3:45 am.
our room is dark and silent; everyone in the city (bar the drunks and the homeless people) is asleep. then, from the portacot next to our bed a clear bell-like voice rings out:
"HEY GUYS, . . . . guuuuuys, I lub puppies. . . . dadda, dadda, DADDA . . . . i lub puppies . . . (dadda responds unintelligibly with a muffled groan). 'i lub flowers, and puppies. i lub GREY puppies. s'vewy dark dadda. vewy dark.' (Dadda: 'shhhhh, talking quietly, roofie and peter are asleep). the voice in the portacot gets louder: 'yass dadda, evvybody seeping'. (Mum: 'shhhhh, quiet quiet. its night time; time to sleep). 'lying down knickers on, bed dadda (i am lying down, wearing my knickers in bed dadda). (Dadda: 'mmmhhmmm). 'DADDA, DADDA . . . KNICKERS . . . BED ( . . . . got no legs dadda. scawwy cow got no legs (back to the staghead from edinburgh). can't wun; can't walk. (combined parents: 'shhhhhh, stop talking bubba, time to sleep'). "bummel bees, watch bummel bees dadda?' . . . (collective groan from parental bed) 'bummel bee sore bottom' (referring to character in movie who loses his sting and has it replaced with a teeny weeny pink plastic toy sword) . . .
the conversation continued in this manner until she finally crashed out, about half an hour later.
next morning (well, later on THAT morning), i was walking out to the kitchen with her to make coffee with amelia chattering away nineteen to the dozen, and me responding monosyllabically. she turned and looked at me, pointed THE finger and demanded: 'mumma, TALK AMELIA!!!'
i think that was the first time in my life i have ever been told off for NOT talking . . . i wonder why?
Friday, October 9, 2009
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
vocab update
time to update the list of the latest favorite sayings of the inphenom:
LUB: on seeing two greyish dobermans in kelvin grove park, glasgow, "mu, two grade (grey) puppies! i LUB DEM." the list of things worthy of being lubbed has since grown, and she will march down the street reciting that list for all the world like a rosary. "i lub flowers, i lub puppies, i lub mummy, i lub birds, i lub fie (sic) engines, i lub thomas" and so on thru the list of HER people.
MY people: when she meets someone new, they become, rather rapidly, MY bart, MY peter, MY roofie (ruth, the friend we are staying with), and when they leave, she will often bleat rather plaintively "MY (whoever), i want MY (whoever). they can also be 'mines' or 'mine' as those words are used interchangeably.
WHERE'S MINES?/WHAT HAPPENED MINES: used when any object or person she considers important is not immediately visible. case in point: we put her to bed fully clothed (including shoes - which are apparently must haves for any toddler intending on sleeping) a few nights back, and once she was asleep, took her jeans and shoes off, leaving her in her swim shorts that are also must-need attire every day ( i kind you not) and tee shirt. when she woke up in the morning, she tottered out of bed, walked past a full length mirror in our room, took a double take - threw her hands wide and shouted "WHAT HAPPENED MINES jeans . . . . they fall ober (they fell off)!!!! . . ." the famed red twousers are almost always the subject of such intense inquiry. we left them at home while we trotted over to scotland, and every morning, afternoon and evening the call went up and the explanations had to be made of just WHERE they were and WHY she was unable to wear them. grannY - how is that search for a replacement going?
she also has a huge range of imaginative play going: keeping 'dory' and 'nemo' in her pocket (two fishy characters from finding nemo), and if asked, will produce them on the palm of her hand and let you have a pat or a kiss. she will also 'swim' them to you, holding her palm perpendicular(ish) to the floor and making it 'swim.' she will also make you a cuppy tea and a piece of chocolate cake if asked, producing invisible slivers of said cake and placing it in one grubby paw before proffering it to you and then giggling as you 'eat' it. peter (our host) had her guffawing last night as he accepted his pieces of cake (and there were PLENTY), and tossed them in the air, swiftly moving his head to catch them with a snap of his jaw. that game went on for a very long time. cuppy teas are managed in a similar fashion, altho she prefers to pour REAL liquid into any cup available, but hasn't yet mastered the art of stopping at 'when' - tending to just keep on pouring until the vessel in her hands is empty. these games are brilliant distractions when she is out of sorts, engaging her immediate attention and taking her mind of any angsty thoughts, altho one has to ensure one has enough time to play until the bitter end, because heaven help anyone who starts a game and does not see it through until its natural conclusion!!!
