Clari likes to play Hairdressers a lot, and we've played it many times with various brushes, flowers and hairclips and she once informed me that she wants to be a hairdresser when she grows up (although I've got a feeling Giorgio wouldn't be too happy with that decision). However when we play it mainly revolves around her insisting on being the customer so I brush her hair. When we swap, my turn doesn't usually last very long, and then she's back on the little blue plastic chair telling me that her hair needs to be 'as soft as a pillow'.
We were playing this game when Matt was round, only it was just the two of us as he was in my room doing some work. It came to be her turn again and I switched to sit in the little chair. She started off brushing my hair and twiddling with it and whatnot. Then she told me to close my eyes and cover them with my hands. I did so, but as you've seen before, it's always a dangerous thing to do. I peeked through my fingers and saw her leaning over to her little table. She turned and saw me peeking.
"Close your eyes!" she cried. I closed them again.
I was thinking.. what was at her little desk that she was going to use? She had some headbands over there and some clips maybe. I imagined her using some felt tips to give me some crazy rainbow highlights...
She came back behind me and fiddled with my hair for a little bit. Then it went very quiet and (still with my eyes covered), I heard the quiet sound of scissors cutting through hair. A feeling of horror swept over me and I leapt up and turned around to face a surprised Clari.
"HOW DARE YOU!?" I snatched the piece of hair from her hand and she started to cry. But I didn't care, this time was different. She was not allowed to do things like that.
I went downstairs to find Giorgio. I wanted her to get a proper telling off, something I've not yet seen happen. She doesn't get punished often (to be fair, I've not seen her properly punished at all yet). He came upstairs and we found Clari hiding in her bed. At first he misheard me and he thought I had said Clari had cut some of her own hair. Unfortunately this wasn't the case.
Three quarters of an hour later, we left her room. She wouldn't apologise to me so Giorgio said she couldn't continue playing until she'd come up to me and said a proper apology. She did, eventually, about another half an hour later.
Thank god I have long hair and she'd only cut a bit from the back. I dread to think how it could have ended.
Friday, 3 May 2013
Milano
I realise I haven't posted anything for a while.. literally not since Matt left and I probably should write at least a little something about when he was here! Hehe.
So yeah, well we went to Milan a couple of times, and somehow the jammy dodger brought a whole week of sunshine with him when he came. Literally, we had rain the week before he came and then the sun disappeared as soon as he left, but it was between 20 and 25 degrees whilst he was here. Not too shabby I guess!
In a way it was perfect, the weather was good and hot and even though Dominga had to got to Rome and then Milan to work for most of the week, Giorgio was pretty decent about how much I had to work.
The first time we went to Milan was the Sunday - it was a whole free day for me and the weather was boiling. We caught the train from Stradella to Voghera, then Voghera up to Milano Centrale (which was a nightmare, but no one came to check our tickets and we were joined by an Italian-speaking woman from Moldova who was going the same way as us and insisting on making conversation with me, in Italian, nearly the whole way).
We caught the metro to the Duomo.
Being a Sunday, Milan was packed. There were so many people; tourists, businessmen, bloody persistant street sellers. We milled around, with a basic plan of finding some lunch (pizzeria, of course, getting a gelato and seeing a few sights. The general concensus was, if in doubt, we can just chill and eat. Eating is a wonderful way of passing the time, especially when you're in Italy and they sell sweets, massive pizzas and massive gelati....
We went into the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II which is possibly the most expensive collection of shops I've ever seen, bar the Tretyakov Drive in Moscow (I mean, they had red carpets laid over the snow from the carpark to the shop entrances so the customers didn't get their feet wet. Come on now).
We wandered the streets, scouting out the prices of the pizzas on the street-side restaurant cafes. It's crazy how much more you'll pay for a pizza if you want to buy one in Milan compared to in Stradella. I mean, in Stradella the pizzeria charges something like €4-6 for a margherita, whilst in Milan they were pushing on the €8-10 mark. But you know, when in Rome and all that...
The Castello Sforzesco was at the end of a long flag-lined street, with a huge fountain in front of the entrance. It was full of marching bands who played throughout the day, marching up and down in different coloured uniforms.
Behind the castle was a ginormous grassy park; Parco Sempione, which was filled with people. We managed to find an empty patch of grass and chilled in the sun.
San Siro stadium was too far out for us to visit in the time we had, as it required a fair few metro stops and then a bit of a walk. (Bearing in mind we had no map until a few hours in when I found a tourist information centre and asked - in rather poor Italian I have to admit - where I could find one).
We caught the trains back at the end of the day, to be greeted with a severeal course meal when we got home as the Casanova's had friends round for dinner.
So yeah, well we went to Milan a couple of times, and somehow the jammy dodger brought a whole week of sunshine with him when he came. Literally, we had rain the week before he came and then the sun disappeared as soon as he left, but it was between 20 and 25 degrees whilst he was here. Not too shabby I guess!
In a way it was perfect, the weather was good and hot and even though Dominga had to got to Rome and then Milan to work for most of the week, Giorgio was pretty decent about how much I had to work.
The first time we went to Milan was the Sunday - it was a whole free day for me and the weather was boiling. We caught the train from Stradella to Voghera, then Voghera up to Milano Centrale (which was a nightmare, but no one came to check our tickets and we were joined by an Italian-speaking woman from Moldova who was going the same way as us and insisting on making conversation with me, in Italian, nearly the whole way).
We caught the metro to the Duomo.
 |
| Pretty big.. |
Being a Sunday, Milan was packed. There were so many people; tourists, businessmen, bloody persistant street sellers. We milled around, with a basic plan of finding some lunch (pizzeria, of course, getting a gelato and seeing a few sights. The general concensus was, if in doubt, we can just chill and eat. Eating is a wonderful way of passing the time, especially when you're in Italy and they sell sweets, massive pizzas and massive gelati....
We went into the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II which is possibly the most expensive collection of shops I've ever seen, bar the Tretyakov Drive in Moscow (I mean, they had red carpets laid over the snow from the carpark to the shop entrances so the customers didn't get their feet wet. Come on now).
 |
| (For some reason there were some tourists jumping on the floor where that woman is taking a picture so conveniently in the photo) |
We wandered the streets, scouting out the prices of the pizzas on the street-side restaurant cafes. It's crazy how much more you'll pay for a pizza if you want to buy one in Milan compared to in Stradella. I mean, in Stradella the pizzeria charges something like €4-6 for a margherita, whilst in Milan they were pushing on the €8-10 mark. But you know, when in Rome and all that...
 |
| Falling victim to an awkward eating photo.. |
The Castello Sforzesco was at the end of a long flag-lined street, with a huge fountain in front of the entrance. It was full of marching bands who played throughout the day, marching up and down in different coloured uniforms.
 |
Behind the castle was a ginormous grassy park; Parco Sempione, which was filled with people. We managed to find an empty patch of grass and chilled in the sun.
 |
| Cheeky selfie (on Mumma Way's request) |
San Siro stadium was too far out for us to visit in the time we had, as it required a fair few metro stops and then a bit of a walk. (Bearing in mind we had no map until a few hours in when I found a tourist information centre and asked - in rather poor Italian I have to admit - where I could find one).
We caught the trains back at the end of the day, to be greeted with a severeal course meal when we got home as the Casanova's had friends round for dinner.
Thursday, 18 April 2013
Wicked Word of the Week! - Fare Fichi Fichi
fare fichi fichi
/fareh fiki fiki/
Verb phrase (slang) - English - 'to have sex'
*There are many ways to say 'to have sex' in Italian (like in English, I suppose) but fare fichi fichi is the one I've heard and it sounded the funniest. Not too sure why it's funny, maybe because the literal translation is like, to do figs figs (fichi is plural of fico which is a fig.. but then fica is a fanny.. haha so it could mean something else).
I've also seen it written like fiki fiki but I think fichi might be more correct.
So yeah, if someone asks you if you want to fare fichi fichi, they're not asking you if you want to grow some figs....
/fareh fiki fiki/
Verb phrase (slang) - English - 'to have sex'
*There are many ways to say 'to have sex' in Italian (like in English, I suppose) but fare fichi fichi is the one I've heard and it sounded the funniest. Not too sure why it's funny, maybe because the literal translation is like, to do figs figs (fichi is plural of fico which is a fig.. but then fica is a fanny.. haha so it could mean something else).
I've also seen it written like fiki fiki but I think fichi might be more correct.
So yeah, if someone asks you if you want to fare fichi fichi, they're not asking you if you want to grow some figs....
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Excited!
Eeeeeee I'm well excited! Heheh.
You know why?
My main man is coming tomorroooooowwww. Yeah budddyyyy!
For a whole week. Yesss.
It's like, exactly 36 hours away... maybe even less... Yayayay!
You know why?
My main man is coming tomorroooooowwww. Yeah budddyyyy!
For a whole week. Yesss.
It's like, exactly 36 hours away... maybe even less... Yayayay!
Monday, 8 April 2013
Italian Boys
Italian boys are by far a different breed. They're polite, yet bloody hell are they persistent. Oh ma gawwwhddd.
I was at Light Bar on saturday night, just chillin' with Mirko, his girlfriend and some Italian girls (literally, it was freeezing) and kind of awkwardly as my Italian isn't exactly fantastic and they're English is even worse. There was a group of Italian men by the bar and suddenly the bartender came over to me and Silvia and said to me,
"The boys by the bar, there, are talking. They think you are very beautiful."
"Oh, gee, thanks."
Kind of awkward. They're like thirty...
"You interested in them?" she said. I struggled not to make a disgusted face and shook my head.
"No, noooooo."
"Sono schifo..." Silvia said, in my defense. I agreed.
Eurgh the hauntings of creepy Roman italian men were creeping back up on me.
At the end of the night - which was pretty much a disaster; Discoteca Life was practically empty, there was barely anyone I knew (a handful of people I'd met the first time, but not many). Mirko's girlfriend had brought a friend with her who appeared not to know anyone from the rest of the group, and then got incredibly drunk and quickly became a limp spewing puppet who we had to look after.
Mirko explained to me that I was going to get a lift home with his friend Elvis (yes, seriously, this kid's name is Elvis), because he lives in Montu' (other people live in Montu'?!). Fair play, it is pretty far out from Broni.
While I was back outside the doors of Life with Martina and her friend, we somehow attracted a fog of italian boys around us. It was ridicuous. The first guy tried to offer me a lift home, and I politely declined, telling him I already had a lift with Elvis.
"Elvis? e' chi Elvis?"
"Elvis, l'amico di Mirko."
"Mirko?"
I was starting to feel like I'd been given a duff deal here, I mean, Elvis? Is this guy for real and actually called Elvis or what? But this other dude didn't know Mirko - he clearly did as we'd all been at Light Bar earlier, but anyway. I knew exactly why he wanted to give me a lift home, and I'd rather not.
Then there were like another four boys around us, asking me if I had a 'machine' (macchina = machine and car) and then offering me a lift home. To which, I politely declined again.
And then bloody another kid! Ah my days, it was crazy. It didn't matter how good-looking they were (they really weren't.. sorry guys), I was not going to accept a lift home with them! Sheesh, what part of no didn't they understand.
Finally, and thankfully, Mirko appeared and we left. I think he was a bit surprised to see me so pleased to see him, but I was just so thankful to get out of that pesting circle of Italian boys..
I did get home eventually, with Mirko and Elvis. Who is really called Elvis. Mad.
