Just look at that sweet face, those Alfalfa freckles. Don’t you be fooled.
This is all Marnie’s fault, really. When we got here, that kid just mumbled into his navel every time we spoke to him. Now we get raspberries blown at us and the wife is called “Barney”. I can honestly say I’ve never been nice to him. Not once.
Ethan on his own is not that bad, and can actually be a decent kid, when he’s not feeling whiny. Get one of his little friends over here, though, and he turns decidedly demonic. We’ve told him that one day little ‘sis India is going to get big and clobber him, but he still loves to torture her when he has company.
Periodically, usually when we’re flat exhausted, you can expect to hear little footsteps pinging up the metal steps to our apartment. Once, just out of the shower, I thought it was Marnie coming back from Mayfair, only to find little ‘E and his friend gawking at me in my full Calvin Kleined glory. I TOLD the runt to knock when the door is closed…
Ethan is nearly six, but is still considered in pre-school here. They have yet to get through the alphabet yet, which is weird given the pressure for kids to be able to read and write before entering kindergarten back home. I’m not saying one way is better than the other, but the relaxed attitude towards early learning here certainly contrasts with the hyper-competitive “Baby Einstein” approach in the States.
This is all Marnie’s fault, really. When we got here, that kid just mumbled into his navel every time we spoke to him. Now we get raspberries blown at us and the wife is called “Barney”. I can honestly say I’ve never been nice to him. Not once.
Ethan on his own is not that bad, and can actually be a decent kid, when he’s not feeling whiny. Get one of his little friends over here, though, and he turns decidedly demonic. We’ve told him that one day little ‘sis India is going to get big and clobber him, but he still loves to torture her when he has company.
Periodically, usually when we’re flat exhausted, you can expect to hear little footsteps pinging up the metal steps to our apartment. Once, just out of the shower, I thought it was Marnie coming back from Mayfair, only to find little ‘E and his friend gawking at me in my full Calvin Kleined glory. I TOLD the runt to knock when the door is closed…
Ethan is nearly six, but is still considered in pre-school here. They have yet to get through the alphabet yet, which is weird given the pressure for kids to be able to read and write before entering kindergarten back home. I’m not saying one way is better than the other, but the relaxed attitude towards early learning here certainly contrasts with the hyper-competitive “Baby Einstein” approach in the States.
Note: As I prepare to publish this, Ethan and his friend are looking over my shoulder, eating our after dinner mints. Good thing they can't read. Poo-poo heads.
I trust Jacqui and Ivan don't read your blogs? So, is Calvin Kleined the new euphemism for birthday suit?
ReplyDeleteInteresting on the education approach-- the professional readings I've done say the French have a similar attitude [let kids be kids] and formal schooling starts around 7, if memory serves.
Love to you both,
Mom
No, they don't have blog access. Dan was in his undies--no worries! I fail to see how this is my fault, though. I'll have to speak to the husband about this...
ReplyDeleteSo they are not into Sesame Street flash cards in South Africa? What a shame - I loved those things! Love, Mom
ReplyDelete