she is also rather fond of collaring people in the street or shop and putting them thru a litany of body parts (which she names as she touches each on on herself), i.e. head, shoulder, elbow, hand, arm etc, and then itemising her clothing, interspersed with a kind of meaningful gesticulation and gobbledegook which we can only imagine is her version of french and flemish! people love it, in general, and will murmur things like 'petite mignonette', 'petite chou' (literally 'little cabbage'!), or ask me - STILL - 'c'est un garcon madame?' - is it a boy . . . :( . . . even if she is in pink and purple. its that blimmen mullet - gets them every time.
she recites a list of the people in her life, the grannies and poppa and grandad and chelsea and katie (in all different orders), thomas etc, and all the aussie friends and playmates, and we always talk about what she has done with each person, or what that person has done with her - and she always acknowledges who has made or given any clothing she may be wearing . . . standing solemnly in front of someone with grannIE's purple cardigan telling them the buttons are 'la'ybux, grannIE's laybux.' both andrew and i are amazed at her capacity to remember so clearly and accurately - even when we arrived at the apartment in brussels, where we had stayed last year for 3 weeks, she went unerringly up the passage and in the door of the room in which we had stayed, announcing that it was 'mines woom' - altho she was only 8 months old when we were here last. seems to me that we consistently underrate kids' abilities, to our own detriment . . . well, i do at least. but, i AM learning . . . with amelia's willing and forceful assistance :)
LUB: on seeing two greyish dobermans in kelvin grove park, glasgow, "mu, two grade (grey) puppies! i LUB DEM." the list of things worthy of being lubbed has since grown, and she will march down the street reciting that list for all the world like a rosary. "i lub flowers, i lub puppies, i lub mummy, i lub birds, i lub fie (sic) engines, i lub thomas" and so on thru the list of HER people.
MY people: when she meets someone new, they become, rather rapidly, MY bart, MY peter, MY roofie (ruth, the friend we are staying with), and when they leave, she will often bleat rather plaintively "MY (whoever), i want MY (whoever). they can also be 'mines' or 'mine' as those words are used interchangeably.
WHERE'S MINES?/WHAT HAPPENED MINES: used when any object or person she considers important is not immediately visible. case in point: we put her to bed fully clothed (including shoes - which are apparently must haves for any toddler intending on sleeping) a few nights back, and once she was asleep, took her jeans and shoes off, leaving her in her swim shorts that are also must-need attire every day ( i kind you not) and tee shirt. when she woke up in the morning, she tottered out of bed, walked past a full length mirror in our room, took a double take - threw her hands wide and shouted "WHAT HAPPENED MINES jeans . . . . they fall ober (they fell off)!!!! . . ." the famed red twousers are almost always the subject of such intense inquiry. we left them at home while we trotted over to scotland, and every morning, afternoon and evening the call went up and the explanations had to be made of just WHERE they were and WHY she was unable to wear them. grannY - how is that search for a replacement going?
she also has a huge range of imaginative play going: keeping 'dory' and 'nemo' in her pocket (two fishy characters from finding nemo), and if asked, will produce them on the palm of her hand and let you have a pat or a kiss. she will also 'swim' them to you, holding her palm perpendicular(ish) to the floor and making it 'swim.' she will also make you a cuppy tea and a piece of chocolate cake if asked, producing invisible slivers of said cake and placing it in one grubby paw before proffering it to you and then giggling as you 'eat' it. peter (our host) had her guffawing last night as he accepted his pieces of cake (and there were PLENTY), and tossed them in the air, swiftly moving his head to catch them with a snap of his jaw. that game went on for a very long time. cuppy teas are managed in a similar fashion, altho she prefers to pour REAL liquid into any cup available, but hasn't yet mastered the art of stopping at 'when' - tending to just keep on pouring until the vessel in her hands is empty. these games are brilliant distractions when she is out of sorts, engaging her immediate attention and taking her mind of any angsty thoughts, altho one has to ensure one has enough time to play until the bitter end, because heaven help anyone who starts a game and does not see it through until its natural conclusion!!!
she is also rather fond of collaring people in the street or shop and putting them thru a litany of body parts (which she names as she touches each on on herself), i.e. head, shoulder, elbow, hand, arm etc, and then itemising her clothing, interspersed with a kind of meaningful gesticulation and gobbledegook which we can only imagine is her version of french and flemish! people love it, in general, and will murmur things like 'petite mignonette', 'petite chou' (literally 'little cabbage'!), or ask me - STILL - 'c'est un garcon madame?' - is it a boy . . . :( . . . even if she is in pink and purple. its that blimmen mullet - gets them every time.