I was at Light Bar on saturday night, just chillin' with Mirko, his girlfriend and some Italian girls (literally, it was freeezing) and kind of awkwardly as my Italian isn't exactly fantastic and they're English is even worse. There was a group of Italian men by the bar and suddenly the bartender came over to me and Silvia and said to me,
"The boys by the bar, there, are talking. They think you are very beautiful."
"Oh, gee, thanks."
Kind of awkward. They're like thirty...
"You interested in them?" she said. I struggled not to make a disgusted face and shook my head.
"No, noooooo."
"Sono schifo..." Silvia said, in my defense. I agreed.
Eurgh the hauntings of creepy Roman italian men were creeping back up on me.
At the end of the night - which was pretty much a disaster; Discoteca Life was practically empty, there was barely anyone I knew (a handful of people I'd met the first time, but not many). Mirko's girlfriend had brought a friend with her who appeared not to know anyone from the rest of the group, and then got incredibly drunk and quickly became a limp spewing puppet who we had to look after.
Mirko explained to me that I was going to get a lift home with his friend Elvis (yes, seriously, this kid's name is Elvis), because he lives in Montu' (other people live in Montu'?!). Fair play, it is pretty far out from Broni.
While I was back outside the doors of Life with Martina and her friend, we somehow attracted a fog of italian boys around us. It was ridicuous. The first guy tried to offer me a lift home, and I politely declined, telling him I already had a lift with Elvis.
"Elvis? e' chi Elvis?"
"Elvis, l'amico di Mirko."
"Mirko?"
I was starting to feel like I'd been given a duff deal here, I mean, Elvis? Is this guy for real and actually called Elvis or what? But this other dude didn't know Mirko - he clearly did as we'd all been at Light Bar earlier, but anyway. I knew exactly why he wanted to give me a lift home, and I'd rather not.
Then there were like another four boys around us, asking me if I had a 'machine' (macchina = machine and car) and then offering me a lift home. To which, I politely declined again.
And then bloody another kid! Ah my days, it was crazy. It didn't matter how good-looking they were (they really weren't.. sorry guys), I was not going to accept a lift home with them! Sheesh, what part of no didn't they understand.
Finally, and thankfully, Mirko appeared and we left. I think he was a bit surprised to see me so pleased to see him, but I was just so thankful to get out of that pesting circle of Italian boys..
I did get home eventually, with Mirko and Elvis. Who is really called Elvis. Mad.
Sunday, 7 April 2013
Bit Of A Rant
I had a bit of a re-read over my last few posts and I noticed that they seem to be getting a little moany. I've just been having a bad week or two recently, I guess.
Okay, not a bad week really.
Although, the week when Clarissa had chicken pox was practically unbearable. She didn't go to school so she was at home all day every day - and that meant I practically had to work all day every day. And to top it off, it was cold and rainy every day of the week except Easter sunday, so for 7 days straight I did not leave the house. I didn't even step outside until sunday afternoon, and that was only onto the porch to wave goodbye to Giorgio's sister. I think that may have been one of the reasons I was feeling so poo.
Cooped up, tired of babysitting 24/7 and lacking fresh air and vitamin D. Ahaha who would have thought springtime Italy would be so abundant with rain?
I've been thinking, and I think I've put my finger on the problem. The trouble is, a lot of the time when Clarissa and I play together it's fine, and I do actually enjoy it. I mean, we make things, we go outside etc etc. But there are the times, or the 'episodes' where she is so frustratingly impossible to deal with and she winds me up a treat. It's these episodes that I dread and I fear it may be putting me off from going out of my way to spend time with her without being told to because I dread her going off on one.
It's got to the point where the other day I'm in my room and I hear Dominga and her get home from school downstairs. I know I should go down and be with her, but I just think to myself; give it five more minutes, that's five minutes less you'll have to be with her.
That sounds quite bad doesn't it. You're probably thinking why am I in this job if I can't stand to spend time with the child I'm supposed to be babysitting. It's not that I don't like Clarissa, most days I do. It's just there are quite a lot of days where she drives me potty and I just can't stand her.
Does that make me a bad person? I don't dislike children, they're cool and all that. I'm just not sure if I like never being able to get away from one. And maybe it's just Clarissa. Maybe it's because she's an only child, so she get's away with more than she should, and she's quite spoilt (I've never seen someone get so many toys when it's not their birthday!!). Or maybe it's just because she's Italian, and Italian parents bring up their children differently, and she's been influenced by Giorgio that I'm English and I'm different, in not necessarily a positive way.
Either way, the weather seems to be picking up now and even a sunny day full of gremlin-sitting can be a good day.
Okay, not a bad week really.
Although, the week when Clarissa had chicken pox was practically unbearable. She didn't go to school so she was at home all day every day - and that meant I practically had to work all day every day. And to top it off, it was cold and rainy every day of the week except Easter sunday, so for 7 days straight I did not leave the house. I didn't even step outside until sunday afternoon, and that was only onto the porch to wave goodbye to Giorgio's sister. I think that may have been one of the reasons I was feeling so poo.
Cooped up, tired of babysitting 24/7 and lacking fresh air and vitamin D. Ahaha who would have thought springtime Italy would be so abundant with rain?
I've been thinking, and I think I've put my finger on the problem. The trouble is, a lot of the time when Clarissa and I play together it's fine, and I do actually enjoy it. I mean, we make things, we go outside etc etc. But there are the times, or the 'episodes' where she is so frustratingly impossible to deal with and she winds me up a treat. It's these episodes that I dread and I fear it may be putting me off from going out of my way to spend time with her without being told to because I dread her going off on one.
It's got to the point where the other day I'm in my room and I hear Dominga and her get home from school downstairs. I know I should go down and be with her, but I just think to myself; give it five more minutes, that's five minutes less you'll have to be with her.
That sounds quite bad doesn't it. You're probably thinking why am I in this job if I can't stand to spend time with the child I'm supposed to be babysitting. It's not that I don't like Clarissa, most days I do. It's just there are quite a lot of days where she drives me potty and I just can't stand her.
Does that make me a bad person? I don't dislike children, they're cool and all that. I'm just not sure if I like never being able to get away from one. And maybe it's just Clarissa. Maybe it's because she's an only child, so she get's away with more than she should, and she's quite spoilt (I've never seen someone get so many toys when it's not their birthday!!). Or maybe it's just because she's Italian, and Italian parents bring up their children differently, and she's been influenced by Giorgio that I'm English and I'm different, in not necessarily a positive way.
Either way, the weather seems to be picking up now and even a sunny day full of gremlin-sitting can be a good day.
Saturday, 6 April 2013
(not so) Delizioso Desserts: Le Chiacchiere
le chiacchiere
/leh kiakiereh/
Noun - masc. plural - *Lit. 'the small talk'
When I first arrived in Italy, it was at the end of February which was near to the date of italian Carnevale, and around this time a lot of shops and cafes (and even supermarkets) start to sell desserts and cakes which are only really typically eaten around carnevale.
'Le Chiacchiere' are strips of like a crunchy hollow cracker-like cake, which is supposedly sweet but only really tastes of bugger all. The one I tried was drizzled with dark chocolate which didn't really make the experience any nicer, and was dry as a bone.
The literal translation means small talk, but I have no idea why.. and I think a more accurate translation should probably be cardboard because that's more like what it resembled eating.
Yeah, okay it wasn't unpleasant exactly, but it wasn't exactly very tasty. Mmm tasteless strips of 'sweet' flavourless cracker... yummm.
*When I was googling for a picture of this dessert (it wasn't exactly nice enough to take a picture of at the time...) I came across an unanswered wiki question: "Why do Italians eat chiacchiere?". Answer is, well, nobody knoooowwss.*
/leh kiakiereh/
Noun - masc. plural - *Lit. 'the small talk'
 |
| (courtesy of wikipedia for this appetising image...) |
When I first arrived in Italy, it was at the end of February which was near to the date of italian Carnevale, and around this time a lot of shops and cafes (and even supermarkets) start to sell desserts and cakes which are only really typically eaten around carnevale.
'Le Chiacchiere' are strips of like a crunchy hollow cracker-like cake, which is supposedly sweet but only really tastes of bugger all. The one I tried was drizzled with dark chocolate which didn't really make the experience any nicer, and was dry as a bone.
The literal translation means small talk, but I have no idea why.. and I think a more accurate translation should probably be cardboard because that's more like what it resembled eating.
Yeah, okay it wasn't unpleasant exactly, but it wasn't exactly very tasty. Mmm tasteless strips of 'sweet' flavourless cracker... yummm.
*When I was googling for a picture of this dessert (it wasn't exactly nice enough to take a picture of at the time...) I came across an unanswered wiki question: "Why do Italians eat chiacchiere?". Answer is, well, nobody knoooowwss.*
You're English
There's nothing wrong with being an English person staying in an Italian family. And it's not like the family isn't nice - they are, extremely. The only problem is, Giorgio makes it very evident how different English people are to Italians, and he states so.
To me, these differences aren't bad things and Giorgio doesn't exactly say that they're negative things, but he doesn't say that they're not, and he certainly doesn't say that they're a positive thing.
One in particular, is that English people speak quietly.
I mean, as far as I know, English people in general are not quietly spoken. At least that's what I think as an English person. But comparable to an Italian, yes, we are quieter, simply because Italians practically shout every word. (Even in close proximity I've noticed they still use outside voices). They're just generally louder I guess.
I don't personally think I'm softly spoken. I mean, I might be, maybe, I don't really know. I know I'm never the loudest person in the room, and sometimes I do speak quietly. But I don't whisper for christ sake.
Now, the problem isn't the fact that I'm softer spoken that the Casanova's. It's the fact that Giorgio broadcasts the fact 'English people speak quiet' so regularly and it's got into Clari's head.
You see, the other day Clari and I were making some paper windmills and paper hats and colouring them in etc. We were in a room on our own, with no background noise - no fairytale tape playing, no Giorgio and Dominga talking - and I asked her to do something.
She just ignored me, and then pretended she didn't hear because 'I spoke too quietly'.
Bullshite.
It really winds me up because I don't speak quietly to her, as she hears perfectly when she wants to. And she can even be looking at me full in the face when I'm speaking and just point blank ignore me, despite blatently hearing what I said - and even if she didn't - watching my lips move and knowing I'm talking to her.
Only she doesn't tell me she didn't hear, or ask me to repeat what I said, it's easier to just ignore me.
And it's all just thanks to Giorgio and his adamancy to state our differences.
To me, these differences aren't bad things and Giorgio doesn't exactly say that they're negative things, but he doesn't say that they're not, and he certainly doesn't say that they're a positive thing.
One in particular, is that English people speak quietly.
I mean, as far as I know, English people in general are not quietly spoken. At least that's what I think as an English person. But comparable to an Italian, yes, we are quieter, simply because Italians practically shout every word. (Even in close proximity I've noticed they still use outside voices). They're just generally louder I guess.
I don't personally think I'm softly spoken. I mean, I might be, maybe, I don't really know. I know I'm never the loudest person in the room, and sometimes I do speak quietly. But I don't whisper for christ sake.
Now, the problem isn't the fact that I'm softer spoken that the Casanova's. It's the fact that Giorgio broadcasts the fact 'English people speak quiet' so regularly and it's got into Clari's head.
You see, the other day Clari and I were making some paper windmills and paper hats and colouring them in etc. We were in a room on our own, with no background noise - no fairytale tape playing, no Giorgio and Dominga talking - and I asked her to do something.
