Le Théâtre de l'Absurde

I think that whenever possible, one should entitle moments from one's life with a French phrase. This is a relatively new revelation for me, but apt, I think. Also related to my thoughts about the French language, I believe that The Cat in the Hat (the character, not the book in its entirety)is clearly French and should be performed, when read aloud, with a thick French accent. The fish, of course, is British, and, Thing One and Thing Two are Swedish, rendering them "Ting Von and Ting Tvo" when properly pronounced.

Today we were playing at our local library, where they have a small puppet stage and puppets. I have tried many a time to engender an interest in puppetry in my children. Alas, thus far they have been more interested in strewing the puppets through out the library and climbing into the basket. Well, today, Greta and her two little friends decided to do a show, much to my delight. Greta had a jaguar, Ella had a giraffe, and Allison had a puppy. There they were behind the stage, poised to begin "the show."

Then, Greta announced, "Welcome to our puppet show." At this point, she must have encountered her first case of writer's block, thankfully not coupled with performance anxiety. When at a loss for words, what should one do? Turn to the audience, perhaps? I don't know, but it seems like it could be an improv rule.

She continued, "Guess what the name of our puppet show is?"

Me: I don't know. Is it Rumplestiltskin?

Greta: No. It's a fairy tale.

Me: Hmmm. (Considering, then deciding not to argue that point.) Cinderella?

Greta, the Director: No.

Me: Sleeping Beauty?

Greta: No.

Me: Beauty and the Beast?

Greta, clearly enjoying her game: No.

Me: I give up. What is it?

Greta, the torturess: You have to guess.

Me: Jack and the Beanstalk?

Greta: No.

At this point, even her cast was getting restless. They too wanted to know their script. The puppy and the giraffe were dangling on the arms, in danger of being tossed at Miss Director.

Me: I give up.

Greta, laughing a condescending little laugh: Oh, mom. If it's a play with a jaguar, giraffe and a puppy, of course it's called "The Jaguar, The Giraffe, and The Puppy."

Of course.

(And, alas, "The Jaguar, The Giraffe, and The Puppy," concluded.)

You can wash dirty squirrels

Greta's new pre-school looks fantastic! She will be in Montessori school for a half day every day this fall. Today we got to meet her new teachers and check out her classroom. I'm not sure who was more excited about the classroom. Well, sadly, we do; it was luck that Marc was there to get me to leave. But, Greta was also mightily impressed. We learned that the class will be going on a fieldtrip to see The Nutcracker this winter. She's still not sure what that all entails (WHO will go there with me? The kids and teachers. What kids? Well, the other children in the class. WHAT other children? Well, you don't know them yet, but you will. ) Though she is intrigued by the idea of riding on a school bus.

I found out that I can volunteer in the classroom. Wahoo! I can cut out things for the room, organize parties, or read books and listen to kids read books to me. (Gee, I wonder which one is a fit for me?)

The practical life (note that I am giving the "Edit Html" bar a go) part of the room has been a great interest to Greta since we visited last Spring. There, the kids can basically carry, wash or pour all sorts of stuff . . . in practice for a life as a busboy. We aim high. Today they had little items, including a plastic squirrel for children to practice washing and drying. Of course, I could not resist hyping up the preschool as a place where she could come to wash dirty little squirrels. My daughter, the ham, fell right into my script. That night, she announced to Aunt Betsy, "I have a great school. I can even wash dirty squirrels."

Marc vetoed my desire to call bath or shower time the time to wash our dirty squirrels. Alas, I see how some who don't inherently see how hysterically funny that is (lame-o's) might be disturbed by me ringing out, "Time to hit the tub and wash the dirty squirrels, kids." But, think of the joy it would bring me. You have my permission to say this in your home if you wish. There is no copyright.

Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka and the Sunscreen

I love to read Greta the Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka books. (http://www.nordichouse.com/detail.aspx?ID=176)

I once thought that the books were published in Sweden. It's not such a crazy leap; the stories take place in Sweden. But no one in Sweden knew what I was talking about when I went to buy the books there. It was embarrassing to inquire about and insist in the existence of the classic Swedish children's books about Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka and Snip, Snap and Snur over and over again all over the country. To add insult to injury, I was trying to speak in Swedish much of the time, with my Swedish-chef accent. You try saying those names with a faux-Swedish accent. Fli-cka, Ri-cka, Di-cka. It's humiliating. And, I'm sure some Swedes had a good laugh. Indeed, they were written by a Minnesotan and published in Chicago . . . in English. So, here's the question: Are the names supposed to be jokes? Is some Norwegian behind this?

If you're still with me after this digression away from the important business of recording the absurdity and joy of parenting my two small children, I will return to the scene of reading Flicka, Ricka and Dicka and the Strawberries to Greta. The book is loaded with pictures of three little blonde girls out picking strawberries and frolicking through the quaint Swedish (or is it?) landscape. Greta's comment: "Mom, I sure hope those girls are wearing sunscreen."

a rose by any name

Greta has taken to calling her little brother, Graham, by David or Davie. There seems to be no apparent reason why it started, but I'm sure a large part od why it continues is that I laughed so hard when I first heard it. In fact, Graham himself has started saying, "I Davy." I don't think that he knows what it means; he just knows that we laugh. Greta refers to herself as Sarah a fair amount of the time. Sarah and David. The other night we were invited to Sarah and David's wedding. Greta was draped in every scarf or piece of fabric she could find. Graham had to kiss her.

Greta also likes to rename our entire family. Recently we were all the MmPeople family.

Mom: Pink Lady Mmm People
Dad: Watermelon Mmm People
Graham: Blueberry Mmm People
Greta: Banana Mmm People

This morning Greta came to eat breakfast bubbling over with enthusiasm as she told me, "Mom, guess what. I am a fairy from England. Aren't you soooo lucky? You get to eat breakfast next to a fairy from England."

Indeed, I was.