This is going to be a highly upset post about the card game ‘Dirty Pig’, which my son, Walter (10 ys), saw in his best friend’s home, and so we also needed to buy for home.
In a nutshell, you win the game if you can the sooner achieve the following:- make all 4 of your pigs dirty- build them a house each- supply the houses with doors that can be closed – in order to prevent the neighbour farmer (game opponent, for the ease let’s call her ‘mama’) enter the house with a big hose making your pigs clean.
And here is The Thing.
I am sitting with my sparkling clean piglets team nicely satisfied, all have houses with all fullextra appliances, still my son wins unexpectedly, what could go wrong??
‘Sparking clean’.I have cleaned my son’s piglets as much as I could, but in the meanwhile forgot to make my own friends muddy.
And that’s totally unfair!
The fact that I, as parent, being duly conditioned for many years of parenthood for making things ‘corrected’, ‘back in order’, ‘CLEAN’ suddenly need to make things DIRTY, which is UNclean, UNorderly, UNgood. … And that just proves to be fully incomprehensible for my mother mind.
Of course it’s easy for my son to win games aiming at making things dirty – this is his main profile, for God’s sake! Years of experience, in possession of all the existing know-how!
I am planning to make a petition towards the EU as never ever have I encountered such severe discrimination in the game industry.
Equal rights for parents!
When my husband makes a song hit (disco version) from the names of his business partners – well, then I know that he has been homeofficing with the children around for slightly longer than he would naturally wish for.
My son – reading out to me from his favourite book – last night.
Under the seemingly peaceful surface I pay close attention..
Breakfast – incl. salty-caramel chocolate – served in bed by my son (10 ys) this morning.
An additional strong argument for having children (costs well exceeded by benefits).
Recently I have visited a conference in Leuven University, Belgium.
From this fact and the quality of presentations I immediately concluded that one of our children should definitely come here to study.
I immediately started to contemplate which one of them should be The One, during which process I analysed highly scientific factors.
Among them the most relevant argument seems to be that the University is situated approx. 2 kms from the railway station, which distance needs to be covered completely on cobblestone, and that, on a daily basis, is really challenging on high heels, so it should be our son, Walter.
At the same time, if one of you is aware of a university which can be accessed on a smooth surface, please let me know, as apart from our 10-yr old son, I also feel like deciding on the future of my 13-yr-old daughter, is preferably still today.
Our son (10): ‘Mama, I’ve heard a word and don’t know what it means.’
Me: ‘Which word is that?’
If a woman doesn’t want to have a child, she goes to a hospital, and the doctors, with an operation, take the baby out of her tummy, when the baby is very very very small, months before it would be born.’
He (heavily thinking): ‘Take out?’
He: ‘But… then the doctors need to do it very very carefully to make sure the baby doesn’t get hurt..’
Ok. A topic maybe for later.
I am watching a TV program about how Roquefort is made. Our son (10) joins in.
He: ‘What are they doing?’
He: ‘Oh, Cheeses Christ!’
We told our daughter (13) she is free to choose a.ny.thing to be the family program for today..
Our daughter (13): ‘Mama, this morning you look sooo young!’
Me (moderately happy for the compliment): ‘It’s maybe because I am not old.’
My husband: ‘I totally agree. Children, please more respect to Master Yoda ….eeehm I mean Mama..’
Our son (10) brings home his school report.
He: ‘To sum it up, I have received top scores from basically all subjects, except for ‘free discussion’, from which I got a 3 in a scale of 5.’
Me: ‘How come?’
He: ‘Some of my classmates receive better scores, but they talk about all kinds of pointless blabla, while I only speak when I have something to say.’
Me: ‘But when is this class? Morning or during the day? And what are the topics? And you have to prepare? And..’
He: ‘I have said everything about this subject.’
Me: ‘Ok, I think I get it.’
Me (to my 13-yr-old daughter): ‘Can you remind me, please, what the Dutch verb ‘verwennen’ means? I forgot..’
She: ‘It means e.g. when parents pamper their children, do everything for them..’
Me: ‘Ah, now I start to understand. But ‘pamper/do everything for them’ – you mean in the positive or negative sense?’
She: ‘From whose perspective?’
Our son (10) comes home today, giving me an envelope from school. I ask him to open it, he starts to read it out:
‘Oh, it’s about vacation!!’
(Note: vacation in Dutch – ‘vakantie’)
He (surprised): ‘..Only they spelt it with double ‘c’ instead of a ‘k’..’
Me: ‘Hmm, could you show me for a second? …. Ah, I see… it is not a spelling mistake: the 1st ‘c’ in this word you pronounce as a ‘k’ in most languages..’
He: ‘Oh nooooooooooo!!!!’
I just love multiculturalism.
