Me to my daughter: ‘You are more and more beautiful.’
She: ‘Mama, you are just complimenting on your genes.’
Our son, Walter (10), sleeps in the bedroom next to ours – we also have a common door.
This morning he asks me to dress him up (this negotiation process repeats itself every morning, by the way).
I inform him that this is unfortunately impossible – due to the fact that these moments I myself am hoping to get someone who dresses ME up.
Hearing this, he flies Hippo from his bed to ours, so Hippo will help me get dressed and so I can help Walter..
On the other hand, he himself admits he cannot rely with all this MasterPlan only on a single toy.. so he also flies Chicken, who according to the script will support Hippo in his devoted efforts to dress me up..
My husband wishes success to the mission, and – being pretty good in reading situations quickly – serves breakfast both to me and our son in bed today.
We must have changed our daughter in the hospital when she was born.
Yesterday I asked her whispering, so her brother should not hear, if she wanted some chocolate.
She answered she’d rather go for a carrot.
Clearly no genetic link.
A regular Sunday evening home – each member of our family communicating in his/her own temper.
Me (exhausted): ‘I’ve been suspecting for a while that our children have inherited some secret Italian genes..’
My husband: ‘I would love to talk to you about it only I cannot hear what you’re saying..’