She just ignored me, and then pretended she didn't hear because 'I spoke too quietly'.
Bullshite.
It really winds me up because I don't speak quietly to her, as she hears perfectly when she wants to. And she can even be looking at me full in the face when I'm speaking and just point blank ignore me, despite blatently hearing what I said - and even if she didn't - watching my lips move and knowing I'm talking to her.
Only she doesn't tell me she didn't hear, or ask me to repeat what I said, it's easier to just ignore me.
And it's all just thanks to Giorgio and his adamancy to state our differences.
"I Would Like To Marry A Girl"
We were having lunch the other day, and having a typical conversation over our pasta; today it happened to be the legalisation of gay marriage. (Deep conversations are pretty much the norm with Giorgio as anything else appears to be below him).
I explained that gay marriage was now legal in the UK, but only since very very recently. Clari asked me if girls could marry girls in the UK, to which I said yes.
"I would like that," she said.
"You would like to marry a girl?" Giorgio asked.
"Yes, I would like it to marry a girl."
Ah, the funny things children come out with.
I explained that gay marriage was now legal in the UK, but only since very very recently. Clari asked me if girls could marry girls in the UK, to which I said yes.
"I would like that," she said.
"You would like to marry a girl?" Giorgio asked.
"Yes, I would like it to marry a girl."
Ah, the funny things children come out with.
Wicked Word of the Week! - Meno Male
meno male
/menoh-maleh/
Expression - English - 'thank god, thank goodness'
*Literally, 'meno male' (sometimes written 'menomale') means 'less bad', which doesn't make any sense in this context. However, thank goodness? That doesn't really make sense in English so you can't literally translate them from either language.
"Mamma, ho trovato la mia scarpa." - "Oh meno male!"
"Mum, I've found my shoe." - "Oh thank goodness!"
/menoh-maleh/
Expression - English - 'thank god, thank goodness'
*Literally, 'meno male' (sometimes written 'menomale') means 'less bad', which doesn't make any sense in this context. However, thank goodness? That doesn't really make sense in English so you can't literally translate them from either language.
"Mamma, ho trovato la mia scarpa." - "Oh meno male!"
"Mum, I've found my shoe." - "Oh thank goodness!"
Wednesday, 3 April 2013
Lost In Translation
Most of the time, Clari and I get on. But there are times when she really can be so impossible I feel like pulling my hair out.
These 'episodes' usually revolve around her impatience and the fact I can't understand her when she's wailing.
Don't get me wrong, she's very good at English for someone her age - even someone a lot older than her I'd say - but she's no where near perfect, and even when she's talking normally it can be hard to understand what she's trying to say. So when she's bawling her head off and trying to shout at me in English, it is impossible to understand.
Take the other day for example (Giorgio and Dominga were out again), she was annoyed that I asked her to do something and I heard her muttering under her breath, most likely something not nice, so I asked her what she said.
"It's a secret."
"What did you say Clari?"
"I'm not going to say to you because it's a secret."
"Was it something not nice?"
"I will only say to you if you tell me one of your secrets."
"But I don't really have any secrets."
"Everyone has secrets. You must have some."
"Ok, well, I guess I have some, but I don't really know."
"Say me one of your secrets and I'll say to you what I was saying."
"But I don't really have any secrets, Clari."
"YOU JUST SAID YOU DID. YOU LIED!"
And this was just the beginning. The argument continued on her part for another five minutes and I generally don't know what it was about, because I just couldn't understand what she was saying. She was getting more and more angry, and getting louder and louder (as if bawling at a higher pitch would suddenly make me understand better). I was getting more and more to the end of my tether because she just was not listening to anything I was saying.
After 10 minutes, I went downstairs to cool off and lay the table for lunch. I invited Clari to help me but she is lazy and she couldn't be bothered. After a glass of water and five minutes of reflection, I went back upstairs. Dominga had sent me a text saying they weren't going to be back for lunch so we should go right ahead and eat anyway.
Clari was in bed, and I told her we had to go and grab some lunch as her mum and dad weren't going to be back in time. She got out of bed, visibly still fuming a little and then started to cry because she told me she was cold. She still had her pyjamas on so I told her if she got dressed she would warm up.
But then she started to get angry about getting dressed. And about putting on slippers to warm up her feet. And then at her wardrobe because I took out a jumper that was apparently 'too hot'. Literally, there was no winning.
At this point I no longer have a clue what she's angry about. She's angry because she doesn't get dressed from her wardrobe, her clothes are downstairs (although she decided not to tell until a good ten minutes into the bawling). She's then angry because she didn't choose the pile of clothes on the arm of the sofa. Then she's angry because she did choose them. She's then angry when I speak to her, and she's angry when I don't speak to her.
Eventually, after another five minutes of me just not responding to what she's saying (I can't understand her anyway, it just comes out like: BAHHS-MNCHSGA-YOOOOODJAD-BLUUURR!! she calms down and we go to get some lunch.
"This is the time of the four you letted me get angry. I'm going to tell my dad you have letted me get angry four times."
It's hard not to smile at. Especially the things she gets angry about. I mean, let's face it, she got angry at me this time because she was cold. Gosh, me and my temperature controlling talents eh.
It feels like she's exploded lots more times than that. But I reckon four times in five weeks is pretty good really. Seeing as though she's a lazy impatient spoilt stubborn six year old and I'm, well, I'm English.
These 'episodes' usually revolve around her impatience and the fact I can't understand her when she's wailing.
Don't get me wrong, she's very good at English for someone her age - even someone a lot older than her I'd say - but she's no where near perfect, and even when she's talking normally it can be hard to understand what she's trying to say. So when she's bawling her head off and trying to shout at me in English, it is impossible to understand.
Take the other day for example (Giorgio and Dominga were out again), she was annoyed that I asked her to do something and I heard her muttering under her breath, most likely something not nice, so I asked her what she said.
"It's a secret."
"What did you say Clari?"
"I'm not going to say to you because it's a secret."
"Was it something not nice?"
"I will only say to you if you tell me one of your secrets."
"But I don't really have any secrets."
"Everyone has secrets. You must have some."
"Ok, well, I guess I have some, but I don't really know."
"Say me one of your secrets and I'll say to you what I was saying."
"But I don't really have any secrets, Clari."
"YOU JUST SAID YOU DID. YOU LIED!"
And this was just the beginning. The argument continued on her part for another five minutes and I generally don't know what it was about, because I just couldn't understand what she was saying. She was getting more and more angry, and getting louder and louder (as if bawling at a higher pitch would suddenly make me understand better). I was getting more and more to the end of my tether because she just was not listening to anything I was saying.
After 10 minutes, I went downstairs to cool off and lay the table for lunch. I invited Clari to help me but she is lazy and she couldn't be bothered. After a glass of water and five minutes of reflection, I went back upstairs. Dominga had sent me a text saying they weren't going to be back for lunch so we should go right ahead and eat anyway.
Clari was in bed, and I told her we had to go and grab some lunch as her mum and dad weren't going to be back in time. She got out of bed, visibly still fuming a little and then started to cry because she told me she was cold. She still had her pyjamas on so I told her if she got dressed she would warm up.
But then she started to get angry about getting dressed. And about putting on slippers to warm up her feet. And then at her wardrobe because I took out a jumper that was apparently 'too hot'. Literally, there was no winning.
At this point I no longer have a clue what she's angry about. She's angry because she doesn't get dressed from her wardrobe, her clothes are downstairs (although she decided not to tell until a good ten minutes into the bawling). She's then angry because she didn't choose the pile of clothes on the arm of the sofa. Then she's angry because she did choose them. She's then angry when I speak to her, and she's angry when I don't speak to her.
Eventually, after another five minutes of me just not responding to what she's saying (I can't understand her anyway, it just comes out like: BAHHS-MNCHSGA-YOOOOODJAD-BLUUURR!! she calms down and we go to get some lunch.
"This is the time of the four you letted me get angry. I'm going to tell my dad you have letted me get angry four times."
It's hard not to smile at. Especially the things she gets angry about. I mean, let's face it, she got angry at me this time because she was cold. Gosh, me and my temperature controlling talents eh.
It feels like she's exploded lots more times than that. But I reckon four times in five weeks is pretty good really. Seeing as though she's a lazy impatient spoilt stubborn six year old and I'm, well, I'm English.
Monday, 1 April 2013
The Bidet Horror
bidet
/bidei/
Noun - m. singular (french of origin I believe)
For those who do not know, a bidet kind of looks like a toilet crossed with a basin, and sits on the floor of your bathroom. It looks like it's just a mini bath for babies.
I've got a feeling, although people have them in England (i've seen them every now and again) I've never really known anyone to use it, and I'm pretty sure we only have them to fill up empty bathroom space. I've never had one in the bathroom of a house I've lived in. In the rest of Europe, however, there seems to be a bidet in practically every bathroom.
I roughly know what they're used for, but i've never ever used one myself. They look more convenient for washing your feet in...
The morning started off well; Clari and I were playing lego in her room. Giorgio and Dominga had gone to the supermarket in the morning (although it somehow took them 5 hours....) so it was just me and Clari in the house.
Suddenly she stands up and says to me:
"I need to do something."
"Okay," I said, "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Okay... Well go on then."
"You have to come."
"What is it?"
"I don't going to tell you. It starts with P."
I paused, trying to think of what she could be on about. She does this all the time and for all I knew it could be an italian word beginning with P and I'd have no idea at all.
"Come," she said, pulling on my sleeve. I stood up.
"Close your eyes." Slightly odd, but not unusual Clari behaviour.
Peeking through my eyelids I watched as she led me into the bathroom.
"Close them!"
I then heard her shut the door and drag the wicker washing basket in front of it to block me from getting out.
This was quite weird.
I opened my eyes as she ran over to the toilet and taking her trousers off entirely, she sat on it.
Now this wasn't really unusual for her (okay, the barring me in was slightly unnerving..) but she usually wants me to stay in the bathroom when she went to the toilet because she's scared of being in the bathroom and going on her own. I heard a plop plop plop. Well, this is awks....
"Come here."
I was stood on the otherside of the bathroom and I was pretty comfortable where I was.
"Why?"
"Come here." She got off the toilet and flushed it. Then just stood there. "You need to wash me."
I stood still. I stared at the toilet roll that was sitting on the window sill next to the toilet, untouched.
"What?" I asked. She went over to the small basin/bath thing - the bidet - and hovered there.
"I'm sorry Clari but I have no idea what you're on about. What do you want me to do?"
"You make the water come, then wait for cold to hot. I sit here and you wash me with your hand. Turn off water and then you go wash your hands."
Oh heeeeelll no. I froze, visions of my hands covered in runny six year old poo. Eurgh. My brain desperately grabbing at straws: what can I do what can I do must find a way out of this...
I pointed to the toilet roll behind her.
"So what do you use that for?" I asked hopefully. She shrugged.
"I don't know.. things."
Oh gahd. There seemed no way out.
I edged over to the bidet and turned on the tap. I waited. The warm water didn't come.
"The warm water's not coming," I told her.
"That's okay," she said sitting over the bowl, " You can use cold."
Like an idiot, I use my hand to channel the water and splash it onto her, taking serious care there was no hand-pooeybottom contact. I'm not squeamish, but there's just something about this six year old that makes me grimace. Finally, I hear the long-awaited words:
"I'm clean."
