Thursday, 28 November 2013



O has an imaginary acquaintance.  I wouldn't say 'friend', they don't hang out together.  But he is always telling us stories about Célestia and her exploits.  For example:

> Célestia's full name is Célestia Coalhole.  Her mummy's name is Celiste.  She has pink hair and red pyjamas.

> Célestia lives in a big castle with naughty knights and naughty princesses and there was a big fight and Célestia tued (killed) them all.  (She sounds alright this Célestia).  The castle is also full of skeletons and ghosties.

> All Célestia's teeth fell out because she didn't brush her teeth like her daddy asked her to.  And now she talks like this "gaga, gaga".

> Célestia's grandpere told her to do a poo in the garden, which she did.  Then her mummy said that was gross.

> Célestia likes 'a-bigg-a beans'.  (sort of like baked beans with an Italian accent)

> Nelly the Elephant ate Célestia.  Célestia did a coup de poing into the elephant's tummy.  Then the skeletons and the ghosties wanted to eat the elephant and the ghosties and the skeletons were nice to Célestia.

Célestia was malade because she swallowed a 'ketchup' (a Littlest Pet Shop toy) when she was a baby.  Her own 'ketchup', not Owen's 'ketchup' (purchased on the mercat at school with his hard earned sous, and currently his prize possession).

Célestia was chased by some spiders and she was peur.  And Célestia runned and runned and then the spiders fell into the feu.  Aaaah, splooosh.  Then she saw some monsters without any heads, they had fingers for heads.  Then they fell in the feu.  Splooosh splooosh.  They were stamping a l'envers.

The stories get retold with slight variations on a daily basis, including many twists and turns that we simply cannot understand or follow, some of which are sung bardic style.

Ah, my Owen.  He weird :)

Tuesday, 26 November 2013

Future lives

Matilda's dreams show she's a girl after my own heart (apart from the princess bit) and with a big heart.

Matilda:  I want to have a cafe.  It'll be called Vernite.  I will sell eclairs and cookies and cakes and coke and really cold water.  I will open it in the market.  A real cafe, not a play one.  And if people don't have any money I will manage.  I will tell them to choose what they want and I will give it to them.  I will decorate the walls with pink princesses.  I'm going to open it when I'm older.  When I'm six.  

Owen's dreams are a little more, whooaaah, out there.

Owen:  I want to live in a champignon maison* and be little little.

*Literally, a mushroom house, but he means a toadstool.  

Sunday, 10 November 2013

High on a hill



Yesterday we headed into the mountains with the cousins to seek out mouflons.  Cool.  What the hell's a mouflon?  At least that was my reaction when Steph suggested we sign up for this mouflon-spotting hike.  Turns out a mouflon is a mountain sheep, originally from Corsica.  It was meant to be rutting season.  Rutting.  What a great word that is.  Anyway, we didn't see any actual rutting but a couple of impressive and solitary males standing, very ruttishly it has to be said, on the horizon.

I forget how close we live to the mountains, and how glorious the landscape is up there.

Sometimes, stuck in Beziers, without a car, living our same little routine day in day out, I begin to feel stifled.  But within an hour we can be up in the clouds.  And the kids are becoming good walkers, especially Matilda, who loves being up front.  She is going through an extremely gratifying period (for me) where she has decided that she will like everything I like.  So because I love walking, so does she.  Parenting success.

Owen kept telling us to chut and excitedly spoke about mouflons, but I'm not sure he really understood what all the fuss was about, he just enjoyed the general ambiance.  And quite a lot of daddy's shoulders.

Nell was her usual happy, screechy self. And became the first of my children to be breastfed atop a mountain.  Nice that there are still new things in store for number three.