Thursday, March 31, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
The next thing we did
Was to go to the local petting zoo. They had a pony ride and they had painting and they had an easter egg hunt. It was the only easter egg hunt I could find, so off we went.
When you went through to the easter egg hunt area, they gave you a little card with an egg on it. Douwe's was green. Daan's was blue and yellow. We thought they were nice. My children then swept through the area finding eggs like little vultures, jumping up and down with glee at each find and so on. They had a great time. There were a lot of children and their parents wandering around apparently aimlessly, which seemed odd as the eggs were hidden for little kids, that is, not really very well. They were just sort of tossed out there, lying on the grass.
Um.
Turns out that you are only supposed to find the one egg which corresponds in color to your little card. Whoops. We had all the eggs those wandering kids were looking for in our baskets. Ahem.
While we were busy apologizing and everybody was laughing, the boys ran off suddenly back into the hunt area. I went after them, to find them re-hiding the eggs. One or the other figured it out.
So it had a happy ending, because everyone agrees that my kids are very good at hiding eggs. They should be, they practiced all morning.
Then we figured out that the eggs had things in them, also a surprise. Douwe won a pony ride, and Daan won an ice cream. It is good that it was not the other way around, becasue Daan is afraid of ponies and Douwe hates ice cream. What a coincidence, and how nice that it came out that way.
By the way, mom, and completely tangentially, thanks for the book on magic tricks and sleight of hand. I know it was for Douwe, but he can't read yet so I have to read it for him.
So anyway then we went to see the week-old chicks they have at the petting zoo. That was the end of the line for the boys; they stayed there probably an hour and a half. We did some other stuff, but the chicks were the big event for them.
Douwe took one look at the line for the pony ride and said he didn't want to ride a pony. "I already have" he said. Okay, so I guess he won't grow up a horseman.
When you went through to the easter egg hunt area, they gave you a little card with an egg on it. Douwe's was green. Daan's was blue and yellow. We thought they were nice. My children then swept through the area finding eggs like little vultures, jumping up and down with glee at each find and so on. They had a great time. There were a lot of children and their parents wandering around apparently aimlessly, which seemed odd as the eggs were hidden for little kids, that is, not really very well. They were just sort of tossed out there, lying on the grass.
Um.
Turns out that you are only supposed to find the one egg which corresponds in color to your little card. Whoops. We had all the eggs those wandering kids were looking for in our baskets. Ahem.
While we were busy apologizing and everybody was laughing, the boys ran off suddenly back into the hunt area. I went after them, to find them re-hiding the eggs. One or the other figured it out.
So it had a happy ending, because everyone agrees that my kids are very good at hiding eggs. They should be, they practiced all morning.
Then we figured out that the eggs had things in them, also a surprise. Douwe won a pony ride, and Daan won an ice cream. It is good that it was not the other way around, becasue Daan is afraid of ponies and Douwe hates ice cream. What a coincidence, and how nice that it came out that way.
By the way, mom, and completely tangentially, thanks for the book on magic tricks and sleight of hand. I know it was for Douwe, but he can't read yet so I have to read it for him.
So anyway then we went to see the week-old chicks they have at the petting zoo. That was the end of the line for the boys; they stayed there probably an hour and a half. We did some other stuff, but the chicks were the big event for them.
Douwe took one look at the line for the pony ride and said he didn't want to ride a pony. "I already have" he said. Okay, so I guess he won't grow up a horseman.
The last thing we did
Before everyone collapsed on their respective sofa corners to watch "Peter Pan" fro the rest of the afternoon was to take a nice walk back from the petting zoo to the house. A nice long walk, because Nel is in training for a several kilometer walk-o-rama or something in April, so we always take the long way around nowadays. Which, all things considered, was not a terrible idea. Nothing like a nice long walk to work off all that sugar and excitement.
what is that thing?
Hi, dad,
Look at this thing, what the heck is it? It looked for all the world like a common house parakeet, except that it was pink. Really pink, not a little pink. Easter Egg pink, except for some blue feathers by its tail and grey and white stripey wings.
Am I being haunted by the Spirit of Parakeets for sending Pukkie on extended vacation? Surely not, after all, Pukkie is back in his corner again, none the worse for wear.
Look at this thing, what the heck is it? It looked for all the world like a common house parakeet, except that it was pink. Really pink, not a little pink. Easter Egg pink, except for some blue feathers by its tail and grey and white stripey wings.
Am I being haunted by the Spirit of Parakeets for sending Pukkie on extended vacation? Surely not, after all, Pukkie is back in his corner again, none the worse for wear.
Ignore this entry, too
Hi, mom,
This is the bread, it came out pretty nicely. Damn, that stuff browns up really brown, does it not? I thought I had scorched it but it was fine.
I also made 2 loaves of the round kind with the egg in it, but here's a tip: do not bake your bread on the bottom part of a cake pan, it doesn't get hot enough and the bottom ends up not done when the top is done. Then you have to turn the loaf over and bake the bottom, which does nothing for the appearance of your loaf.*
It eats just fine, though. And if no one has ever seen the proud heights which a round loaf of pao doce is supposed to reach they don't know any better and eat it anyway.
*I will pinch the head off the first person who posts a joke involving the phrase half-baked.
This is the bread, it came out pretty nicely. Damn, that stuff browns up really brown, does it not? I thought I had scorched it but it was fine.