On Sunday I had a discussion with a papa, whose daughter goes for chess in the same club with my son. The man is originating from India, and we often see each other in the cafeteria.
He: ‘Are you Flemish? I can’t tell – you look like one, but you speak English here..’
Me: ‘I am Hungarian. ..Were you already born in Belgium?’
He: ‘No, still back in India. So, Hungary…well, sorry, all I know of the country is that it has its own unique language, and used to belong to the communist block…’
Me: ‘No worries. In exchange, all we know about India is that it is 1 country…a nice big country, though..’
He: ‘That’s right. The size of Europe. I, for example, have never been in our capital.. I see you are also a fan of clichés.. ‘
Me: ‘Absolutely. Anyway, what do you work in Belgium?’
He: ‘I am a space engineer, working for the European Space Agency.’
Me: ‘Oh, you must then be frequently visiting the Mars.’
He: ‘Not so often any more, I don’t have much free time, so only at the weekends. Where do you work?’
Me: ‘At a bankinsurer.’
He: ‘Then you must be terribly rich!’
Me: ‘ Oh, don’t even mention. We’ve just recently changed at home our gas heating for burning paper – in order to get rid of the piles of banknotes.’
He: ‘Okay, I see chess has finished, the children are returning. Continue next Sunday?’
Me: ‘Fine, see you next Sunday.’
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..’
Rotterdam, family trip into a museum of modern arts.
My son (10) (within 15 mins): ‘Can’t we by chance visit a museum, where the exhibited objects more resemble the labels next to them?’
We have an acquaintance – a kind lady in her 60s, she leads a very sporty life, and cares about her appearance in every respect – of which she is rather proud.
At this moment she is trying to chitchat with our little son.
Sporty Lady (sending an encouraging smile): ‘And, Walter, can you guess how old I am?’
Walter (carefully studying her before giving an answer): ’80?’
Walter is a charmeur.
Me (to my 13-yr-old daughter):
‘Didn’t we agree on that you would be busy with maths this afternoon?’
She: ‘Depends on how you define ‘maths’. I am working on squared paper..’
Always define them accurately.
Our daughter, Noëmi (13), this morning travels to Amsterdam, NL, with her music school class to watch a famous musical. The children need to be delivered to the school bus by 10 o’clock (the meeting place is located 15 min from our home by bike).
Now you need to know that Noëmi is not that nervous type.
9.22 – She has already put on one of her socks
9.28 – And now the other one
9.34 – ..Pardon, it was too early to be so self-confident. True, she has started to put on her other sock – which process was then dramatically interrupted by other Activities of Higher Priority, such as an incoming chat message, the patterns on her socks, remembering a funny story having happened 3.5 years ago, a piece of interesting-shape dust on the ceiling..
9.40 – She finally starts to have breakfast
9.44 – ..No, correction: it’s more accurate to say that ‘she sat down next to her plate’.
I, like some high-ranking military training instructor, give her reminders ranging tone from the ‘soft & friendly’ to the ‘loud & powerful’ in all imaginable styles and genres.
My daughter in the meanwhile is kindly asking about my workplace, how things go there, and is giving me some coaching wherever she feels it imperative. She seems to be ready not only to consume her 2-course breakfast within the remaining 35 seconds, but also to address all issues of her mother’s employer.
9.49 – She starts to brush teeth.
We, parents, encourage her tooth-by-tooth.
9.52 – She gets enthusiastic:
‘Mama, papa, this school trip will be such an exciting experience!!’
My husband (in a somber tone):
’My Dearest Daughter, apart from you for all other family members already your leaving home is rather an exciting experience.’
Ps 1: The label on her T-shirt is a summary of her CV.
Ps 2: From among experiencing the above and reporting about it in my blog, it was the latter one being the more fun.
One evening I am watching TV with the children, snuggling together on the sofa.
Walter (10) (emotionally):
‘Mama, you will always be invited to my birthday party..’
Noëmi (13) (emotionally):
‘Mama, you will always be allowed to use my mobile phone charger..’
My daughter (13) – ‘dressed to the weekly laundry’ she claims..
Our daughter (13) to her young brother:
‘OF COURSE I did not lose it – I just can’t remember momentarily where I put it.
– Noëmi, a Belgian-Hungarian teenager, 2 seconds before leaving to school this morning, patiently explaining to her mama the location of her bike key.
On the way home we see an educative poster on one of the street walls of Antwerp:
‘Dear doggy, please don’t take pee here’.
Our son (10): ‘It is very kind of them that they also think of dogs who can read..’
Our daughter (13): ‘Papa, would you take a photo of me with your mobile phone, so I can see how these trousers look on me?’
My husband: ‘Let me guess: the battery of the mirror is flat again..’
I’ve just found back an email: my announcement from 3 years ago made to the parents of our son’s class:
‘Parents of children from 2nd grade – attention attention!