Ahhhhh thank the lord. I feared more rigorous cleaning might have to be in order, but I got away with a lucky escape. She got up and dried her bum with a towel, inspecting it before she put it back.
I don't think I've got out of a bathroom quicker.
* * * *
For those of you in doubt or just plain immature like me (heheh), here is a video 'How To Use A Bidet' - or rather, how to use a b'day.
/bidei/
Noun - m. singular (french of origin I believe)
For those who do not know, a bidet kind of looks like a toilet crossed with a basin, and sits on the floor of your bathroom. It looks like it's just a mini bath for babies.
I've got a feeling, although people have them in England (i've seen them every now and again) I've never really known anyone to use it, and I'm pretty sure we only have them to fill up empty bathroom space. I've never had one in the bathroom of a house I've lived in. In the rest of Europe, however, there seems to be a bidet in practically every bathroom.
I roughly know what they're used for, but i've never ever used one myself. They look more convenient for washing your feet in...
The morning started off well; Clari and I were playing lego in her room. Giorgio and Dominga had gone to the supermarket in the morning (although it somehow took them 5 hours....) so it was just me and Clari in the house.
Suddenly she stands up and says to me:
"I need to do something."
"Okay," I said, "What is it?"
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Okay... Well go on then."
"You have to come."
"What is it?"
"I don't going to tell you. It starts with P."
I paused, trying to think of what she could be on about. She does this all the time and for all I knew it could be an italian word beginning with P and I'd have no idea at all.
"Come," she said, pulling on my sleeve. I stood up.
"Close your eyes." Slightly odd, but not unusual Clari behaviour.
Peeking through my eyelids I watched as she led me into the bathroom.
"Close them!"
I then heard her shut the door and drag the wicker washing basket in front of it to block me from getting out.
This was quite weird.
I opened my eyes as she ran over to the toilet and taking her trousers off entirely, she sat on it.
Now this wasn't really unusual for her (okay, the barring me in was slightly unnerving..) but she usually wants me to stay in the bathroom when she went to the toilet because she's scared of being in the bathroom and going on her own. I heard a plop plop plop. Well, this is awks....
"Come here."
I was stood on the otherside of the bathroom and I was pretty comfortable where I was.
"Why?"
"Come here." She got off the toilet and flushed it. Then just stood there. "You need to wash me."
I stood still. I stared at the toilet roll that was sitting on the window sill next to the toilet, untouched.
"What?" I asked. She went over to the small basin/bath thing - the bidet - and hovered there.
"I'm sorry Clari but I have no idea what you're on about. What do you want me to do?"
"You make the water come, then wait for cold to hot. I sit here and you wash me with your hand. Turn off water and then you go wash your hands."
Oh heeeeelll no. I froze, visions of my hands covered in runny six year old poo. Eurgh. My brain desperately grabbing at straws: what can I do what can I do must find a way out of this...
I pointed to the toilet roll behind her.
"So what do you use that for?" I asked hopefully. She shrugged.
"I don't know.. things."
Oh gahd. There seemed no way out.
I edged over to the bidet and turned on the tap. I waited. The warm water didn't come.
"The warm water's not coming," I told her.
"That's okay," she said sitting over the bowl, " You can use cold."
Like an idiot, I use my hand to channel the water and splash it onto her, taking serious care there was no hand-pooeybottom contact. I'm not squeamish, but there's just something about this six year old that makes me grimace. Finally, I hear the long-awaited words:
"I'm clean."
Ahhhhh thank the lord. I feared more rigorous cleaning might have to be in order, but I got away with a lucky escape. She got up and dried her bum with a towel, inspecting it before she put it back.
I don't think I've got out of a bathroom quicker.
* * * *
For those of you in doubt or just plain immature like me (heheh), here is a video 'How To Use A Bidet' - or rather, how to use a b'day.
Delizioso Desserts: Cannoli
cannoli
/can'noli/
Noun - m. plural. Singular. 'cannolo'
Cannoli are tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet creamy filling made with ricotta whipped with icing sugar until it's sweet and smooth. The pastry tastes a little bit like the cornetto icecream cones (the thick squared ones) and the one I tried had a milk chocolate coating on the inside.
They are loooovely, albeit quite filling and it feels weird knowing you're eating ricotta cheese but it just tastes like sweetened cake cream...
They originally come from Sicily, where they are sometimes called cannolu, which means 'little tube'. They can also range in size; from a cannulicchi which is no bigger than a finger, to the fist-sized portions typically found south of Palermo (and also the one I had.. heheh).
They're also often garnished with something, like some candied orange peel, a glacee cherry or some chocolate chips. Mmm mmm...
/can'noli/
Noun - m. plural. Singular. 'cannolo'
 |
| (image courtesy of wikipedia, because I ate it before I could take a photo again...) |
Cannoli are tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet creamy filling made with ricotta whipped with icing sugar until it's sweet and smooth. The pastry tastes a little bit like the cornetto icecream cones (the thick squared ones) and the one I tried had a milk chocolate coating on the inside.
They are loooovely, albeit quite filling and it feels weird knowing you're eating ricotta cheese but it just tastes like sweetened cake cream...
They originally come from Sicily, where they are sometimes called cannolu, which means 'little tube'. They can also range in size; from a cannulicchi which is no bigger than a finger, to the fist-sized portions typically found south of Palermo (and also the one I had.. heheh).
They're also often garnished with something, like some candied orange peel, a glacee cherry or some chocolate chips. Mmm mmm...
Sunday, 31 March 2013
Buona Pasqua!
Easterrsssss hereeee! Yeaaaahh.
Easter means chocolate.
And Easter in Italy also equals family and food (aka, a beastly dinner).
Dominga had started to prepare the courses we were going to eat for Easter lunch on Friday. That's how badass you know it was going to be.
Giorgio's mother and his sister came and joined us for lunch and they laid up the long wicker dining table in the hall to fit us all. His sister seems to be nothing like him. She looked slightly similar (at first I wasn't really introduced so I tried to work out from the early conversation who exactly she was) but appeared to be the polar opposite in terms of personality. Giorgio is an unsocial, self-confessed snob and his older sister, well, seemed normal.
First course, was a savoury bread filled with meat and cheese, and salami. Second course was a meatball-boiled egg-mozzarella pasta bake. I didn't know it was possible for all three ingredients to be put into one dish and it taste good, but somehow it worked. Dominga gave me a portion probably acceptable as a stand-alone dinner, and I was informed by Giorgio that the main course was yet to come.
Blimey.
Third course was the meat from a roasted leg of a piglet - I don't know if there's a specific word for piglet-pork meat, but it was good anyhow. Fourth course was dessert - pastiera: a kind of sweet wheaty custard pastry tart which was quite nice... but did slightly ressemble lumpy custard with a pastry crust. Then we had strawberries.
And finally fifth course, of course, was easter egg. You remember these?
... lurking on the top of the cupboards for a few weeks, waiting... Well, it soon turned into this:
Quite possibly the biggest chocolate egg I've ever had all to myself - especially made with Lindt chocolate.
And that's not all... Italian easter eggs aren't just like plain old English ones. They're not empty, with a couple of small chocolate bars on the side to go with it. Ohhhh no. They're like a christmas cracker: you break them in half and inside is a gift. Even in adult easter eggs... I mean, Clari had a 'Winx' doll in her Kinder egg, and I've got a metallic shot measurer. Hahaha amazing.
Many people have asked me if they think Clarissa is spoilt because she's an only child. I always shook my head and told them I didn't think so. Today, I've never seen one child receive so many toys and chocolate eggs as she did. I'm now thinking I was probably wrong.
Easter means chocolate.
And Easter in Italy also equals family and food (aka, a beastly dinner).
Dominga had started to prepare the courses we were going to eat for Easter lunch on Friday. That's how badass you know it was going to be.
Giorgio's mother and his sister came and joined us for lunch and they laid up the long wicker dining table in the hall to fit us all. His sister seems to be nothing like him. She looked slightly similar (at first I wasn't really introduced so I tried to work out from the early conversation who exactly she was) but appeared to be the polar opposite in terms of personality. Giorgio is an unsocial, self-confessed snob and his older sister, well, seemed normal.
First course, was a savoury bread filled with meat and cheese, and salami. Second course was a meatball-boiled egg-mozzarella pasta bake. I didn't know it was possible for all three ingredients to be put into one dish and it taste good, but somehow it worked. Dominga gave me a portion probably acceptable as a stand-alone dinner, and I was informed by Giorgio that the main course was yet to come.
Blimey.
Third course was the meat from a roasted leg of a piglet - I don't know if there's a specific word for piglet-pork meat, but it was good anyhow. Fourth course was dessert - pastiera: a kind of sweet wheaty custard pastry tart which was quite nice... but did slightly ressemble lumpy custard with a pastry crust. Then we had strawberries.
And finally fifth course, of course, was easter egg. You remember these?
 |
| Mmmm... |
... lurking on the top of the cupboards for a few weeks, waiting... Well, it soon turned into this:
 |
| Giorgio's mother may be laughing at me in the back there.... |
Quite possibly the biggest chocolate egg I've ever had all to myself - especially made with Lindt chocolate.
And that's not all... Italian easter eggs aren't just like plain old English ones. They're not empty, with a couple of small chocolate bars on the side to go with it. Ohhhh no. They're like a christmas cracker: you break them in half and inside is a gift. Even in adult easter eggs... I mean, Clari had a 'Winx' doll in her Kinder egg, and I've got a metallic shot measurer. Hahaha amazing.
Many people have asked me if they think Clarissa is spoilt because she's an only child. I always shook my head and told them I didn't think so. Today, I've never seen one child receive so many toys and chocolate eggs as she did. I'm now thinking I was probably wrong.
Saturday, 30 March 2013
The 6 Year-Old Blackmailer
Now, previously I said Clari likes to play and she likes to play pretend games. Only recently I've noticed she's getting really lazy, and these games are starting to consist of me playing the game and her sitting back and having a loovely time.
Like when I 'make a cake' on her back or I'm a farmer and I grow something, using her back as the field. She lies down and relaxes - and lies there for like, 10 minutes. And then she'll want me to make another one. And another one. She always wants to play this game, until it gets to the point where I am sick of making the same bloody thing on her back and I tell her we'll play something else.
"Just one," she asks, attempting a sweet innocent asking face on me (only this does not work - I can still see the devil gremlin lurking inside).
"Okay. Just one. And then we'll play something else. What do you want me to grow?"
"What's the longest..." I hear her mumble under her breath.
There's just no winning. I end up being a farmer and growing some grapes, and then pressing them into wine. Only, I can't just plant the grapes straight off - oh no - I have to water the field (her back), plough the field, water it again and let the sun shine on it - and only then, can I plant the grapes.
Another game is Doctors. Or I should probably rephrase it 'Doctor' as I'm the only one who does anything.
Clari is the patient who lies on the bed, ill. I then have to check her heart rate, pulse, reactions in her knees, take her temperature, inject her, feed her medecine, operate and amputate her... all while she's just lying back on the bed, not moving and not even saying anything to me. It just becomes a rolling spiel of my own voice, until I'm finished and I tell her "I'll be back same time next week!".
Only she then says, it's next week now... and I have to do it all over again. And again. And now I'm a crazy doctor and we start from the beginning.
Not only is she lazy, but she isn't half sly. Word of advice - do not underestimate the wily ways of a six year old. Oh yes, I know they look cute and lovely on the outside. Inside, they are gremlins.
