Potty takes Quebec
Jul. 6th, 2004 11:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
la_rainetteSo. Patty got it right. The main, bulky item (apart from, indeed, a diaper, just in case, and a change of clothes and underwear, in the other case) featured in the giant, ugly, bright pink and cheerful Barbie Backpack was indeed: One (1) Big Blue Plastic Potty.
Now, if that cheap potty had ever been told its destiny by a fortune-teller, it wouldn't have believed it. For that potty, my friends, that potty has story to tell.
Bought in 2000 by hopeful parents in the off-chance that Froglet, then aged 1 1/2, might grasp the function of sphyncters, it was promptly transformed into a play item by a fascinated Froglet, who observed it carefully before planting it on her head and calling it a hat. But sit on it she would not, for sitting on a hat didn't make any sense. So we took it away again, hid it, and there we lose its trace for a while.
We do know that it later crossed the Atlantic, probably by boat (by that time, we had realized that we might have to wait until Froglet could actually spell sphyncter properly before she would master its use), and met us in Toronto, with most of Froglet's toys, to Froglet's utter delight.
Soon after, much chocolate was consumed by a delighted and very proud Froglet, and the potty was discarded as beneath her as she decided it was time for her to go Aux Toilettes. So much more glamorous than sur le pot. Now, as Tadpole discovers the joys of the potty, it is starting a new career as Most Important Item in our household.
Potty has been to Quebec. Potty has visited the Museum of Inuit Art. Potty has climbed up the Montmorency waterfalls. Potty has been - albeit briefly - to the Montreal Jazz festival. Potty leads an exciting life.
For Tadpole does go on the potty. But only on the potty. I should add, only on her Big Blue Plastic Potty. Toilets are for grown-ups. Tadpole loves her potty.
The major advantage of this is that she doesn't care where the potty is, whether it is the washrooms of a fancy Italian restaurant (whose owner finds amusing to have a "repeat after me" learning method in the washrooms; I now know how to count from 21 to 28 in Italian, and I can also ask for the wine list and several other amusing things), or the sidewalk, where she will sit, dignified and regal like a diminutive Buddha statue, with Froglet skipping circles around her and three adults waiting on her (Husband, Papy and me), with her panties around her ankles and her dress spread around her like a flower. Should amused passers-by stop to look at her, she will stare them down with her best scowl, and if they insist, she will attempt to scream them deaf. They usually give up.
I thus get to take my own potty to the washrooms, which seems to defeat the purpose, but allows my girls to organize peeing contests (whoever pees first wins. I am the all-time loser, since I get to go last. By that time they are bored and it takes all of my powers of persuasion to convince them not to open the door before I am done).
I am pleased to say we are indeed getting somewhere with Tadpole. After a few accidents (Frantic "Do you need to go? Do you need to go?" met by a mortified silence), and a period during which she peed in morse code (one short, one long, one short, all within five minutes and I have to empty, wash and dry the potty in between, er, instalments. If there ever is a category as fastest potty washer in the Guiness book, I'm all set to apply), she seems to have gotten the hang of it. When she's having fun, she can hold for hours. When bored, she'll go on the potty every five minutes, pee 3 drops and expect her chocolate all the same.
She still insists on getting a diaper for the, er, other business, but I am in no hurry as I am now confident she will go to the toilet like eveyone else before starting university. Good job, Tadpole.
I love my family. We have such fun moments together - not all the time, of course, but sometimes I laugh so hard I fear my jaws will come unhinged.
Quebec is a beautiful, beautiful city, and the many carriages cirling the old town where too tempting for my little ones: a carriage we had to take. We were halfway through our little trip when it started to rain. "ooo", Froglet exclaimed, "it's like a shower outside!" Indeed it was.
