While looking through the nostaligia infused book: 'This is London' one evening with the dwarfs, Rashimi asked: 'Mummy why hath that politheman not got a gun?' Littered within the solid torrent of questions there sometimes comes an astute one. All policemen in Israel carry enormous guns. So it led to a lengthy discussion about the merits of 'twuncheonth' and the pitfalls of guns. The teachers in the nursery remarked: 'He asks very good questions,' that day's number being: 'What do whinotherotheth eat?' I was reasonably surprised that both teachers had to consult a book in the library to discover the answer. 'Gwath.' I'm quite pleased they won't be seeing him through secondary school.Though they are cosy and loving and this is all that matters at this stage.
It being a new year, albeit that the damp squib of February is already in motion, the dwarfs have been inadvertently roped into my focus on self improvement. You are unfortunately at the mercy of your mother until quite a late stage in life I realised. (No offence, Mum. Just...do you remember that wardrobe....? But it's okay - I've recovered...). While I haven't made them join me on the treadmill (which, incredibly, looks out onto Jerusalem Old City with a stunning view of the golden Dome of the Rock, and where I can listen to two whole podcasts with no interruption) the dwarfs in our life have been roped into Arabic classes on Monday evenings with two sweet children whose first language is Catalan. J and my wonderful teacher comes to our house and does play focused Arabic tuition with them. The Lozenge is a little bit reluctant as he loves nothing more than his own plan, and not one of mine, but gets into the swing eventually. And I noticed that since the weekly linguistic-injection, he and Rashimi have no problem calling: 'AFWAAAAN!' (excuse me) and 'MA'ASALAMEEEEEH' (Goodbye) on our local shopping street as they weave on their scooters between headscarved shoppers. What they need to learn how to say now is: 'Hold onto your headscarves laydeeeeeez, and watch your heels - we're coming THROOOOUUGH!!!.' Even the owners of the warmest and most expansive of child-loving bosoms can turn to me with a knitted, perfectly plucked brow, at times, as if to warn me that latest fly-by was just a little too close to the mock Louboutins for her liking.
As I watched the dwarfs' retreating back views I marvelled to myself that this place is really is their home. The headscarfs and the dodgy paving, the smoky smell of shwarma and shisha. All that still seems so foreign to me, is their normality.
The Lozenge's teachers have drawn J and I aside and told us that he zones in and out in class, which had been worrying me, until we had a fun dinner out with a Swedish couple who nearly choked on their chickpeas when we told them our worry: 'He's only 5! In Sweden we don't even start teaching them til 7, and we'd all be in the sandpit together all day at this stage - as we get so much time off to be parents.' And they laughed it off, whilst showing us this brilliant video - which totally conjures up the wonder of their land. And why an international community at times, is just so refreshing. One day we must try and get posted to Stockholm. And for once in my life, I could pass as a local.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_asVWhfZYg
And the best bit, is this couple love the video and say Swedes really are just like this. And one thing to note - that is the real Prime Minister in the vid.
All I can say is they are refreshing to be around. And I shall be hoisting a Swedish flag above our front door very soon - even with my supreme hatred for flags.
The other thing that struck me, is that I have, late in life, realised that perhaps I'm allergic to authority. And just the thought that some boring teacher could be trying to make the Lozenge step in line and be like everyone else, makes me want to metaphorically raise a finger to much of educational establishment. For an entire 5.3333 years, I have never heard the Lozenge say: 'I'm bored.' And I've never seen him 'zone out' at home. But fortunately I'm married to a diplomat and have spent 8.3333 years learning from him, so I kept my mouth shut in our meeting, and thought all these things instead.
As the Lozenge once retorted when I asked him not to ask Grandma: 'Where is my present?' the moment she arrived to stay with us, he replied: 'Okay, I won't say it. But Mummy, I can still think it, can't I.'
J has been away this week, and the dwarves and I have been having cosy times at 6am drinking hot chocolate in bed, followed by disco dressing (this morning to the Cure's: You're so wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully PRETTY! - which I really, really was not at that hour, but the dwarfs threw some excellent naked dance moves. Bottoms everywhere.), followed by breakfast and then the run to school.
