the long way home

we had just arrived back in belgium from scotland, and amelia wanted to walk all the way home in the rain, holding her umbrella, and towing her wheelie bag . . .
she had passersby in fits.
every time she met someone who had an umbrella also, she would stop and have a serious and formal monosyllabic discussion with them about her boots (she can jump in puddles while she is wearing them apparently - the method we used to bribe her to even try a pair on), and also her umbrella and wheelie bag.

the 5 minute walk took us 35 minutes in all . . . and we were drenched, because she had our umbrella, and we couldn't fit in the stroller or under its plastic cover.

the venetian adventure

ah venice. home to ancient buildings and churches, multitudinous canals and bridges, gondoliers and cobblestones, pigeons and tortuous alleys and walkways. renowned for her elegance and beauty, history and intriguing sense of mystery . . . oh, and BOATS. did i forget to mention boats? boats SHOULD feature, apparently, in an updated tourist guide because they were amelia's favorite thing during our entire stay.

our hotel was only 20 steps away from a busy little canal, only a few meters across (and yes, amelia was either locked into the pram or tightly held the entire time we were there, and could not escape from the well secured hotel), so after eating our breakfast, we would walk to the canal and watch the garbage barge picking up the contents of the hand-pushed garbage trolleys while we stopped in at a bar at for an extra coffee before heading out and around.

because there are so many islands (around 150), no cars (and that was a BONUS with a 2yr old mad to run), and thousands and thousands of stone, brick and wooden bridges (i know, we walked over most of them!), most workers trundle their gear around on little trolleys, or in the case of the garbage, rather large lightweight trolleys with a clever wheel system (also fascinating for the short one) so that one person could get them up and over the bridges, and the barge would pick up the contents. all accomplished in a very leisurely italian manner - the garbo's had time to pick up a quick coffee at the bar, and smoke a cigarette or two and exchange some gossip while awaiting the barge, and the bargeman had a similar flexibility.

the few minutes watching the barge, sitting very still and quiet the whole time, seemed to satisfy amelia's morning sense of all things mechanical, so from there on out it was way hey and 'RUNNING dadda' . . . COBBLESTONES, and puppies', with amelia insisting on 'helping dadda' (or mumma) 'cawwy pwam' up and down each bridge we reached. very time consuming, fraught with the risk of her falling, so the adults involved had a tortuous task of making sure the stroller was guided very slowly and securely both ways. a more dangerous part of the process was the risk of falling foul of italian mothers and grandmothers, who were incensed that we were making the child do such arduous work. those of you who KNOW said child also know darn well how determined she would have been to 'help.' but i didn't have the complicated language to say 'look, she is a bloody minded forceful little munchkin, and she NEEDS to do this and will rip my leg off if i try and stop her . . .', so just smiled and shrugged. the only thing that made it easier was that many people thought she was a boy - in her blue fur coat, pink and grey hat with sparkly things on it, mauve boots, or her purple jacket with pink spots, and purple hat, and would say 'che' bello' (which means beautiful boy!), and smile indulgently. i shamelessly admit that i would not argue this one, but accepted the compliment graciously . . . when i spotted a poster showing an italian guy sporting a haircut almost identical to her own natural grown locks, labeled 'SOCCER MULLET' i realised that to most italians, she looks like a pretty boy - regardless of what she wears - and when they see the hair, that clinches it . . .

sadly, any attempt to dress her in a skirt still elicits dreadful screams and tantrums, and ends with amelia broken-heartedly sobbing her heart out face down, or flat on her back on the floor ripping said skirt straight back off again wailing, 'NO SKIRT, NO SKIRT, WANT RED TWOUSIS', and just takes too darn long to try and get through, so we don't bother, meaning that for now she will just have to keep on being a pretty boy until the rest of her hair catches up with the long bits at the back.

and lets face it, we looked WAY less strange standing watching the garbage barge go about its business with a 'bello ragazzo' in hand than a 'bella ragazza' . . . .

some things never change

a change of scenery

for the last few weeks we have been staying in a 19th century inner city apartment in brussels central - close to cafes, parks, SHOPS and the like. however, the couple so graciously sharing their space with us are newly pregnant, and keeping amelia QUIETLY entertained has been somewhat of a challenge. we go for HUGE walks each day, and play until our ears and eyes fall off and out with tiredness. trouble is that so many of the sights and sounds are new, so she ends up super stimulated as well as exhausted. i.e. travelling on a train recently, where two people across the way from us chattered away in french for the entire journey. amelia, while needing to sleep, simply stared at them and kept saying vigorously to me, "mumma, peoples TALKING, theys TALKING peoples TALKING!!! . . ." i imagine that that was a comment on the language, because she was completely intent on their faces and hand movements all the while.