she recites a list of the people in her life, the grannies and poppa and grandad and chelsea and katie (in all different orders), thomas etc, and all the aussie friends and playmates, and we always talk about what she has done with each person, or what that person has done with her - and she always acknowledges who has made or given any clothing she may be wearing . . . standing solemnly in front of someone with grannIE's purple cardigan telling them the buttons are 'la'ybux, grannIE's laybux.' both andrew and i are amazed at her capacity to remember so clearly and accurately - even when we arrived at the apartment in brussels, where we had stayed last year for 3 weeks, she went unerringly up the passage and in the door of the room in which we had stayed, announcing that it was 'mines woom' - altho she was only 8 months old when we were here last. seems to me that we consistently underrate kids' abilities, to our own detriment . . . well, i do at least. but, i AM learning . . . with amelia's willing and forceful assistance :)
Castlemania
The first should be called 'la travisparta' - and shows the window from which Amelia put on her impromptu concert - it is one of the windows in the great hall, adjacent to where the marischal and his good lady wife lived - above the kitchens with the enormous enormous ovens, and the brewery where all the beer was made - they didn't drink water, but instead ale - at breakfast, lunch, dinner and in between. No tea or coffee for the underlings either, too darned expensive. Just beer is all. And the odd nip of uiske bagh I am SURE. (I am not frowning BTW, just struggling with the extremely strong sunlight that saw Andrew and I suffering from a headache the following day . . . no wonder far-northern scots have those long rather arrow-slitty eyes!!!) If you look closely you will see that Amelia is in fact singing, while chowing down on a piece of leftover chicken from lunch - carefully wrapped in a navy blue serviette and placed handily in my han(dy)bag . . .
We call the next one, 'taking the plunge', as Amelia's Dadda stops her from plummeting off the edge of the historic ruins after climbing up helter skelter. She simply LOVED climbing up the winding staircases that ended in nothing, and back down them again . . . with a parent or Krystal in hot pursuit, and giggling fit to bust.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
amelia + bouncy castle + the shoreline
this is only a short clip, but the whole castle visit consisted of such short mad runs . . . the reactions of the asian tourists are typical btw. perhaps it is the tights, or the fat little legs, or the very solemn but whistle-stop conversations she has with them regarding her current activity? the second one is a quick glimpse of the glorious shoreline at Stonehaven, and of course the lovely Krystal Simpson who was amelia's adoptee of the day. we were to hear phrases like "my krysel cawwy 'melia", "my krysel hole mines hand" , "mine krysel kuddle me throughout the entire trip. you can also see malcom and dionne simpson in the 2nd clip. malcolm became mines maccum, and dionne became dinanna (and then andrew bevan was remembered as well, because he was with dinanna last time we saw her). that MEMORY!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
whey hey and bouncy castles
amelia is very fond of bouncy castles. you know, the big blow up jobbies that kids climb and slide and, yes, jump on. so when we arrived in Stonehaven (in aberdeenshire) yesterday, and announced that we were off to see a castle she immediately decided it was one of the bouncy variety - the only kind she knew up until yesterday!
it was a 2 1/2 mile walk, part of this across unfenced cliff paths, so we took it easy, her being carried (under sufferance) where no fences exist. andrew, the carrier, and krystal simpson, her nominated person for the day (she adopts people she meets, and then tugs them around by hand to do her bidding) were regaled with details of bouncy castles she has experienced, and all their nuances. by the time we got to the steep steps down from the cliff face, it had been established that THIS bouncy castle was a d'frent one, and that she would not have to take her shoes off for the visit. as we reached gate of the castle, having climbed UP a set of steep steps, amelia took immediately to the stoneclad buildings, running happily in and out of the powder magazine, garrison quarters, kitchens, whigs gallery (see link for history) and the rest. http://www.dunnottarcastle.co.uk
up and down every stone staircase, including ones that ended abruptly where the walls had crumbled, into every nook and cranny, no matter how dark or pokey, calling us in with her. across the verdant green centre lawn, and across to the chapel and main quarters of the family - she marked the end of her visit by perching in a ruined window, overlooking the well and silver-room, eating leftover chicken coujons from lunch, and raucously singing baa baa black sheep to the people milling around below, much to their amusement. we have never sen her respond so vigorously to a building before; perhaps it was the scale, or its proximity to her self-named 'big sea', the many rabbits we saw en-route, or the labyrinthine nature of the place, but it was a source of great delight to her, and thus to us, and the other visitors who experienced much hilarity seeing the little blighter enjoy herself so very much.