I also made 2 loaves of the round kind with the egg in it, but here's a tip: do not bake your bread on the bottom part of a cake pan, it doesn't get hot enough and the bottom ends up not done when the top is done. Then you have to turn the loaf over and bake the bottom, which does nothing for the appearance of your loaf.*
It eats just fine, though. And if no one has ever seen the proud heights which a round loaf of pao doce is supposed to reach they don't know any better and eat it anyway.
*I will pinch the head off the first person who posts a joke involving the phrase half-baked.
Too much
I am beginning to hate holidays. And, despite much moaning about them in my wayward youth, I have to say that in general I actually quite like them. My kids are a good age for them; they still believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny and they don't peer around very suspiciously about it. Which may also be fun in its own way. But I haven't had it yet.
However, I am beginning to see a new trend. It goes like this. I say "So, what do you guys do for >fill in holiday here<"?". The answer is generally, "Nothing, just the usual,". I point out that I have not the tiniest clue what the usual might be. Everyone looks surprised, like it is news to my nearest and dearest that I am not Dutch, did not grow up in Holland, and well, have not the tiniest clue. Then everyone says, "Oh, well, you know, we eat,". Good. You eat. Mostly, I eat several times a day. So, I ask, what do you eat for >insert holiday here<? And what do I hear? Yep, got it in one: "Oh, nothing, the usual,".
Uh huh. Being a persistent kind of person, I continue this conversation for some time, and the end result boils down to "Don't go to any trouble, do what you always do, why do you always make things so hard?". Some day, y'all, I am actually going to take their word for it and do nothing and won't everybody be surprised when we actually do nothing?
Whereupon I of course go shopping. I dislike shopping in general, but shopping for holidays is pretty good fun. So I come home with my purchases whereupon everyone says it is too much. Far too much. Too many sweets are not good and too many toys are a threat to all that is good. Must be an American thing, this buying of too much.
So I put away my too much where the children cannot find it. On the eve of the holiday, I bring the too much out (or what is left of it since both of the adult parties involved have surreptitiously been giving bits of it to my children in the mean time, which I firmly Do Not Notice) and say, "You know, since this is obviously too much and I lack a really good sense of what is appropriate why don't you guys sort through this stuff and show me what would be about right?"
Whereupon everyone brings out all the other stuff they have bought in the mean time and my kids end up with three times more than too much. Everyone then heartily agrees that it was much better back in the day when all the children got was an extra measure of butter in their gruel for holidays and so on. My Spouse pretends not to remember anything about holidays when he was a child (whether this is because they also had too much and he doesn't want to admit it or whether this is because the absence of too much is the reason it was not memorable, I have no idea and have no plans to speculate. Out loud.)
The the holiday comes and everybody has a really great time with the too much stuff. everybody talks about how great it was. The children go to bed sated and exhausted. We all sit happily round the family room while Dearly Beloved brings out a bottle of red wine or sherry, whichever you like.
The one voice (never you mind who, nosy) speaks into the companiable quiet: "It just all seems like too much. But I guess *sigh* everyone has to do it their own way,".
As answering there might be impolitic, I shall answer here, then:
Well, my sister always said I was too much.
However, I am beginning to see a new trend. It goes like this. I say "So, what do you guys do for >fill in holiday here<"?". The answer is generally, "Nothing, just the usual,". I point out that I have not the tiniest clue what the usual might be. Everyone looks surprised, like it is news to my nearest and dearest that I am not Dutch, did not grow up in Holland, and well, have not the tiniest clue. Then everyone says, "Oh, well, you know, we eat,". Good. You eat. Mostly, I eat several times a day. So, I ask, what do you eat for >insert holiday here<? And what do I hear? Yep, got it in one: "Oh, nothing, the usual,".
Uh huh. Being a persistent kind of person, I continue this conversation for some time, and the end result boils down to "Don't go to any trouble, do what you always do, why do you always make things so hard?". Some day, y'all, I am actually going to take their word for it and do nothing and won't everybody be surprised when we actually do nothing?
Whereupon I of course go shopping. I dislike shopping in general, but shopping for holidays is pretty good fun. So I come home with my purchases whereupon everyone says it is too much. Far too much. Too many sweets are not good and too many toys are a threat to all that is good. Must be an American thing, this buying of too much.
So I put away my too much where the children cannot find it. On the eve of the holiday, I bring the too much out (or what is left of it since both of the adult parties involved have surreptitiously been giving bits of it to my children in the mean time, which I firmly Do Not Notice) and say, "You know, since this is obviously too much and I lack a really good sense of what is appropriate why don't you guys sort through this stuff and show me what would be about right?"
Whereupon everyone brings out all the other stuff they have bought in the mean time and my kids end up with three times more than too much. Everyone then heartily agrees that it was much better back in the day when all the children got was an extra measure of butter in their gruel for holidays and so on. My Spouse pretends not to remember anything about holidays when he was a child (whether this is because they also had too much and he doesn't want to admit it or whether this is because the absence of too much is the reason it was not memorable, I have no idea and have no plans to speculate. Out loud.)
The the holiday comes and everybody has a really great time with the too much stuff. everybody talks about how great it was. The children go to bed sated and exhausted. We all sit happily round the family room while Dearly Beloved brings out a bottle of red wine or sherry, whichever you like.
The one voice (never you mind who, nosy) speaks into the companiable quiet: "It just all seems like too much. But I guess *sigh* everyone has to do it their own way,".
As answering there might be impolitic, I shall answer here, then:
Well, my sister always said I was too much.
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