In which emotional literalism meets impatient sarcasm

So Téo was a bit tired this morning after school, and by "a bit tired" I mean melting down faster than the Greenland icesheet and releasing just about as much water.

At first the melt down trigger was being stuck on a particular reading exercise in Reading Eggs, which he has to complete before he can go further. He loves all the exercises except this one, and each time it turns up we go through a few days of misery and avowals of never reading again and how this exercise is stupid and they should just take it out and I won't do it, I won't.

The problem? He has only a certain amount of time to read 15 words, and the fact of being timed sends him into a hyperventillating panic, so he doesn't read the 15 words before the time is up, and then it's I can't do it, I'll never be able to do it, I'm going to end up unloved and all alone.

So anyway, this morning there was much wailing and several failed attempts at having a nap.

And then it was time to go get Lukan.

- I want to stay heeeeere. I don't want to gooooo. I'm too tiiiiiired. I'm not comiiiing.

And so on, for many minutes, with me getting just a little impatient.

- I'm hungreeeee. I need something to eeeeat.

Now, he had eaten breakfast, he had eaten a snack at school, and he had eaten a snack upon getting home from school. Plus, the Lukan pick-up takes 15 minutes. 20 minutes max.

- No, we'll have lunch when we get back.

- But I can't waaaiiit.

- Well, I'll guess we'll just have to risk you starving.

Whereupon his eyes grew huge and somehow even more liquid, he looked at me in horror, and then, in an Academy Award®-winning performance for melodrama, he sunk to the floor in complete and abject misery, howling...

- YOU WANT ME TO DIEEEEEEEE!

Same thing, different experience

This morning in the vineyards...

- It's too cool, the jump. It hurts our bottoms when we land, but it's really fun!

- Waaaahhhhhhh!!! I don't like it, de jump. I don't like de snow. Go home right now!

How not to get a babysitting job in 4 easy steps

1. Start the interview by saying My brother's kids hit me once, so I hit them back.

2. Tap a 2-year-old on the butt and then say What are you still doing in nappies?

3. Tell the same 2-year-old he's not a baby and so shouldn't be sucking his thumb.

4. Tell the parents how much you love kids, while simultaneously ignoring the 2-year-old who has, for the first time since you've arrived, come to you to show you a toy.

Whispers but no songs

The other day, Téo was given a cowrie shell and instructed to put it to his ear.

I can hear the sea mummy!

...

But why can't I hear any mermaids?

Au revoir et merci

On December 28, C's maternal grandmother, Violette, passed away. She would have been 88 in February.

She'd been getting weaker for a while, and over the past couple of years we've seen her more inside a hospital than out. She fell asleep, a long sleep for several days, and then quietly stopped living.

But even if her death was not completely unexpected, it's hard to believe I'll never see her again. Hard to believe the grand-maman we visited before leaving - dressed and wearing her jewelry, who greeted us happily, who wished us merry Christmas and a safe journey, who kissed us goodbye - is no longer here.

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I am very unaccepting of death - my own in particular. And I frankly recoil at the idea of my body still existing once my brain is dead. I don't like the idea of being a lifeless piece of meat and bone and fat, orifices plugged, handled by who knows who, stored in the morgue until disposal.

My favoured manner of death is atomisation. Death and body disposal neatly taken care of at the same time. Although, the necessary nuclear explosion is probably a little unfair to everyone else.

Being deep frozen in liquid nitrogen and then shattered to pieces also appeals to me. I guess though there'd need to be a drying step in there somewhere, so that on melting I'd be dust and not goo.

Burning, I'm not really so keen on.

Burying, I refuse to contemplate.

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On Wednesday we went to the cemetery.

As I watched Violette's ashes being tipped into an unmarked grave in a pretty little garden, I had a moment of clarity. Of how this is what it will be for me, ashes released in front of my family. How this ending is OK, that this is how it should be.

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Au revoir Grand-maman Violette. And thank you for bringing me closer to acceptance.

The downside of an articulate toddler

I really like that Lukan is a good speaker. He can explain what he wants, he tells stories, and it's maybe the reason he rarely has tantrums.

But sometimes he's just a little too clear. Like the other day, for example.

I don't like [family member name].

Or this evening.

You annoying me mummy.

Oy oy oy.

24 hours, 16,832 km, and a hemisphere apart

The squeals are the same though.