Now, the carriage has a half-roof, so Papy, the girls and I were protected. Which left husband on the other side, with only the winter-blanket to cover him. He put it around his shoulder (so that he looked as if his head was sprouting from a tent), and when it started to rain really hard, he grabbed one of the girls pink raincoats (they refused to wear them: we didn’t have ours, and they didn't see why we should have all the fun, running around under the rain in T-shirts and sandals) and put the hood on his head. The sleeves were flapping loose about his gloomy face, and he looked a lot like a very depressed giant pink rabbit. Japanese tourists pointed excitedly and took pictures of the wacky guy with the tiny pink raincoat on his head. Husband waved somberly, and we laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Back in the Hotel room, the girls were bored and decided to experiment. We found them trying to make Winnie the Pooh fly by tying their little balloons to his arms, then throwing him up :D . Husband - the scientist - then decided to help them in their endeavours and they unsuccessfully tried to make several things fly. All they could do was make a tiny chocolate package (that they had emptied beforehand, thanks to The Potty) stand up. "Wow", Froglet observed, "it would take one thousand ballons to make me fly!" :D
And Tadpole's best sentence of the week: "Never, and never, and never, and never, and never. Always, always never.
:D
Now, if that cheap potty had ever been told its destiny by a fortune-teller, it wouldn't have believed it. For that potty, my friends, that potty has story to tell.
Bought in 2000 by hopeful parents in the off-chance that Froglet, then aged 1 1/2, might grasp the function of sphyncters, it was promptly transformed into a play item by a fascinated Froglet, who observed it carefully before planting it on her head and calling it a hat. But sit on it she would not, for sitting on a hat didn't make any sense. So we took it away again, hid it, and there we lose its trace for a while.
We do know that it later crossed the Atlantic, probably by boat (by that time, we had realized that we might have to wait until Froglet could actually spell sphyncter properly before she would master its use), and met us in Toronto, with most of Froglet's toys, to Froglet's utter delight.
Soon after, much chocolate was consumed by a delighted and very proud Froglet, and the potty was discarded as beneath her as she decided it was time for her to go Aux Toilettes. So much more glamorous than sur le pot. Now, as Tadpole discovers the joys of the potty, it is starting a new career as Most Important Item in our household.
Potty has been to Quebec. Potty has visited the Museum of Inuit Art. Potty has climbed up the Montmorency waterfalls. Potty has been - albeit briefly - to the Montreal Jazz festival. Potty leads an exciting life.
For Tadpole does go on the potty. But only on the potty. I should add, only on her Big Blue Plastic Potty. Toilets are for grown-ups. Tadpole loves her potty.
The major advantage of this is that she doesn't care where the potty is, whether it is the washrooms of a fancy Italian restaurant (whose owner finds amusing to have a "repeat after me" learning method in the washrooms; I now know how to count from 21 to 28 in Italian, and I can also ask for the wine list and several other amusing things), or the sidewalk, where she will sit, dignified and regal like a diminutive Buddha statue, with Froglet skipping circles around her and three adults waiting on her (Husband, Papy and me), with her panties around her ankles and her dress spread around her like a flower. Should amused passers-by stop to look at her, she will stare them down with her best scowl, and if they insist, she will attempt to scream them deaf. They usually give up.
I thus get to take my own potty to the washrooms, which seems to defeat the purpose, but allows my girls to organize peeing contests (whoever pees first wins. I am the all-time loser, since I get to go last. By that time they are bored and it takes all of my powers of persuasion to convince them not to open the door before I am done).
I am pleased to say we are indeed getting somewhere with Tadpole. After a few accidents (Frantic "Do you need to go? Do you need to go?" met by a mortified silence), and a period during which she peed in morse code (one short, one long, one short, all within five minutes and I have to empty, wash and dry the potty in between, er, instalments. If there ever is a category as fastest potty washer in the Guiness book, I'm all set to apply), she seems to have gotten the hang of it. When she's having fun, she can hold for hours. When bored, she'll go on the potty every five minutes, pee 3 drops and expect her chocolate all the same.
She still insists on getting a diaper for the, er, other business, but I am in no hurry as I am now confident she will go to the toilet like eveyone else before starting university. Good job, Tadpole.
I love my family. We have such fun moments together - not all the time, of course, but sometimes I laugh so hard I fear my jaws will come unhinged.