After Clari snitched on me yesterday for something I didn't do wrong, it's become a blackmail. If I tell her I won't do something:
"If you don't do that, I will tell my dad you were doing homeworks."
Yes, that's right. A six year old can say that?!
"But I wasn't so I'll tell him you're lying."
She shrugged. "He will believe me."
Whoever said six year olds were wonderful has clearly never met one.
Like when I 'make a cake' on her back or I'm a farmer and I grow something, using her back as the field. She lies down and relaxes - and lies there for like, 10 minutes. And then she'll want me to make another one. And another one. She always wants to play this game, until it gets to the point where I am sick of making the same bloody thing on her back and I tell her we'll play something else.
"Just one," she asks, attempting a sweet innocent asking face on me (only this does not work - I can still see the devil gremlin lurking inside).
"Okay. Just one. And then we'll play something else. What do you want me to grow?"
"What's the longest..." I hear her mumble under her breath.
There's just no winning. I end up being a farmer and growing some grapes, and then pressing them into wine. Only, I can't just plant the grapes straight off - oh no - I have to water the field (her back), plough the field, water it again and let the sun shine on it - and only then, can I plant the grapes.
Another game is Doctors. Or I should probably rephrase it 'Doctor' as I'm the only one who does anything.
Clari is the patient who lies on the bed, ill. I then have to check her heart rate, pulse, reactions in her knees, take her temperature, inject her, feed her medecine, operate and amputate her... all while she's just lying back on the bed, not moving and not even saying anything to me. It just becomes a rolling spiel of my own voice, until I'm finished and I tell her "I'll be back same time next week!".
Only she then says, it's next week now... and I have to do it all over again. And again. And now I'm a crazy doctor and we start from the beginning.
Not only is she lazy, but she isn't half sly. Word of advice - do not underestimate the wily ways of a six year old. Oh yes, I know they look cute and lovely on the outside. Inside, they are gremlins.
After Clari snitched on me yesterday for something I didn't do wrong, it's become a blackmail. If I tell her I won't do something:
"If you don't do that, I will tell my dad you were doing homeworks."
Yes, that's right. A six year old can say that?!
"But I wasn't so I'll tell him you're lying."
She shrugged. "He will believe me."
Whoever said six year olds were wonderful has clearly never met one.
The Day I (unfairly) Get Into Trouble
You know she's had chickenpox this week, well she's not been feeling too great and not had much energy so she's had a tendency to get into bed when we play. The other day Giorgio and Dominga went out for an hour or two before dinner to go and visit Giorgio's dad in hospital. So I was left to play with Clari in her room.
"You can say me a story on my back?"
This was something she liked to do. She was lying in bed and then I had to make up a story and 'illustrate' it on her back. So there was a story with Pupu the penguin and his magic hat. Only halfway through, Clari fell asleep. I stopped the story and waited.
I waited about five minutes, and then she stirred. She wasn't interested in playing anything else and wouldn't leave her bed, so I carried on with the story. She fell asleep again.
I sat at the bottom of her bed contemplating what to do. I'd tried to wake her up but it didn't work and she was now starting to snore like a baby rhinoceros. For about 15 minutes I sat at the bottom of her bed twiddling my thumbs, not really sure what to do. Eventually I got up, went and got my Italian exercise book and a pen and sat back at the end of her bed. I was just making some notes and I didn't leave her bed so I'd be there when she woke up to continue playing.
She stirred again and looked down at me.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Italian homeworks, while I wait for you to come back and play!"
But she still wasn't interested and went back to sleep.
About half an hour later she woke up again. Part of me felt sorry for her because she had a really bad fever and was sweating under her covers.
"Good morning.." I said to her, "Did you have a nice snooze?" She didn't reply.
She lay there for a bit, shuffling around uncomfortably. I heard the front door go and, "Ciao!".
"I think Mum and Dad are back," I told her. She still didn't reply.
Suddenly she starts to cry.
"What's the matter?" I ask incredulously. One minute she's fine, and then the next she starts to cry?
She gets out of bed and walks down the hallway, down the stairs into the kitchen and into the arms of Dominga. I follow her, like, what the hell is happening exactly?
She's wailing to her mum and dad in Italian so I can't understand a thing. I then catch 'italiano'. Oh right. She's crying about something I have (or haven't, I'm still unsure) done. Dominga then takes her into the bathroom to clean her up a bit and I'm left in the kitchen with Giorgio.
"Jennie," he says, "I'm not very happy. You're not supposed to be doing your italian when you're with Clarissa. You're supposed to have your attention on her."
"I know," I said,"But she fell asleep! I tried to carry on playing but she didn't want to. What am I supposed to do, just sit on her bed in silence?!"
"She's not supposed to fall asleep because it means she doesn't sleep at night, which is a problem for us. You're supposed to be active with her."
"But she's ill! I can't help it if she gets straight into bed and then wants to me draw a story on her back! She didn't want to play anything else!"
Unbelievable. What exactly had I done wrong?
Giorgio spends so little time with Clarissa he clearly doesn't know how stubborn and difficult a 6 year old can be. Like seriously, if she doesn't want to do something, we don't do it. Simple.
"You can say me a story on my back?"
This was something she liked to do. She was lying in bed and then I had to make up a story and 'illustrate' it on her back. So there was a story with Pupu the penguin and his magic hat. Only halfway through, Clari fell asleep. I stopped the story and waited.
I waited about five minutes, and then she stirred. She wasn't interested in playing anything else and wouldn't leave her bed, so I carried on with the story. She fell asleep again.
I sat at the bottom of her bed contemplating what to do. I'd tried to wake her up but it didn't work and she was now starting to snore like a baby rhinoceros. For about 15 minutes I sat at the bottom of her bed twiddling my thumbs, not really sure what to do. Eventually I got up, went and got my Italian exercise book and a pen and sat back at the end of her bed. I was just making some notes and I didn't leave her bed so I'd be there when she woke up to continue playing.
She stirred again and looked down at me.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Italian homeworks, while I wait for you to come back and play!"
But she still wasn't interested and went back to sleep.
About half an hour later she woke up again. Part of me felt sorry for her because she had a really bad fever and was sweating under her covers.
"Good morning.." I said to her, "Did you have a nice snooze?" She didn't reply.
She lay there for a bit, shuffling around uncomfortably. I heard the front door go and, "Ciao!".
"I think Mum and Dad are back," I told her. She still didn't reply.
Suddenly she starts to cry.
"What's the matter?" I ask incredulously. One minute she's fine, and then the next she starts to cry?
She gets out of bed and walks down the hallway, down the stairs into the kitchen and into the arms of Dominga. I follow her, like, what the hell is happening exactly?
She's wailing to her mum and dad in Italian so I can't understand a thing. I then catch 'italiano'. Oh right. She's crying about something I have (or haven't, I'm still unsure) done. Dominga then takes her into the bathroom to clean her up a bit and I'm left in the kitchen with Giorgio.
"Jennie," he says, "I'm not very happy. You're not supposed to be doing your italian when you're with Clarissa. You're supposed to have your attention on her."
"I know," I said,"But she fell asleep! I tried to carry on playing but she didn't want to. What am I supposed to do, just sit on her bed in silence?!"
"She's not supposed to fall asleep because it means she doesn't sleep at night, which is a problem for us. You're supposed to be active with her."
"But she's ill! I can't help it if she gets straight into bed and then wants to me draw a story on her back! She didn't want to play anything else!"
Unbelievable. What exactly had I done wrong?
Giorgio spends so little time with Clarissa he clearly doesn't know how stubborn and difficult a 6 year old can be. Like seriously, if she doesn't want to do something, we don't do it. Simple.
Identity Crisis
Clarissa loves to play. And she loves to play pretend games.
The only problem is, I tend to be everything.
She'll play the child or the princess or whatever. I'll be the older sister, the annoying younger sister, the mother, the teacher, the evil witch, the fat lazy person, the boy, the friends, the knight, the dragon, the ghost...
We'll play Barbies and she'll be 'Clari'. I'll be 'me' and Ken, and 'Anna' and 'Tina' and 'Giulia'. She'll dress one, and I'll dress five. Then she acts for one, and I act for two, the others stand motionless. She looks at the line of Barbies stood against the box.
"Why they not move?"
"Because I've only got two hands Clari."
Now I don't mind acting as the rest of the world while Clari is Clari, it only becomes an identity crisis when she expects me to know when to transition from mother-to-sister-to-teacher during her casual dialogue. In her mind she knows when she's talking to the teacher, and then to the mother, only I'm not blessed with the art of mind-reading, so it can be pretty well impossible to keep up. And then she gets frustrated, and she cries and of course, it's always my fault.
The only problem is, I tend to be everything.
She'll play the child or the princess or whatever. I'll be the older sister, the annoying younger sister, the mother, the teacher, the evil witch, the fat lazy person, the boy, the friends, the knight, the dragon, the ghost...
We'll play Barbies and she'll be 'Clari'. I'll be 'me' and Ken, and 'Anna' and 'Tina' and 'Giulia'. She'll dress one, and I'll dress five. Then she acts for one, and I act for two, the others stand motionless. She looks at the line of Barbies stood against the box.
"Why they not move?"
"Because I've only got two hands Clari."
Now I don't mind acting as the rest of the world while Clari is Clari, it only becomes an identity crisis when she expects me to know when to transition from mother-to-sister-to-teacher during her casual dialogue. In her mind she knows when she's talking to the teacher, and then to the mother, only I'm not blessed with the art of mind-reading, so it can be pretty well impossible to keep up. And then she gets frustrated, and she cries and of course, it's always my fault.
Thursday, 28 March 2013
I Try?
'Later..' was one, 'You're boring' is another, and the latest edition to Clarissa's phrasebook is; "I try?"
My granny and grandad had posted me a parcel filled with crafty goodies that I could do with Clari over Easter. So we spent the morning getting stuck into them - making a mobile and colouring in some finger puppets:
Clari particularly liked the finger puppets, and we made up a lot of stories with them. Feli, the au pair before me, had posted Clari a box full of things which arrived on the same day, so we used the empty cardboard box to make a theatre for the fingerpuppets to perform in. I made a prop-house with open and close shutters and doors.
Clari has a pretty short attention span, so soon this was boring for her and we went into the garden. I helped her make a 'kitchen' and hunted around the garden for foodie bits that she could keep in it. She then made a 'soup' (aka. a potion) and wanted to find more things to put in it.
She wanted to climb up the bank of the garden and walk along the wall that ran alongside the house. She'd just seen Bronson trot along it and then jump down to join us. This wall was well over one and a half times me. And narrow. And wet. I looked up at it and visualised a tiny Clari slipping and just falling down to the floor, faceplanting the concrete. That wouldn't be so good.
"I climb the wall?" she said.
"No Clari."
"Why not?"
"Because it's too high."
"But I don't have vertigine (vertigo). I'm not scared."
"I don't care Clari, it's too high up and you might fall down."
Pause.
"I try?"
"No Clari."
"I try?"
"No."
"I try?"
"Clari, I said no."
"Just a little, up to here..."
"Get down Clari. I said no!"
She screws up her face in anger and frustration.
"When I go next in garden again I will go all the way to the end."
"Whatever you say Clari, just get down."
