"You look like you're having an internal debate over this meal," I said about the perfectly innocent broccoli/macaroni-and-cheese casserole my visiting teacher brought by.
"How could you tell?" Andrew asked.
"I just saw you eyeing it as you piled your plate with salad. It's good. I don't think there's anything in here that you don't like," I assured him.
"Penso che ci potrebbe essere tonno," he said in Italian so the kids wouldn't hear his food fears.
Why you speak foreign language at me? said my I-just-had-a-baby brain.
"Tonno..." my mouth managed to echo.
"Un pesce di mare..." Andrew prompted.
Guess how many times I used that word in Italian 101. Zero. Zero times.
"Oh," I said. "Credo di no."
"Pollo?"
"La'a."
Wrong language. Whatever. He ate the casserole, which is more than I can say about the casserole we got the night before (which everyone else thought was delicious).
Tonight our neighbour brought dinner over and part of that dinner was a fruit salad with cantaloupe in it.
"Mom, what is this?" Benjamin wanted to know.
"It's cantaloupe," I said. "You can't elope without a ladder."
"What?" asked the girls.
"It's a play on words," I explained to the girls.
This opened up a lengthy conversation about marriage and elopements and how it's even possible to have babies without being married first. Benjamin's questions were the cutest thought.
"When I grow up can I get married?" he asked.
"Yes, you may," I said.
"With you?" he asked.
"Probably not, buddy," I said.
"Oh, did you get married?" he asked glumly.
"I did," I said.
"With me?" he asked hopefully.
"Not to you," I said.
"Then who?" he asked.
"Guess," I said.
"Ummmm...Zoë?"
"Not Zoë."
"The ceiling fan?"
"Not the ceiling fan."
"The clock?"
"Not the clock."
"Okay. I'm just trying to think about this. Hmmmm..."
"Take your time."
"Mommy married Daddy!!!" the girls chimed in.
"Daddy?" Benjamin asked incredulously.
Yes. Daddy. Wonderful Daddy.
Daddy had to run off to a meeting at the school just then so as he walked out the door I called out, "Ciao bello!"
"What does that mean?" the girls asked.
"Well, you know what ciao means," I said.
"Hello or goodbye," Rachel said.
"Yes. Now what does bello sound like? Anything familiar?"
"Yes!" Rachel said. "It sounds like what a pony would sound like if that pony were pregnant with another pony and the pony inside was kicking a lot."
I kind of see where she was going with that—like, maybe all that kicking would cause momma pony to bellow. But it was so far from any answer I was expecting I hardly knew what to say. So I said, "Uhhhh...no. But does it sound like belle?"
"Oh! Beautiful!" Rachel exclaimed when she put two and two together. "But why would you call Dad beautiful?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.
"We wouldn't translate it as beautiful in English," I said. "What would we say?"
"Handsome!" she said.
"That's right. But in Italian men are bello and women are bella. In English we usually say handsome and beautiful."
"How could you tell?" Andrew asked.
"I just saw you eyeing it as you piled your plate with salad. It's good. I don't think there's anything in here that you don't like," I assured him.
"Penso che ci potrebbe essere tonno," he said in Italian so the kids wouldn't hear his food fears.
Why you speak foreign language at me? said my I-just-had-a-baby brain.
"Tonno..." my mouth managed to echo.
"Un pesce di mare..." Andrew prompted.
Guess how many times I used that word in Italian 101. Zero. Zero times.
"Oh," I said. "Credo di no."
"Pollo?"
"La'a."
Wrong language. Whatever. He ate the casserole, which is more than I can say about the casserole we got the night before (which everyone else thought was delicious).
Tonight our neighbour brought dinner over and part of that dinner was a fruit salad with cantaloupe in it.
"Mom, what is this?" Benjamin wanted to know.
"It's cantaloupe," I said. "You can't elope without a ladder."
"What?" asked the girls.
"It's a play on words," I explained to the girls.
This opened up a lengthy conversation about marriage and elopements and how it's even possible to have babies without being married first. Benjamin's questions were the cutest thought.
"When I grow up can I get married?" he asked.
"Yes, you may," I said.
"With you?" he asked.
"Probably not, buddy," I said.
"Oh, did you get married?" he asked glumly.
"I did," I said.
"With me?" he asked hopefully.
"Not to you," I said.
"Then who?" he asked.
"Guess," I said.
"Ummmm...Zoë?"
"Not Zoë."
"The ceiling fan?"
"Not the ceiling fan."
"The clock?"
"Not the clock."
"Okay. I'm just trying to think about this. Hmmmm..."
"Take your time."
"Mommy married Daddy!!!" the girls chimed in.
"Daddy?" Benjamin asked incredulously.
Yes. Daddy. Wonderful Daddy.
Daddy had to run off to a meeting at the school just then so as he walked out the door I called out, "Ciao bello!"
"What does that mean?" the girls asked.
"Well, you know what ciao means," I said.
"Hello or goodbye," Rachel said.
"Yes. Now what does bello sound like? Anything familiar?"
"Yes!" Rachel said. "It sounds like what a pony would sound like if that pony were pregnant with another pony and the pony inside was kicking a lot."
I kind of see where she was going with that—like, maybe all that kicking would cause momma pony to bellow. But it was so far from any answer I was expecting I hardly knew what to say. So I said, "Uhhhh...no. But does it sound like belle?"
"Oh! Beautiful!" Rachel exclaimed when she put two and two together. "But why would you call Dad beautiful?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.
"We wouldn't translate it as beautiful in English," I said. "What would we say?"
"Handsome!" she said.
"That's right. But in Italian men are bello and women are bella. In English we usually say handsome and beautiful."
That was priceless! Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteI did NOT expect the pony comment. I'm still laughing about that.
ReplyDeleteOh Lordy, I do not know if I could handle bringing dinner to Andrew :) I made dinner for a girl in my mops group twice this month. The first night I took her this Crunch Asian Chicken Salad...although nothing was mixed. It was a bag of shredded cabbage, a bag of chicken, a bag of noodles, a bag of mandarin oranges, a bag of sliced green onions, a bag of sliced almonds and then the dressing was in a jar. I figured that way people could make it the way they wanted it. She told me later that week that she loved eating it all week because she had tons of leftovers because her husband hates salad. I was like, "Ok!" The next week I made her a lasagna and just threw a can of greenbeans in the bag because I was like seriously no point in making an effort for that guy. She came up yesterday at a play group to tell me what she thought about the meal...apparently it was a hit but I was like, "Please don't share anymore info with me." I already get seriously stressed about cooking for other people. Jason says I'm overly sensitive about it. As for Andrew he hates like 2/3 of the meats I eat ;) I like that a melon discussion lead to a conversation about conception outside of marriage. Haha!
ReplyDeleteEven I don't like cooking meals for Andrew. :) But I like when people cook meals for me because then I get to eat things he doesn't like.
DeleteAt least Andrew helps with the cooking--I like that part!
DeleteYes, he does do a lot of the cooking (partially to keep meals in his safe zone). But he's great about getting things I like (watermelon and avocados and stuff like that) and usually encourages the kids to try new-for-him things that I like even if he doesn't understand how they can even swallow. :)
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