Quebec is a beautiful, beautiful city, and the many carriages cirling the old town where too tempting for my little ones: a carriage we had to take. We were halfway through our little trip when it started to rain. "ooo", Froglet exclaimed, "it's like a shower outside!" Indeed it was.
Now, the carriage has a half-roof, so Papy, the girls and I were protected. Which left husband on the other side, with only the winter-blanket to cover him. He put it around his shoulder (so that he looked as if his head was sprouting from a tent), and when it started to rain really hard, he grabbed one of the girls pink raincoats (they refused to wear them: we didn’t have ours, and they didn't see why we should have all the fun, running around under the rain in T-shirts and sandals) and put the hood on his head. The sleeves were flapping loose about his gloomy face, and he looked a lot like a very depressed giant pink rabbit. Japanese tourists pointed excitedly and took pictures of the wacky guy with the tiny pink raincoat on his head. Husband waved somberly, and we laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Back in the Hotel room, the girls were bored and decided to experiment. We found them trying to make Winnie the Pooh fly by tying their little balloons to his arms, then throwing him up :D . Husband - the scientist - then decided to help them in their endeavours and they unsuccessfully tried to make several things fly. All they could do was make a tiny chocolate package (that they had emptied beforehand, thanks to The Potty) stand up. "Wow", Froglet observed, "it would take one thousand ballons to make me fly!" :D
And Tadpole's best sentence of the week: "Never, and never, and never, and never, and never. Always, always never.
:D
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no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 03:50 pm (UTC)I am between potties now, as Danae is over all that and it's not time to start with Delenn yet. NOT looking forward to it.
Re Japanese tourists taking pictures of the giant pink bunny rabbit: My mom visited Canada a couple of years ago. My mom is/was into sequins, and decorations, and just general frou-frou. She has this floor-length sweeping denim (!) jacket, with giant sequined decals appliqued all over it. Parrots, flags, whatever. She also has a cowboy hat with a huge gold and white braided band around it. She wore these two items around Canada, and Japanese tourists took pictures of her instead of national landmarks.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 04:18 pm (UTC)Sounds like quite a jacket your mom has. The tourists must havve taken her for an authentic American Indian shaman :D
no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 04:24 pm (UTC)Japanese tourists are AMAZING. I remember vividly reading Les Miserables on the steps of Le Palais Garnier and suddenly realizing that the tour group passing in front of my friend and I were taking photographs of US and not the building.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 07:27 pm (UTC)Thank you for making me laugh out loud today! Whew! *wipes tears from eyes* Good times, man.
Is it sad that the potty is more-traveled than me?
no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 09:58 pm (UTC)Wow!
Date: 2004-07-07 02:17 am (UTC)Well its recitified now... all that's left to do is trawl back a few pages to really get to grips with everything... *bounces in happiness at new friend*
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-07 10:15 pm (UTC)Anyway. Ahem. I just wanted to thank you because not being a native speaker, I am always utterly delighted to get compliments on my style. So, thank you very much. You made my day :)
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-07 10:24 pm (UTC)I think the whole "not a native speaker" thing is a cover-up. I would never have known. Your style and vocabulary is more advanced than... ahem... some US journalists. You flow and temper with aplomb, and are very humourous. I like to think that I have a nice style and can be funny when I want to be... but just reading your journal has given me pause for thought. I now aspire to write as nicely/smoothly and wittily as you.
*end praise*
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 12:54 am (UTC)Thank you. *blushes furiously again*
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 01:52 am (UTC)Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 03:00 am (UTC)You know, that is probably one of the reasons for the non-native-speaker cover-up ;) I like to mention that right away, so that when I post or comment I am not tempted to compulsively check the dictionary for each and every word I write before finally deleting the whole thing because I'm still afraid that it might sound awkward as hell. If people know I'm French, I feel slightly less self-conscious; I gather they'll chalk up any mistake I make to my status as a non-native-speaker ("poor thing, she does speak well for a foreigner, doesn't she?"), and I can let go.