My granny and grandad had posted me a parcel filled with crafty goodies that I could do with Clari over Easter. So we spent the morning getting stuck into them - making a mobile and colouring in some finger puppets:
 |
| 'Tina' the rabbit. |
Clari particularly liked the finger puppets, and we made up a lot of stories with them. Feli, the au pair before me, had posted Clari a box full of things which arrived on the same day, so we used the empty cardboard box to make a theatre for the fingerpuppets to perform in. I made a prop-house with open and close shutters and doors.
 |
| Pretty badass if I do say so myself |
Clari has a pretty short attention span, so soon this was boring for her and we went into the garden. I helped her make a 'kitchen' and hunted around the garden for foodie bits that she could keep in it. She then made a 'soup' (aka. a potion) and wanted to find more things to put in it.
She wanted to climb up the bank of the garden and walk along the wall that ran alongside the house. She'd just seen Bronson trot along it and then jump down to join us. This wall was well over one and a half times me. And narrow. And wet. I looked up at it and visualised a tiny Clari slipping and just falling down to the floor, faceplanting the concrete. That wouldn't be so good.
"I climb the wall?" she said.
"No Clari."
"Why not?"
"Because it's too high."
"But I don't have vertigine (vertigo). I'm not scared."
"I don't care Clari, it's too high up and you might fall down."
Pause.
"I try?"
"No Clari."
"I try?"
"No."
"I try?"
"Clari, I said no."
"Just a little, up to here..."
"Get down Clari. I said no!"
She screws up her face in anger and frustration.
"When I go next in garden again I will go all the way to the end."
"Whatever you say Clari, just get down."
Wednesday, 27 March 2013
Italian Swear Words!
Yeaahh the post you've all been waiting for. One of the first things you can resist asking when you make a friend who speaks another language: "Teach me some swear words!"
* * * NOTICE * * *
Don't read this if you're under like, I don't know, twelve or something. Or if you're weak minded. Or easy offended. Or Jesus. It might/will probably offend you...
Vaffanculo! - Fuck you! Fuck off! (* Literally, go and take it in your ass.)
The definitions in English might not always be the literal translation, but the equivalent we would use.
cazzo - fuck
merda - shit
un bastardo, un figlio di puttana - bastard, a son of a bitch
una brutta, una schifosa, una zoccola - a bitch, skank, slut
il cazzo, la minchia, il pistolino, la fava - a dick/cock/willy (however you fancy it)
la fica, la farfalla*, la gnacchera, la toppa - a pussy/vagina
la farfalla - (* Literally, 'the butterfly'. Ahahahaha)
i coglini, le palle - balls, bollocks
il culo - ass
le poppe, le cioccie, le tette - boobs
un pompino - a blowjob - (almost my word of the week. It's so ironic, it just sounds like such a nice word.. Haha!)
un pompinaio, un succhiatore, un leccacazzi*, un gustafave - a cocksucker
un leccacazzi - (* Literally, a 'lickdicks'. Amazing.)
testa di merda - shithead
una bella fica, una fica pronta - a (nice) piece of ass
chiavere, trombare, fottere - to fuck
> (ciulare - Milanese, beciare - Genovese, scopare - Italiano)
essere fottuto - to be fucked up
(E' tutti fottuto. - It's all fucked up)
vacagare, vai/va a cagare - to piss off
avere il cazzo in aria - to be pissed off (* Literally something like, 'to have dick in the air')
affanculo - fuck it all, fuck this shit
That's just some basics, here're some charming phrases:
Non sto in questo merdaio. - I'm not staying in this shithole.
Andate tutti a 'fanculo. - You can all go fuck yourselves.
La tua madre si da per niente. - Your mother gives it away (for nothing).
E' un stronzo. - You're an asshole.
(Most of these were from this website - there's a few more on there if you want to fill your boots.)
* * * NOTICE * * *
Don't read this if you're under like, I don't know, twelve or something. Or if you're weak minded. Or easy offended. Or Jesus. It might/will probably offend you...
Vaffanculo! - Fuck you! Fuck off! (* Literally, go and take it in your ass.)
The definitions in English might not always be the literal translation, but the equivalent we would use.
cazzo - fuck
merda - shit
un bastardo, un figlio di puttana - bastard, a son of a bitch
una brutta, una schifosa, una zoccola - a bitch, skank, slut
il cazzo, la minchia, il pistolino, la fava - a dick/cock/willy (however you fancy it)
la fica, la farfalla*, la gnacchera, la toppa - a pussy/vagina
la farfalla - (* Literally, 'the butterfly'. Ahahahaha)
i coglini, le palle - balls, bollocks
il culo - ass
le poppe, le cioccie, le tette - boobs
un pompino - a blowjob - (almost my word of the week. It's so ironic, it just sounds like such a nice word.. Haha!)
un pompinaio, un succhiatore, un leccacazzi*, un gustafave - a cocksucker
un leccacazzi - (* Literally, a 'lickdicks'. Amazing.)
testa di merda - shithead
una bella fica, una fica pronta - a (nice) piece of ass
chiavere, trombare, fottere - to fuck
> (ciulare - Milanese, beciare - Genovese, scopare - Italiano)
essere fottuto - to be fucked up
(E' tutti fottuto. - It's all fucked up)
vacagare, vai/va a cagare - to piss off
avere il cazzo in aria - to be pissed off (* Literally something like, 'to have dick in the air')
affanculo - fuck it all, fuck this shit
That's just some basics, here're some charming phrases:
Non sto in questo merdaio. - I'm not staying in this shithole.
Andate tutti a 'fanculo. - You can all go fuck yourselves.
La tua madre si da per niente. - Your mother gives it away (for nothing).
E' un stronzo. - You're an asshole.
(Most of these were from this website - there's a few more on there if you want to fill your boots.)
(not so) Delizioso Desserts: Fetta al Latte
Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure a lot of people love these Kinder bars. Clari certainly does that's for sure. But I couldn't help but think it was pretty tasteless and well, rather cardboardy...
'Fetta al Latte' translates to 'slice of milk' in English.
These Kinder bars are kept in the fridge and on the packet they look pretty yummy. So I thought I'd give it a go. There are two 'chocolate' rectangles, which are kind of like sponge cake sandwiched between a soft, yet firm milk-cream filling.
Only the chocolate sponge is dry and tastes more like cardboard. And the cream filling reminded me of a cream cake that had been sitting in the fridge for a few days: not rotten, but tasteless and stale.
I'm sure these things are nice... they just weren't my thing. I think I'll just stick to the ol' gelato.
 |
| It's like a brown brick... |
These Kinder bars are kept in the fridge and on the packet they look pretty yummy. So I thought I'd give it a go. There are two 'chocolate' rectangles, which are kind of like sponge cake sandwiched between a soft, yet firm milk-cream filling.
Only the chocolate sponge is dry and tastes more like cardboard. And the cream filling reminded me of a cream cake that had been sitting in the fridge for a few days: not rotten, but tasteless and stale.
I'm sure these things are nice... they just weren't my thing. I think I'll just stick to the ol' gelato.
Wicked Word of the Week! - Curiosare
curiosare
/kjuriosarei/
Verb - English - 'to wander/to look around, to poke about'
Example: Curioso nei negozi - I'm wandering/looking around the shops.
(I guess you could look at it like 'curios-' is similar to curious...).
*Note: I have to admit this word of the week isn't so wicked. I was swayed by 'shottino' just because it sounds cool, but then also swayed towards choosing a cool Italian swear word. But then I just thought I'd make a whole post about them because I just couldn't decide which was coolest).
/kjuriosarei/
Verb - English - 'to wander/to look around, to poke about'
Example: Curioso nei negozi - I'm wandering/looking around the shops.
(I guess you could look at it like 'curios-' is similar to curious...).
*Note: I have to admit this word of the week isn't so wicked. I was swayed by 'shottino' just because it sounds cool, but then also swayed towards choosing a cool Italian swear word. But then I just thought I'd make a whole post about them because I just couldn't decide which was coolest).
Tuesday, 26 March 2013
You're so boring.
"Ho una baby-sitter noioso."
This is another one of Clari's tactics. As soon as I tell her not to do something, or "shall we tidy up this mess?" :
"You're so boring."
So, I've made a pirate ship, complete with sail and flag. I've been a ghost. I've made a den, and fixed it when it collapsed under snow. I've made a throne for Queen Clari. I've made an origami crane ('swan') for her and each one of her friends that's come over.
I've made a theatre out of a carboard box for her finger puppets, and a prop-house with open-close doors and shutters. I've made 'cakes' on her tummy and 'threw her in the bin' when they went 'smelly'. I've made a full-blown bedroom tent. I've made her an origami game. I've made an epic obstacle course. I've made...
Oh, but wait. Gah, I'm so boring.
This is another one of Clari's tactics. As soon as I tell her not to do something, or "shall we tidy up this mess?" :
"You're so boring."
So, I've made a pirate ship, complete with sail and flag. I've been a ghost. I've made a den, and fixed it when it collapsed under snow. I've made a throne for Queen Clari. I've made an origami crane ('swan') for her and each one of her friends that's come over.
I've made a theatre out of a carboard box for her finger puppets, and a prop-house with open-close doors and shutters. I've made 'cakes' on her tummy and 'threw her in the bin' when they went 'smelly'. I've made a full-blown bedroom tent. I've made her an origami game. I've made an epic obstacle course. I've made...
Oh, but wait. Gah, I'm so boring.
Balliamo! Italiano-Style..
Earlier last week I'd spoken to Mirko on whatsapp (judo Mirko..) - thought it'd only be polite really - and he invited me to join him and his friends on Saturday night when they go out.
[Italians call it 'ballare' which means to dance, but I think we English would translate it to 'a night on the town' because to go 'dancing' sounds like, erm.. something my grandparents would do.]
So I agreed. And with a little translation help from Dominga (Mirko's english is as good as my italian..) we arranged a place and time to meet him and his group. She told me she couldn't come and get me afterwards and that I had to get a lift home. However, in Italy apparently it's just common courtesy that the boys take the girls home afterwards if they don't have a car. How crazy is that?! I barely even had to ask and he just brushed it aside like, yes of course we'll bring you back after, no worries.
So Saturday night, Dominga dropped me off in Broni and I was introduced to his group of friends as they arrived at the Light Bar. They had a cocktail offer going on: you buy a drink, you roll two dice and if you get a double you get the same again. And being the jammy dodger I was, I somehow rolled a double three. Haha yeaa.
It's crazy how friendly the Italians are. Like, I was so surprised. I guess Giorgio's antisocial shallow minded opinions were what I was expecting, as he'd told me a load of crap about Italian people which just wasn't true. (After all, he told me Italian people don't drink as much as English people... hah! yeah right). The girls practically took me under their wing and lead me everywhere. They all used their small combined knowledge of english to get through what they wanted to say, and I had people clambering around me asking me where I was from, what I was doing, what music I liked, did I know Cinderella (for some reason..), what football club I supported. It was mad.
They kept asking me what some words were in English.
"Come si dice 'cocktail' in inglese?"
" - Cocktail..?"
I learnt that they call a shot, a shot or an even cooler word: 'shottino'. And a tequila slammer is a 'tequila bom bom'. How cool is that?! Because you 'bom' the glass back down afterwards.
I didn't spend a penny on one drink while I was out. The boys paid for everything. I don't even know how. Mirko and his friend bought three shots of 'assenzio' and gave one to me. I had no idea what this stuff was but it smelled like aniseed so I assumed, ah yeah, some kind of green Sambuca. No. If someone offers you a shot of assenzio, politely decline. It will destroy you. You probably won't notice it until it's too late: it'll burn on the way down and probably singe your insides for the next two days.