The afternoons, when not designated to self improvement, we've been mucking about with their friends. I overheard the Lozenge and Rashimi comparing their toy chainsaws with each other (an inspired Christmas present from auntie Rosie and uncle 'Awee). Rashimi said: 'But mine can cut down tweeth weally, weally HARDly.' And in the Lozenge's thank you letter to auntie R he dictated for me to write: 'Thank you for the chainsaw. Next Christmath please can you give me a weal one so I can cut down weal trees with it, like Gran Gran and Grandpop do.' Oh to have two grandparents with a chainsaw licence.
Today is Friday. The joy of it. And the Lozenge is having two friends over - Julien (or according to Rashimi: JulieAnn), and 'Vewa from Thweden' without their parents. Rashimi remarked: 'Well Vewa can be my fwiend, and JulieAnn can be yours Lauwie.' Rashimi has already developed an eye for a blonde Swede. Who wouldn't? Maybe one day I really can visit Stockholm!
The Lozenge has requested a teddy bears' picnic followed by a treasure hunt when they come round. I've been given instructions that I'm not allowed anything to do with the picnic - they will do it all themselves. And while they do that, I can go out and hide the 'tweathure'.
This is why I am freelance. The one thing I do not need, is another boss in my life.
The simplicity of the afternoon plan gave me this poignant feeling when I realised that in maybe only a year, a teddy bear's picnic will probably not be the Lozenge's top-number-one-exciting-plan.
So I'm letting him go WILD.
The teddy bears are the ones strewn to one side, without any cakes. This is 5 year old hospitality.
(Postscript: The TBP went like a storm. The only problem was that at 1.30pm I realised that I was alone in the house with 4 children 5 and under for the next 4 hours. And the TBP had taken all of 4 minutes. How did I get myself roped into this one? I wondered. And like all good Skandi children, 'JulieAnn' and 'Vewa' removed their shoes every time they came into the house. And every five minutes they ran out of the house and needed to put them on again. And none of them could do them up for themselves. So for the first three hours of the extravaganza, I was on my hands and knees doing up complicated shoe laces, patting down velcro, ramming sticky-socked heels down into the New Balance size 9's and trying to zip up pink Chinese boots without snagging them. 'I don't care about the mud!' 'KEEP ON YOUR SHOES at ALL TIMES!' I yodelled.)
By 9pm I was to be found sound asleep under the furled pages of my book. J returned to us safely, with a mere 2 child-ed weekend stretching ahead of us, under some gentle rays of February sun.
It being a new year, albeit that the damp squib of February is already in motion, the dwarfs have been inadvertently roped into my focus on self improvement. You are unfortunately at the mercy of your mother until quite a late stage in life I realised. (No offence, Mum. Just...do you remember that wardrobe....? But it's okay - I've recovered...). While I haven't made them join me on the treadmill (which, incredibly, looks out onto Jerusalem Old City with a stunning view of the golden Dome of the Rock, and where I can listen to two whole podcasts with no interruption) the dwarfs in our life have been roped into Arabic classes on Monday evenings with two sweet children whose first language is Catalan. J and my wonderful teacher comes to our house and does play focused Arabic tuition with them. The Lozenge is a little bit reluctant as he loves nothing more than his own plan, and not one of mine, but gets into the swing eventually. And I noticed that since the weekly linguistic-injection, he and Rashimi have no problem calling: 'AFWAAAAN!' (excuse me) and 'MA'ASALAMEEEEEH' (Goodbye) on our local shopping street as they weave on their scooters between headscarved shoppers. What they need to learn how to say now is: 'Hold onto your headscarves laydeeeeeez, and watch your heels - we're coming THROOOOUUGH!!!.' Even the owners of the warmest and most expansive of child-loving bosoms can turn to me with a knitted, perfectly plucked brow, at times, as if to warn me that latest fly-by was just a little too close to the mock Louboutins for her liking.
As I watched the dwarfs' retreating back views I marvelled to myself that this place is really is their home. The headscarfs and the dodgy paving, the smoky smell of shwarma and shisha. All that still seems so foreign to me, is their normality.
