There is so much going on in the life of the Dongurigal family, that I don't quite know where to begin. Some of what I want to say is unbloggable, at least for now, some of it is just plain boring unless you want to hear all about what it's like to paint a bedroom and keep a one-year-old entertained, at the same time, and some of it is just forgotten, a thought or situation that should have made it to these cyber pages but just didn't.
Which reminds me, before I forget, I love finding new parks in Asnières sur Seine, the suburb of Paris where our apartment is. Most are small and compact, but perfect for an exploring toddler. Today, Hubs, Sproglette and I found one by accident next to a grocery store I sometimes shop at. It was rectangular--about one full block lengthwise and about 10 metres wide. Next to it was a dog run, a walled and gated patch of sand with poles sticking out at intervals, I guess so that the dogs can race around and in between them.
Like the streets in these parts, the dog run was full of shit, too. Talk about an obstacle course.
Plastic bags, people, plastic bags. Poor dogs.
In other bloggable Dongurigal news:
Sproglette continues to say, yell, query, discuss, or demand Hoo-zaaaa. She's now saying Hooooooozzzzz Tha? I'm so proud of her pronunciation of the TH sound, her little tongue sticking out between her teethhhhhh as she speaks, and, uh, honey, you can put your tongue back in now.
Everything and everyone is still a Hooooozzzzz Tha? When she points to something she can't reach, she says Hoooooozzzz Tha? If we hand her the wrong thing, she flings it away and points again and says, louder, more insistantly, Hoooooooooooooozzzzzzzzzz THA? If we hand her yet again the wrong thing, she has a Hooooooozzzzzz THA? meltdown during which she cries Hooooz Tha? over and over again until we figure out what it is she wants.
It would be really funny if she weren't so distraught.
Who am I kidding? It is really funny.
The other day, after I had finally shaved my legs and armpits (a clear sign that my Doha Depression has lifted) I stood naked in the bedroom and said to Hubs, taa daaaaaa, see how silky smooth I am again. Sproglette toddled up to me, stuck her finger in my 'most-definitely-not-a-Brazilian' and demanded HOOOOOOOOOOZ THA? To which Hubs, who speaks a dialect of Hooz tha? called Mumble Grumble, dutifully translated, 'You forgot to shave your bird, Mom.'
Sproglette looked very concerned. Obviously Hubs' translation was spot on.
Speaking of my Doha Depression, it is gone. It was gone as soon as I looked down on our apartment building during take off. I felt nothing as we passed over it. No sense of loss. No sadness. No nostalgia. I still feel nothing. It's as if I never lived there. But I did. And I suffered. And Sproglette kept me sane, even when she made me insane.
It's late now, nearly 11:10. Sproglette is teething, her right cheek is all red. It's going to be a long night of soothing and cuddling, so I should probably go to bed while she's temporarily asleep.
Good night.
Wow, I logged on expecting to here about frigid winters in Saskatoon and instead it's dog poo in France, one adventure to another for you guys, huh? ;P
Glad to hear you got the Doha dundrums out and are all ready for the madness of a teething baby!
Posted by: heather | February 03, 2009 at 07:01 AM