out of patience; I was about to deflate her, too.
"Rachel, the duck is for swimming. You can't just play with it because it might get a hole and then you won't be able to swim with it anymore. It's only for the pool. Stop asking about it. Stop crying about it. Stop whining about it. Just stop."
She looked up at me with big tears in her eyes and said,
"I want it, Mommy! I need it, Mommy! I want it so bad! I want it soooo bad!"
Her "soooo bad" was so sincere and so passionate that I almost handed it right back to her (have I mentioned recently that I'm a pushover?), but I stayed firm (and didn't even laugh at her cuteness).
"Sometimes we can't have the things we want, even if we want them soooo bad!" I told her.
And then held her and rocked her while she cried and sniffled, repeating, "I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy! I want it so bad, Mommy!" in a hushed, woebegone voice. Her eyes were squeezed shut tightly; it was almost as if she was making a wish.
"I know, I know, I know," I answered her, stroking her tear-stained face.
When Daddy arrived home, she told him that she wanted the ducky soooo bad. We took it out and she showed it to him and he explained (again) why we couldn't play with it like a toy and that it was only for the pool.
I think part of the reason this is soooo funny is the way she pronounces so. I'll have to catch it on tape or think of a way to describe it fully. It's soooo adorable.
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