Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Crimeny!


So. Just a few days after the g*d*a*n post about f*c*i*g bad words coming out of little guys' mouths, what do I witness, but this:

The boys and I are walking home with (their friend) Raphaël and his mommy, (our friend) Isabella. We stop often and long along the way to our house. In fact, we stop so often and so long, that by the time we're at our house, it's dinner time; so we all eat together. It's a riot, in more ways than one.

At one point, we moms are talking as the three boys scamper up and around a wall surrounding one of the public courtyards along the way. Tomi is in the King position, and he looks over and down at us, then raises himself up as though he has a public proclamation to make. He says, "P*t**n! *u*ain!"* in a way that I don't even have to look back over the past few days or weeks to know that he didn't hear that one from either of us. Isabella is laughing surreptitiously beside me as I ask, "Where did you learn that one?!" To which he answers, "Nawelle says it! She say it to me, too!" Raphi nods in agreement with his friend, and they carry on for a moment or two, just barely within our hearing: "P*t**n! *u*ain!" and so on, until they get us worried about their positions on the wall and the silliness that's beginning to take hold of them. As we get them down from their peril, Isabella gives me some insight into the situation of their school buddy. And all the time, I'm thinking, "Okay, but then again, our household ain't breaking down, but who knows?! Perhaps my boys are nonetheless teaching g*d*a*n to all of their school buddies! HORRORS!"

Ach!

* p*t**n = wh*r*/sl*t, but it's used variously, as English speakers use the F-word. In any case, you definitely don't want your kids saying this (in France, at any rate).

p.s. Them's our boys, up there. We had a day of spring last Saturday (18°C!!), during which adults worked on the terrace and boys wreaked havoc. Actually, though... I'm not being fair. Tomi spent alot of time doing scientific work (searching for worms, bees and other squirmy things), and Leo did alot of "reading" of Tin-Tin books before they started wreaking their havoc, which spun their daddy into "let's-go-to-the-park" mode, and gave me some time to do the grocery shopping and finish up the terrace work. (= a long, happy story, made short)

p.p.s. The wearing of two different boots was and still is Leo's idea. He says he's "doing like a clown does". I don't disagree with him, of course. How could I? And don't even ask me what Leo's up to, but no, Tomi is not into rap. He's still into Spider-Man x 1,573. And Vic Chesnutt. Among other things.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Country Mice? City Mice?

We're looking for a house, and the question keeps nagging us. I really do feel that we'd be happy being in either category, but if anybody has life-changing stories that have to do with this kind of question, please feel free to email, post a comment or call and tell us all about it, whether the story is negative or positive or whathaveyou.

Just fyi, so you know where we're coming from: We live in the city centre, but for the past eight years we've always had either a wee garden or a terrace. We definitely need an outside-space, whichever it is and however large. But would it make a big difference to have a real garden? And would it be worth it, with the longer commute to work and to cultural events, and without the plethora of commodities that we presently have within a 0.5 - 5 minutes' walk? And do people really use their gardens enough to justify the amount of work that's needed to keep them up? These are only a few of the questions we're asking ourselves at the moment, but they're a good start...

Apartment for Sale

Pre-script: These are not our furnishings! They're those of our tenant. We totally renovated the place about nine years ago, and lived there for three years before I became pregnant with the twins...

Oh, and if you know someone who'd like a pied-à-terre in Strasbourg (a long shot, but who knows?), here are a couple of pictures of the place we're selling (with the present lodger's furniture, unfortunately. People in France don't "stage", I"m afraid, and so we took these when we were changing the water heater a few months back), as well as the blurb :

Gorgeous 2 room flat, 42m2, 1st floor of 17th century building. City centre (Strasbourg), quiet, looks out on large courtyard and greenery. Beams and original wood floors, equipped kitchen, lovely nooks and crannies, well-lit. Sold occupied (contract ends October 2009). 150,000 Euros. No agency fees.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

What's in a word?

Alot more than I'd ever thought, before my boys started asking about them, it seems. There's the history of a word, for example. Not its origins (though I've always found that interesting enough), but the history of how it came to be known to our boys. For instance, when you hear your small boy say (in an innocent, even extremely cute way, and to noone in particular, as he twirls around, waiting his turn to be zipped up before an outing), "You g*d*a*n idiot!" you are, of course, forced to pause and think - once you've got over the shock of it, that is.

I knew it was almost impossible that they'd ever heard the two words together. Not that I've never used them together, but I'm sure I'd never done so in their hearing, and never with the word "you" attached to them.

The answer to the g*d*a*n part was the easiest. I'd said it under my breath at least twice in the past few weeks, when a zipper went wonky, for instance, or when the closet door in the entryway refused to budge, and it wasn't clear why, and the cold was coming in, and we were in a hurry to get going. My own usage had surprised me, actually, because I'm much more likely to use the F-word in these cases (heh! heh! ...sorry, Dad). The boys must've been milling about when the word was uttered. Got to be a bit more careful, I guess. Though then again... it's a subject for discussion, really. More on that later, maybe. For now:

But "idiot"? It's bandied about in French like you wouldn't believe ("T'es idiot ou quoi ?!" "Sois pas idiot!" and so on), and even to children (though certainly not by Jean-Philippe), but I couldn't figure out when they'd have heard it in English.

I said (and I had to surpress a little laugh; it honestly was funny, the way he'd said it), "Honey, that's a terrible thing to say! It's very insulting. Why did you say that?" Leo looked at me and said, "Mommy, what's an idiot?" I tried to explain, but 'stupid' and 'dumb' aren't words they hear, either, so I wasn't feeling very effective. Then he said, "The bad guys in the lots-of-puppies movie are idiots?" My face scrunched up in a questioning look for a second. He contniued, "Yeah, because the bad lady, she say, 'YOU IDIOTS!'"

Ah-h-h-h! Illumination. Cruella DaVille, yelling at her bungling cohorts! And then, as we watched Cars together this weekend, I heard it again. It's everywhere, this word. Just waiting for innocent young 'uns to pick it up and attach g*d*a*n to it!

Still, one of the things that I was impressed with, in a general sort of way, is the fact that he'd taken two words whose meanings he didn't understand - I didn't give him a definition for g*d*a*n this time; some things can wait - and strung them together in a meaningful (if injurious) way.

And the conversation about the meaning of the one and the forbidden usage-by-small-ones of the other were eventually and clearly understood. Another odd notch on their learning belts.