Walter (7ys) invited yesterday already some of his friends for his birthday party in December.
The invitations were perfectly made, only the date, time and location is missing from some of them.
Plus he couldn’t exactly tell who he has already invited.
If you happen to see a mysterious invitation card where – with a bit of luck – the name is indicated, please let me know, and you will receive some additional irrelevant details. Have a nice day all!
Our son, Walter’s (10) birthday party takes place this afternoon in a playhouse. A lot of toys, pancake and other inevitable ingredients foreseen.
Walter (last night before going to bed, slightly worried):
‘Papa, what would happen if I became ill by tomorrow? All has been organised and been paid..’
My husband: ‘We would solve it Walter, do not worry.’
Walter: ‘Hurraaay!! You are the best papa!’
My husband: ‘..As I said we would solve it. We would look for another boy aged 10, named Walter, and go for the party..’
Hungarian grandma calling her grandson in Belgium:
‘What would you like for Christmas?’
He (10): ‘A Monopoly!’
Grandma: ‘But I remember you have already such a board game at home..’
He: ‘The Hungarian version is much better.’
Grandma (touched by this 2nd generation nationalism): ‘Better, right? You also prefer the things which are from your motherland..’
He: ‘Yes! In the Hungarian Monopoly we don’t pay tax..’
The definition of a ‘nice afternoon’ for me is definitely reading together with my son back to back – he his Dutch contemporary literature, and I, mine.
Ps: let me call attention on the fact that I dressed to the front colour of the book.
Men should have s-o-m-e style after all – for God’s sake..
If Saturday, it is table tennis lesson for my daughter.
It’s me biking with her to the training.
Suddenly, on our way, I realise that she is wearing the wrong shoes (black street footwear instead of sporty ones), so I suggest her to play bare footed today (as 2nd best option).
She (studying my outfit): ‘Or, mama, as you are wearing your white sneakers, maybe to simply change shoes for the training..’
Me (patronisingly): ‘Creative idea, Sweetheart, indeed, but of course there is no way our sizes match..’
The photo is taken of me already on the bench.
My son, Walter (10) – we moved to Belgium when he was 2 – informed me today that he thinks I do not pronounce his first name correctly.
I honestly apologized him saying I only gave birth to him – producing Dutch ‘w’ apparently takes a more qualified person.
He reassured me it was not a breaking point in our relation.
Last night I was home alone with the children (my husband being abroad for work).
With my son (10) we are watching videos by Queen on YouTube.
Me (showing him the below photos): ‘..And so he was Freddie Mercury.’
He (carefully studying the pictures): ‘They must have been very good friends, since they are together on a lot of photos.’
Me: ‘In fact, that gentleman was his love.’
He (truly surprised): ‘That other man with the moustache?’
Me: ‘Yep. It happens.’
It’s good to be loved so much.’
That’s it, basically.
On the way to school this morning with my 10-yr-old son:
He: ‘Mama, when we get to the school, could you pls take home one of my toys? Once I brought it in the class and it’s still there..’
Me: ‘Sure, no prob.’
Always specify them on time.
My husband (during morning preparations): ‘Noëmi, go down please to the living room, but first dress up all by yourself, and then have something for breakfast which is not biscuits, but preferably something healthy.’
Noëmi (13) turning her eyes towards the ceiling in despair): ‘So many unpleasant news, and the day has just started..’
Last night, visiting the children’s room to check if everything is peaceful. Well, Walter, our son (10), isn’t. He cannot get to sleep.
Walter: ‘I need to ask something. What if our shower once breaks down?’
Me (not a bit raising my eyebrows that this is an issue that we need to address at 21.30 without further delay):
‘It won’t. Our bathroom is new, together with the shower – all accessories in excellent health.’
Walter (not less concerned): ‘But once it does break down when I am a grandpa – what shall I do then?’
Me: ‘You are the planning type, right?’
Walter: ‘…or when you and papa are already dead – who shall I turn to??’
Me: ‘Okay-okay, I get it now. I promise that before I die, I will draft you a list with the most crucial phone numbers.’
Walter (with extra portion relief in his voice): ‘Very good. Thanks. I love you, mom.’
Me: ‘I love you, too.’
And with this, he fell asleep.
My son (10): ‘Mama, what did you say once again the reason was that you took MY chocolate lollipop?’
Me: ‘It’s because I love you too much. I cannot simply let all that chocolate harm your teeth.’
Walter: ‘I just can’t wait to grow up. I.will.be.a.very.caring.papa.’
One evening we are returning from the beach.
My children are quarrelling with each other – just like usual: it has been a long day, and they are cold.
But then they realise: we have a blanket with us!
And with this, we have found the basic recipe for world-peace: fewer blankets than freezing angry people.
Things are usually more simple than they might seem.