We all paid €20 to get into the club Discoteca Life, but that gave us entry, a table and a shed load of drinks. Discoteca Life was unusual - on the inside it was like a club; it was on the outskirts of Stradella and Broni, but on the outside it was like a warehouse. When we arrived they were hosting a 'Miss Mondo' competition, with teenage girls strutting up and down, and when that finished it suddenly became a club.
Early morning, we left. The Italians don't do it English uni-town style. Oh no. And it's not like France where everything shuts at two. At pushing half three, we went to a bar and Mirko grabbed a sandwich. His friend then drove us all practically to Pavia to take Mirko's girlfriend home, and then we attempted to get back to Montu' to get me home. Although, they didn't listen to me when I told them to take the left when we came out of Stradella, so half an hour later we arrived at Localita' Pezzalunga 3.
It was a good night, but I have to admit, one of the best parts was there were no creepy italian men. Not one. No slimy "Ciao bellaaaa.." calling from behind you. No greasy Italian men trying to grab your arms and getting you to dad dance. Ah it was wonderful. Haha!
[Italians call it 'ballare' which means to dance, but I think we English would translate it to 'a night on the town' because to go 'dancing' sounds like, erm.. something my grandparents would do.]
So I agreed. And with a little translation help from Dominga (Mirko's english is as good as my italian..) we arranged a place and time to meet him and his group. She told me she couldn't come and get me afterwards and that I had to get a lift home. However, in Italy apparently it's just common courtesy that the boys take the girls home afterwards if they don't have a car. How crazy is that?! I barely even had to ask and he just brushed it aside like, yes of course we'll bring you back after, no worries.
 |
| "For the lower classes" in Giorgio's words.. a.k.a an epic time! |
So Saturday night, Dominga dropped me off in Broni and I was introduced to his group of friends as they arrived at the Light Bar. They had a cocktail offer going on: you buy a drink, you roll two dice and if you get a double you get the same again. And being the jammy dodger I was, I somehow rolled a double three. Haha yeaa.
It's crazy how friendly the Italians are. Like, I was so surprised. I guess Giorgio's antisocial shallow minded opinions were what I was expecting, as he'd told me a load of crap about Italian people which just wasn't true. (After all, he told me Italian people don't drink as much as English people... hah! yeah right). The girls practically took me under their wing and lead me everywhere. They all used their small combined knowledge of english to get through what they wanted to say, and I had people clambering around me asking me where I was from, what I was doing, what music I liked, did I know Cinderella (for some reason..), what football club I supported. It was mad.
They kept asking me what some words were in English.
"Come si dice 'cocktail' in inglese?"
" - Cocktail..?"
I learnt that they call a shot, a shot or an even cooler word: 'shottino'. And a tequila slammer is a 'tequila bom bom'. How cool is that?! Because you 'bom' the glass back down afterwards.
I didn't spend a penny on one drink while I was out. The boys paid for everything. I don't even know how. Mirko and his friend bought three shots of 'assenzio' and gave one to me. I had no idea what this stuff was but it smelled like aniseed so I assumed, ah yeah, some kind of green Sambuca. No. If someone offers you a shot of assenzio, politely decline. It will destroy you. You probably won't notice it until it's too late: it'll burn on the way down and probably singe your insides for the next two days.
We all paid €20 to get into the club Discoteca Life, but that gave us entry, a table and a shed load of drinks. Discoteca Life was unusual - on the inside it was like a club; it was on the outskirts of Stradella and Broni, but on the outside it was like a warehouse. When we arrived they were hosting a 'Miss Mondo' competition, with teenage girls strutting up and down, and when that finished it suddenly became a club.
 |
| Frieeeeends.... |
Early morning, we left. The Italians don't do it English uni-town style. Oh no. And it's not like France where everything shuts at two. At pushing half three, we went to a bar and Mirko grabbed a sandwich. His friend then drove us all practically to Pavia to take Mirko's girlfriend home, and then we attempted to get back to Montu' to get me home. Although, they didn't listen to me when I told them to take the left when we came out of Stradella, so half an hour later we arrived at Localita' Pezzalunga 3.
It was a good night, but I have to admit, one of the best parts was there were no creepy italian men. Not one. No slimy "Ciao bellaaaa.." calling from behind you. No greasy Italian men trying to grab your arms and getting you to dad dance. Ah it was wonderful. Haha!
Monday, 25 March 2013
Delizioso Desserts: Semifreddo
Semifreddo
/semifredo/
Noun m singular (Lit. "half cold")
Semifreddo has got to be one of the most wonderful actual desserts I have tried yet in Italy. And the ones Dominga brought back from the pastisseria were much nicer looking than any photo I can find on the internet.
Semifreddo (or semifreddi in the plural) are small desserts mixed half between and cake and an icecream. The base of them is like a 1 cm of sponge cake, and then you've got the part on top of that which is made of icecream. They are so good!
The one's I tried were cut out in different shapes and in brighter colours: pink moon-shaped strawberry ones, rich chocolate heart-shaped ones and green pistachio circles. They came in little paper cases and were small enough you could easily have three different flavours and not feel like you'd been too greedy. And you could almost get an entire one in your mouth in one go. Although that might be stupid as it's a block of icecream and unless you're asking for brainfreeze...
Veramente delizioso!
/semifredo/
Noun m singular (Lit. "half cold")
 |
| Ours weren't quite as elaborate. (image courtesy of wiki - I scoffed all mine before I considered taking a photo....) |
Semifreddo has got to be one of the most wonderful actual desserts I have tried yet in Italy. And the ones Dominga brought back from the pastisseria were much nicer looking than any photo I can find on the internet.
Semifreddo (or semifreddi in the plural) are small desserts mixed half between and cake and an icecream. The base of them is like a 1 cm of sponge cake, and then you've got the part on top of that which is made of icecream. They are so good!
The one's I tried were cut out in different shapes and in brighter colours: pink moon-shaped strawberry ones, rich chocolate heart-shaped ones and green pistachio circles. They came in little paper cases and were small enough you could easily have three different flavours and not feel like you'd been too greedy. And you could almost get an entire one in your mouth in one go. Although that might be stupid as it's a block of icecream and unless you're asking for brainfreeze...
Veramente delizioso!
Chicken Pops
On Sunday, we were a house full of invalids. Dominga had a bad back, I was nursing the effects of the assenzio the Italians had made me try the night before (see my previous post on my Saturday night Italian antics) and Clari had caught chickenpox. Or 'la varicella' in Italian.
Friday she was feeling a little under the weather and didn't eat much at the Mexican. Saturday she had a temperature and not much energy. At the end of the day she had three small pink dots on her stomach, but they didn't look like much. Sunday morning she had a few more and the Casanova's concluded that it was chickenpox.
Monday morning, and BOOM chickenpox girl! She's covered in them. And they look so angry and sore but they've not quite reached the itchy stage.
"Jennie look," said when I came down this morning, "Look at all my chicken pops!"
Friday she was feeling a little under the weather and didn't eat much at the Mexican. Saturday she had a temperature and not much energy. At the end of the day she had three small pink dots on her stomach, but they didn't look like much. Sunday morning she had a few more and the Casanova's concluded that it was chickenpox.
Monday morning, and BOOM chickenpox girl! She's covered in them. And they look so angry and sore but they've not quite reached the itchy stage.
"Jennie look," said when I came down this morning, "Look at all my chicken pops!"
My Fault
I've learnt a considerable amout of things since I've been here in Italy, one of them happens to be that I have become the scapegoat for Clari in anything that goes wrong for her. Sometimes, it's just impossible not to laugh in her face when she says things. For example:
The other day she was watching some cartoons on youtube on Dominga's ipad, and then it stopped and started to buffer. She started to cry and couldn't understand why it wasn't working, and then it was my fault it had stopped... Only I couldn't catch the reason because she was babbling something illegible between wails. The cartoon stopped buffering and carried on and she just stopped crying and laughed.
* * * *
We went to judo on Friday and got changed in the sportshall changing rooms. I tied her judo belt for her, and then she went to the toilet. When she came out, she'd undone her belt and was trying to do it back up, only she couldn't do it properly. She screwed up her face and started to cry.
"It's your fault!" she wailed, "You didded like this and now it is wrong!"
She glared at me.
"Don't be ridiculous Clari! You untied it and now you can't tie it up again. It's got nothing to do with me."
* * * *
We were both sat on the floor as I had made her a throne (for 'Queen Clari') and we were drawing things on it with felt tip pen. She kept shuffling over and shuffling over until I was squidged up against the freezer.
"Clari, can you move back a bit? I can't reach the bottom of your throne!"
She moved back and we carried on. About ten minutes (and a lot of shuffling) later, Clari banged her head on the corner of the table. She started to wail and suddenly, of course, it was my fault.
"You-made-me-hitted-my-head-you-told-me-to-move-and-now-I-hitted-my-head-an-an-it's-your-fault-you-me-ahh-waaaahhh!!"
"Don't be so silly Clari! I did not tell you to bang your head into the table now did I. Don't be ridiculous."
"Bahngs-ahwa-do-sjhbnjthing-thenma!"
"What?"
She was wailing so hard I couldn't understand a word she was saying.
"Waaggghhhh!!! Gehtt-hbhjs-ice-bjac-or-sbjathing!"
"Clari I can't understand."
"I'mg-speakinngh-ENGHLISHHAA!"
"I know Clari but I can't hear you you're babbling so much."
"Wha-ghs-are your ears blocked or something-gha? You speak out of your ears!"
Yes, gosh, that's it. I speak out of my ears.
After a few moments she cooled down a bit.
"Finished?" I asked. She frowned and gave me one of the most evil glares I think a six year old could muster but said nothing.
"Mmm, good. Shall we finish this throne for Queen Clari then? I hear she's waiting."
The other day she was watching some cartoons on youtube on Dominga's ipad, and then it stopped and started to buffer. She started to cry and couldn't understand why it wasn't working, and then it was my fault it had stopped... Only I couldn't catch the reason because she was babbling something illegible between wails. The cartoon stopped buffering and carried on and she just stopped crying and laughed.
* * * *
We went to judo on Friday and got changed in the sportshall changing rooms. I tied her judo belt for her, and then she went to the toilet. When she came out, she'd undone her belt and was trying to do it back up, only she couldn't do it properly. She screwed up her face and started to cry.
"It's your fault!" she wailed, "You didded like this and now it is wrong!"
She glared at me.
"Don't be ridiculous Clari! You untied it and now you can't tie it up again. It's got nothing to do with me."
* * * *
We were both sat on the floor as I had made her a throne (for 'Queen Clari') and we were drawing things on it with felt tip pen. She kept shuffling over and shuffling over until I was squidged up against the freezer.
"Clari, can you move back a bit? I can't reach the bottom of your throne!"
She moved back and we carried on. About ten minutes (and a lot of shuffling) later, Clari banged her head on the corner of the table. She started to wail and suddenly, of course, it was my fault.
"You-made-me-hitted-my-head-you-told-me-to-move-and-now-I-hitted-my-head-an-an-it's-your-fault-you-me-ahh-waaaahhh!!"
"Don't be so silly Clari! I did not tell you to bang your head into the table now did I. Don't be ridiculous."