however, tomorrow we are off to venice for a few days, where flight on a baby plane, the bridges, cobblestones, more bridges and a veritable plenitude of bouncy-castle-like structures will keep her amused and even more exhausted. we might even pack in a vivaldi concert as well - she rather likes his music, and there are often lovely performances in medieval churches to be had for a small entrance fee.

then, we take over an apartment in ghent, where the university at which andrew is doing his visiting professorship is based. it is a medieval city (the center), so more B.C's, and trams, cobbles galore, and a VERY WELL EQUIPPED outdoor park on the same street as our apartment. we spent a few glorious moments there on sunday while on the way to meet the landlord, and she appproved - heartily. i will take a video of amelia on the equipment, worth a watch.

we arrived at the apartment a little late and a tad flustered, but our little family fitted in well straight away. well, at least, that was amelia's take, because she immediately leapt on the beds in our room, and in her room when we were being ushered through, and then removed her socks and orange trousers in the living room, and busily set up a play scenario with her doll - putting it, and herself to bed in 'melia's bed' . . . we had explained to her that we will be staying in a different house for a little while, and that she would have her own room, and she cottoned on smartly. we said this was our new home, and that was the way she viewed it.

the landlord and wife were enchanted by her, saying she was very sweet, and also delightful. andrew and i were surprised that the sight of her brightly striped rear-end (clad in a fluoro-coloured onesie) rollicking its way across the beige leather couches and footstool in between face-plants onto a small cushion tossed off an (also beige) designery chair failed to terrify them into changing their minds. while they took us on our little tour, both he and i were earmarking the lovely, breakable and no doubt well-loved things that will be disappearing into high cupboards within seconds of our arrival.

conversations with the midget

i won't describe the sleeping parent scenario again, because this story starts almost the same way, just a little later in the morning. in fact, it was WAKE-UP time - which for amelia means sitting bolt upright and starting her day quickly.

"mummy, DOG POO."
"what, where? dog poo where sweetie?" said the mother, climbing her way out of a deep slumber.
"dog POOOOOOO. different tails. i lub puppies." (referring to a dog who looked like thomas but with a different tail - seen 3 weeks or so ago) "red twousis dadda. and SWIM PANTS. 'melia got swim pants dadda."
"erg, snurgle, mmmm . . . you have your red pants on?" the father don't wake up too easily.
"yass. had nice seep dadda? had nice dweams too?" the midget enquires tenderly, flinging one solid thigh over the side of the cot and attempting a break-out.
"i did sweetie, thank you, di YOU have a nice sleep, and nice dreams too?" the father almost always responds promptly to such solicitous questions, emotion overcoming his urgent need to catch a few more zzzzz's.
"i geddup now dadda. watch fishies?" (The Blue Planet- the latest obsession) "and ning. ning on couch wif mumma. ning and fishies guys?" . . . .

goodbye dear friend

au revoir 'uvver one andrew (bevan)'.
if only we could have told you how much amelia loved your company, and how often she has remembered you and talked about you since she last saw you; perhaps you would be with us still.

we are sad that you are not.
sleep well and sleep peacefully.
you are missed, and you are dearly loved.

visiting the king

on our final night in scotland, we took a long walk around the city, up to the top of the royal mile to edinburgh castle, where amelia wanted to go in through the entrance door. andrew reasoned with her that it was closed and that there was no one 'home', but she would not be persuaded . . . so, he offered to knock on the door (a little wooden one set into the drawbridge itself), and did so tapping quietly. amelia insisted he knock louder, which he did, and BOTH were very surprised when the door creaked open and two men stood there; one saying 'helloooo' in a very broad accent, and the other, a policeman, walking past her and waving while grinning broadly. apparently they had been watching A and a on cctv, and decided to give her a wee thrill.
we told her that the king himself had opened the door, and she seemed very satisfied with that.
as with dunottar castle, she loved the medieval rooflines and cobbles and antiquated nooks and crannies of edinburgh streets, along with the braw wind that blew both around us and through us as we wended our way back down from the castle.