The Lozenge's teachers have drawn J and I aside and told us that he zones in and out in class, which had been worrying me, until we had a fun dinner out with a Swedish couple who nearly choked on their chickpeas when we told them our worry: 'He's only 5! In Sweden we don't even start teaching them til 7, and we'd all be in the sandpit together all day at this stage - as we get so much time off to be parents.' And they laughed it off, whilst showing us this brilliant video - which totally conjures up the wonder of their land. And why an international community at times, is just so refreshing. One day we must try and get posted to Stockholm. And for once in my life, I could pass as a local.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8_asVWhfZYg
And the best bit, is this couple love the video and say Swedes really are just like this. And one thing to note - that is the real Prime Minister in the vid.
All I can say is they are refreshing to be around. And I shall be hoisting a Swedish flag above our front door very soon - even with my supreme hatred for flags.
The other thing that struck me, is that I have, late in life, realised that perhaps I'm allergic to authority. And just the thought that some boring teacher could be trying to make the Lozenge step in line and be like everyone else, makes me want to metaphorically raise a finger to much of educational establishment. For an entire 5.3333 years, I have never heard the Lozenge say: 'I'm bored.' And I've never seen him 'zone out' at home. But fortunately I'm married to a diplomat and have spent 8.3333 years learning from him, so I kept my mouth shut in our meeting, and thought all these things instead.
As the Lozenge once retorted when I asked him not to ask Grandma: 'Where is my present?' the moment she arrived to stay with us, he replied: 'Okay, I won't say it. But Mummy, I can still think it, can't I.'
J has been away this week, and the dwarves and I have been having cosy times at 6am drinking hot chocolate in bed, followed by disco dressing (this morning to the Cure's: You're so wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully PRETTY! - which I really, really was not at that hour, but the dwarfs threw some excellent naked dance moves. Bottoms everywhere.), followed by breakfast and then the run to school.
Through the pain of the 5.50am alarm, I remind myself that these mallowy mornings will not last forever, and one day the dwarfs will be 'diants' as Rashimi says, and will not want to lie about in bed with me sipping on a chocolat chaud, or should I say, tiede.
Today is Friday. The joy of it. And the Lozenge is having two friends over - Julien (or according to Rashimi: JulieAnn), and 'Vewa from Thweden' without their parents. Rashimi remarked: 'Well Vewa can be my fwiend, and JulieAnn can be yours Lauwie.' Rashimi has already developed an eye for a blonde Swede. Who wouldn't? Maybe one day I really can visit Stockholm!
The Lozenge has requested a teddy bears' picnic followed by a treasure hunt when they come round. I've been given instructions that I'm not allowed anything to do with the picnic - they will do it all themselves. And while they do that, I can go out and hide the 'tweathure'.
This is why I am freelance. The one thing I do not need, is another boss in my life.
The simplicity of the afternoon plan gave me this poignant feeling when I realised that in maybe only a year, a teddy bear's picnic will probably not be the Lozenge's top-number-one-exciting-plan.
So I'm letting him go WILD.
The teddy bears are the ones strewn to one side, without any cakes. This is 5 year old hospitality.
(Postscript: The TBP went like a storm. The only problem was that at 1.30pm I realised that I was alone in the house with 4 children 5 and under for the next 4 hours. And the TBP had taken all of 4 minutes. How did I get myself roped into this one? I wondered. And like all good Skandi children, 'JulieAnn' and 'Vewa' removed their shoes every time they came into the house. And every five minutes they ran out of the house and needed to put them on again. And none of them could do them up for themselves. So for the first three hours of the extravaganza, I was on my hands and knees doing up complicated shoe laces, patting down velcro, ramming sticky-socked heels down into the New Balance size 9's and trying to zip up pink Chinese boots without snagging them. 'I don't care about the mud!' 'KEEP ON YOUR SHOES at ALL TIMES!' I yodelled.)
By 9pm I was to be found sound asleep under the furled pages of my book. J returned to us safely, with a mere 2 child-ed weekend stretching ahead of us, under some gentle rays of February sun.
Oh yes, and we have another diminutive candidate for our family ranks who, all being well, will join us in early August.
No comments:
Post a Comment