I have the same problems in German: I have no accent whatsoever, so people think I am a native. Then out of my mouth comes this grammatical abomination and people look at me in that funny way they usually reserve for the mentally retarded. Ooops. So now, I tend to tell people I am French - which is a half-truth since I am half-German, but who cares. Because basically, I prefer being seen as a foreign well-educated person than as a local moron. :D
And no, I certainly do not have any tips for you. You don't need any tips. You made me laugh so hard my cheeks hurt with the baseball rules and the sad story of your favorite GI Joe. :) English humour is a wonderful thing, and you seem to have inherited a good dose of it.
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 04:34 am (UTC)An average three paragraph post of mine will also normally have several rounds of live editing done once I've actually posted. I think the winner was that early post on impossible packaging materials which I linked back to yesterday. As it stands that post is at version 29 according to the editing stats in Semagic. What was most annoying was that it took so long to write that it wasn't uploaded until the middle of the night and then I edited for ages afterwards... and those were the days when I didn't have the liberty of being able to get up at midday.
Anyway... I digress. You're not 'alf bad for a tri-lingual. I used to be able to speak a bit of German... took it to age 16 in the UK. I can still understand it when people talk it to me slowly or if I have to read it... but I can't say much anymore. That's as far as my linguistic talents go.
I prefer being seen as a foreign well-educated person than as a local moron
*nods in agreement* I often feel the same... being foreign. There's an awful language barrier down here in the South as well you know. It's like a different language really... and only after 4 years I am quite fluent... though most Southernisms still sound stupid when said with my English twang.
English humour is a wonderful thing, and you seem to have inherited a good dose of it.
Its nice to have someone truly appreciate it. I often wonder if some people actually get or even spot half the funnys I write.
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 07:05 am (UTC)As if to prove a point, I just re-read my last comment and it is with utter dispair that I proclaim it to be one of the most terribly structured pieces of writing I think I've ever put on the web. I didn't proof it much... and on re-reading to myself it sounds or reads like... ahem... a non-native speaker wrote it; but not someone who just uses non-native as a cover-up.
I especially liked/hated this bit:
I can almost hear it being said with a German lilt:
just doesn't have the same humor.
Anyway, enough about me... see what happens when someone new friends me? I get so excited that I just babble and whitter the day and night away. Not a bad thing :o)
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-08 11:53 pm (UTC)Comments are frustrating for sentence-tweakers (or any other kind of sticklers) because they cannot be edited, and deleting them just because a rather innocuous colour (pink) has become an exotic, possibly Estonian version thereof (pinjk) seems a bit extreme, so I sometimes end up commenting on my own comment too. :)
Oh, for God's sake. Have to run for Husband is home, dinner isn't ready, and I let Papy and the girls loose in a "pick your own" field of strawberries this afternoon (bad move), so I now have to figure out what to do with the 14lbs of strawberries they picked.
Well. Everybody, including the cat, will have to be put on 100% strawberry diet for a fortnight I guess.
Will hopefully have more time tomorrow - am enjoying this converstion very much, BTW, and have MUCH to say about cultural differences.
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-09 04:35 am (UTC)As for my German... I didn't claim that I translated that phrase myself... *hides* AltaVista's neat babelfish (http://world.altavista.com) did the dirty for me; though I confess, after seeing the translation, that I could have got everything apart from the word "fluent"... how ironic.
Strawberries... yum-a-licious... but only when taken with cream and champagne at Wimbledon... for £5 a punnet. *sticks pinky out as he drinks coffee* Overnight me some?
Re: Wow!
Date: 2004-07-09 06:50 pm (UTC)Babelfish did that? I am impressed. Their translations are usually inept but very funny.
:D I once went to Wimbledon during the tournament, but strictly on business so I never got to watch any tennis, and they were way behind anyway because it was raining buckets. The one thing I remember is the couple of Japanese tourists, dressed up in Wimbledonish fashionable white, stepping out into the pouring rain and sadly huddling under their black umbrella. So cute. So lost. So desperately hopeful, because it was their last day in London and they really wanted to see someone, anyone, play (they were staying at the same hotel as I was and had just checked out).
Strawberries with cream and champagne, sounds lovely.
Here, have a few with your next coffee. *hands out a few pounds of strawberries*