she even got to bounce, bless her cotton socks. she shot into a stable with andrew, dark and airless as it was, and gaily held his hand while she bounced to her heart's content on the hard granite floor. the trip home across the cliffs was followed by a few packets of crisps and some good old single malt whisky at an inn established in 1771, although she got limited to water!
up and down every stone staircase, including ones that ended abruptly where the walls had crumbled, into every nook and cranny, no matter how dark or pokey, calling us in with her. across the verdant green centre lawn, and across to the chapel and main quarters of the family - she marked the end of her visit by perching in a ruined window, overlooking the well and silver-room, eating leftover chicken coujons from lunch, and raucously singing baa baa black sheep to the people milling around below, much to their amusement. we have never sen her respond so vigorously to a building before; perhaps it was the scale, or its proximity to her self-named 'big sea', the many rabbits we saw en-route, or the labyrinthine nature of the place, but it was a source of great delight to her, and thus to us, and the other visitors who experienced much hilarity seeing the little blighter enjoy herself so very much.
she even got to bounce, bless her cotton socks. she shot into a stable with andrew, dark and airless as it was, and gaily held his hand while she bounced to her heart's content on the hard granite floor. the trip home across the cliffs was followed by a few packets of crisps and some good old single malt whisky at an inn established in 1771, although she got limited to water!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
glaswegian adventuress
glasgow suits amelia. well,all of scotland really. from the stag's head in the pub across the road from our hotel (one of those basement pubs at the bottom of a huge georgian terrace house), which - after terrifying the nappies off her for a little while, is now ok because it has, as she keeps telling people we meet, including the chinese takeaway venor, "s'got no legs - can't run - can't cash amelia, scawes amelia", to the dilapidated playground in kelvin grove park, where amidst sweeping elm and oak trees, beneath the towering gothic spires of the university and museum, and the loud bellows of her genetically similar playmates, to the snug, tiny, darkwooded whisky bar (no pun intended), where she went to sleep while rich scots accents flowed around us and her parents indulged in special beverages of the aged and single malted variety . . .
she likes the big black taxis that her whole stroller fits into, and the double decker buses that rumble their way through the broad streets.
she likes the wind that lifts her nearly off her feet as she collects 'a leaf, anuvver one leaf, ANUVVER one leaf', to take home to her daddy.
and she likes the squirrels that run up to her stroller, hoping to be fed, and that take any food at all straight from your hands - although we didn't tell her the effect of the chocolate coated coffee bean i gave one last night (it was the only food scrap we had - for once a quick whip around under the stroller cushion garnered NOTHING! usually it is good for a half loaf of bread, packet or three of raisins, and a small bag of rice bubbles). he DID sit straight down and start eating it tho, so hopefully the chocolate delight will make up for the caffeine kick that soon ensued.
there's an energy about the place that suits her - shouting voices and loud loud laughter, and piercing looks and smiles from complete strangers. and small muscly bodies packed full of vigour, ready to launch into some physical endeavour.
its almost like she kind of belongs here . . .
we took a walk to 466 St Vincents Terrace last night, where her great grandad used to live. the house has gone, taken down to make way for a road. but it felt right strolling across the piece of ground upon which it originally stood with her in the stroller, wild wind whipping around us, and the lights in the houses glowing dull in the darkening evening. back to one part of where it all started.
she likes the big black taxis that her whole stroller fits into, and the double decker buses that rumble their way through the broad streets.
she likes the wind that lifts her nearly off her feet as she collects 'a leaf, anuvver one leaf, ANUVVER one leaf', to take home to her daddy.
and she likes the squirrels that run up to her stroller, hoping to be fed, and that take any food at all straight from your hands - although we didn't tell her the effect of the chocolate coated coffee bean i gave one last night (it was the only food scrap we had - for once a quick whip around under the stroller cushion garnered NOTHING! usually it is good for a half loaf of bread, packet or three of raisins, and a small bag of rice bubbles). he DID sit straight down and start eating it tho, so hopefully the chocolate delight will make up for the caffeine kick that soon ensued.
there's an energy about the place that suits her - shouting voices and loud loud laughter, and piercing looks and smiles from complete strangers. and small muscly bodies packed full of vigour, ready to launch into some physical endeavour.
its almost like she kind of belongs here . . .
we took a walk to 466 St Vincents Terrace last night, where her great grandad used to live. the house has gone, taken down to make way for a road. but it felt right strolling across the piece of ground upon which it originally stood with her in the stroller, wild wind whipping around us, and the lights in the houses glowing dull in the darkening evening. back to one part of where it all started.
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