"Bahngs-ahwa-do-sjhbnjthing-thenma!"
"What?"
She was wailing so hard I couldn't understand a word she was saying.
"Waaggghhhh!!! Gehtt-hbhjs-ice-bjac-or-sbjathing!"
"Clari I can't understand."
"I'mg-speakinngh-ENGHLISHHAA!"
"I know Clari but I can't hear you you're babbling so much."
"Wha-ghs-are your ears blocked or something-gha? You speak out of your ears!"
Yes, gosh, that's it. I speak out of my ears.
After a few moments she cooled down a bit.
"Finished?" I asked. She frowned and gave me one of the most evil glares I think a six year old could muster but said nothing.
"Mmm, good. Shall we finish this throne for Queen Clari then? I hear she's waiting."
Thursday, 21 March 2013
Wicked Word of the Week! - Lecca-Lecca
Ahh I came across an awesome word today, and decided it just had to become a word of the week.
lecca-lecca
/lekka-lekka/
Noun m singular - English - 'lolly, lollipop'
* Literally means lick-lick. How cool is that!?
lecca-lecca
/lekka-lekka/
Noun m singular - English - 'lolly, lollipop'
* Literally means lick-lick. How cool is that!?
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Delizioso Desserts: Panforte
Panforte
/panfortei/
Noun m singular (Lit. "strong bread")
Panforte is a kind of dessert made with fruit and nuts, which wiki compares to a fruit cake, but it's not like fruit cake at all because I hate fruit cake and panforte is yumtastic. There're no soggy raisins! It's kind of like, whole almonds and fruit and nuts and things held together with a sweet sticky honey-like mass which tasted mildly of marmalade (but not too much) and spices. And with a thin layer of rice paper on the base. It is scrummmmy!
The name panforte; 'strong bread' refers to the spicy flavours. It originates from Siena in Tuscany and dates right back to the 13th century where it was used as payment to the monks and nuns of local monastries and was taken by Crusaders when they went on their quests and often used to survive sieges thanks to it being such a durable confection.
800 years on and it still tastes delizioso!
/panfortei/
Noun m singular (Lit. "strong bread")
 |
| I think someone was a bit eager to get into the box... |
Panforte is a kind of dessert made with fruit and nuts, which wiki compares to a fruit cake, but it's not like fruit cake at all because I hate fruit cake and panforte is yumtastic. There're no soggy raisins! It's kind of like, whole almonds and fruit and nuts and things held together with a sweet sticky honey-like mass which tasted mildly of marmalade (but not too much) and spices. And with a thin layer of rice paper on the base. It is scrummmmy!
The name panforte; 'strong bread' refers to the spicy flavours. It originates from Siena in Tuscany and dates right back to the 13th century where it was used as payment to the monks and nuns of local monastries and was taken by Crusaders when they went on their quests and often used to survive sieges thanks to it being such a durable confection.
800 years on and it still tastes delizioso!
Monday, 18 March 2013
Sta Nevicando!
Woke up this morning to this:
Pretty unexpected! And it was sooo deep. I reckon it's probably the deepest snow I've ever seen in my life. Like, so much deep snow!
Naturally, I got really excited and couldn't wait to go outside in it. Clari got out her sledge and we tried to find a suitable hill to sledge down. Only, we didn't have much to choose from as I didn't fancy sledging down into a tree, and Clari was too scared to go down even the slightly steepest of hills.
I had to check out our den / cabina whatever to see if it was still standing, and it was! Just about...
The roof had caved slightly under the weight of the snow but it's still standing!
After much hunting for a prime sledging spot, we settled on the long slope down in front of their house. I pulled Clari down it in the sledge to make a pathway for the sledge to slide down. Then I pulled her back up the hill because she's a lazy gremlin and doesn't like walking. I then pushed her down the hill again in the sledge (note: pushed, because it wasn't steep enough to slide on its own). And pulled her back up.
By the time it was my go Clari decided to wait for me at the top of the slope and I attempted to slide down the hill, but it's quite hard to slide down horizontally. And I've got to admit, sledging isn't really any fun unless the hill is so steep you start to fear for your life.
Clari soon got bored, so we made a snow man.
She helped me roll the first ball but then she started to cry and told me her fingers were cold, so she went inside and I finished it off myself. Dominga chucked me a scarf and a carrot from the balcony above and I dug out some stones from the drive for eyes and a mouth. Eventually I was finished and I went back inside, totally sodden through and with fingers like pink crab sticks...
But with a beastly snowman sat outside in the garden!
 |
| Haha! Lego houses. |
Pretty unexpected! And it was sooo deep. I reckon it's probably the deepest snow I've ever seen in my life. Like, so much deep snow!
 |
| Incrediiibile! |
Naturally, I got really excited and couldn't wait to go outside in it. Clari got out her sledge and we tried to find a suitable hill to sledge down. Only, we didn't have much to choose from as I didn't fancy sledging down into a tree, and Clari was too scared to go down even the slightly steepest of hills.
I had to check out our den / cabina whatever to see if it was still standing, and it was! Just about...
 |
| Good effort. |
The roof had caved slightly under the weight of the snow but it's still standing!
After much hunting for a prime sledging spot, we settled on the long slope down in front of their house. I pulled Clari down it in the sledge to make a pathway for the sledge to slide down. Then I pulled her back up the hill because she's a lazy gremlin and doesn't like walking. I then pushed her down the hill again in the sledge (note: pushed, because it wasn't steep enough to slide on its own). And pulled her back up.
 |
| (Nocciolina equally excited) |
By the time it was my go Clari decided to wait for me at the top of the slope and I attempted to slide down the hill, but it's quite hard to slide down horizontally. And I've got to admit, sledging isn't really any fun unless the hill is so steep you start to fear for your life.
Clari soon got bored, so we made a snow man.
 |
| I'm so proud.. *wipes away tear* |
She helped me roll the first ball but then she started to cry and told me her fingers were cold, so she went inside and I finished it off myself. Dominga chucked me a scarf and a carrot from the balcony above and I dug out some stones from the drive for eyes and a mouth. Eventually I was finished and I went back inside, totally sodden through and with fingers like pink crab sticks...
But with a beastly snowman sat outside in the garden!
Delizioso Desserts: Hazelnut Yoghurt
This post is going to be pretty brief, but I was rummaging around in the fridge for some breakfast the other day and dug out the last yoghurt. It was hazelnut flavour, and i've got to admit I was a bit wary (new yoghurt flavours are often some of the most worrying things to try..).
Now, I'm probably not the only person in the world to have never tried hazelnut flavoured yoghurt, and I'm sure there are people who have tasted it many a time and are reading this like, yeah so what? It's hazelnut, big whoop.
But this flavour was incredible! Literally, it was like eating hazelnut in yoghurt form. It was like nutella flavour minus the chocolate. And yet there was no bitter nuttiness at the end...
Honestly, if you like hazelnuts/nutella, you've never tried hazelnut yoghurt and you get a chance to, don't hesitate. Bite the bullet and snap it up!
 |
| Not the most appetising-looking I must admit. |
Now, I'm probably not the only person in the world to have never tried hazelnut flavoured yoghurt, and I'm sure there are people who have tasted it many a time and are reading this like, yeah so what? It's hazelnut, big whoop.
But this flavour was incredible! Literally, it was like eating hazelnut in yoghurt form. It was like nutella flavour minus the chocolate. And yet there was no bitter nuttiness at the end...
Honestly, if you like hazelnuts/nutella, you've never tried hazelnut yoghurt and you get a chance to, don't hesitate. Bite the bullet and snap it up!
'La Cabina'
I er, knocked up a den on Saturday morning.
I'd say it was a 'team effort' but Clarissa preferred to be the 'Capitan' and tell me, the 'Number One' what to do. She decided she would sit inside the den and tell me what to do next.
"JENNIIIIEEEE! It's cold. Put more sticks."
She also had a tendency to steal the sticks I'd collected and take them as her own. And then proceed to tell me; "Look at how much sticks I tooked!".
She was also chief decorator, as picking flowers was much less strenuous than finding sticks. She was pretty pleased with it in the end, getting both Dominga and Giorgio to come down the slope to have a look at our 'cabina'.
And I was pretty chuffed with it too. Nick will be proud! Although I did spend the rest of the afternoon coaxing my frozen hands back to life and picking splinters out of my palms.
 |
| Chief den-builder. That's how I roll. |
I'd say it was a 'team effort' but Clarissa preferred to be the 'Capitan' and tell me, the 'Number One' what to do. She decided she would sit inside the den and tell me what to do next.
"JENNIIIIEEEE! It's cold. Put more sticks."
She also had a tendency to steal the sticks I'd collected and take them as her own. And then proceed to tell me; "Look at how much sticks I tooked!".
She was also chief decorator, as picking flowers was much less strenuous than finding sticks. She was pretty pleased with it in the end, getting both Dominga and Giorgio to come down the slope to have a look at our 'cabina'.
And I was pretty chuffed with it too. Nick will be proud! Although I did spend the rest of the afternoon coaxing my frozen hands back to life and picking splinters out of my palms.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Easy Peasy Orange Squeezy
The Casanova's have a juicing machine.
Yeeeeaaaa that's right. It's amazing.
It literally takes 2 minutes. Dominga showed me how to squeeze fresh orange juice by hand for breakfast on one of the first few days I was here.
Oranges in Italy are really cheap in the winter; she bought a crate of them for €4. She couldn't believe it when I told her in England you can pay £2 for like, 4.
You don't even need to add sugar; it tastes so good. And the best juice is when Dominga buys blood oranges. It's craaazy red!
Yeeeeaaaa that's right. It's amazing.
 |
| Bish.. |
It literally takes 2 minutes. Dominga showed me how to squeeze fresh orange juice by hand for breakfast on one of the first few days I was here.
 |
| Bash.. |
Oranges in Italy are really cheap in the winter; she bought a crate of them for €4. She couldn't believe it when I told her in England you can pay £2 for like, 4.
 |
| Bosh! |
You don't even need to add sugar; it tastes so good. And the best juice is when Dominga buys blood oranges. It's craaazy red!
Mind-blowing Icing.
The other day Dominga was going over to her friend's house with Clarissa, and she was making a cake to take over with her. Nothing too extravagant, just a simple plain sponge cake (okay, she told me she cheated because it was from a packet). But a cake all the same.
When it was out of the oven and cooling down, I asked her if she was going to ice it.
"Eye sit?" She looked at me confused.
"You know, ice the cake. We say the white stuff on top of the cake is the 'icing' with icing sugar - "
At 'icing sugar' she made an 'ahh!' face, opened the cupboard and got out a little packet of icing sugar.
"...mixed with water," I finished.
"What?" she looked at me again.
"With water?"
"Yeah, you know when you mix it with water it makes a thick sort of paste."
She looked at me incredulously. I hesitated.
"You've never mixed it with water...?"
"No... What is 'icing'? It's sweet?"
"Oh yes. It's loooooovely."
Oh my gosh. They'd never made icing. Quite easily the best part of making the cake; mixing up the icing and then licking the bowl when the cakes are done.
So we decided I would ice the cake once it was cool and Dominga could see what icing was.
As I shook the icing sugar into a bowl and mixed in some water, she just stared, amazed, at the white paste that was forming. Mind blown. I spooned the icing into a plastic bag, snipped the end and then piped a lattice across the cake (it was too big to ice the entire thing..).
"Woah-wow!" she said.
"Go on, try it."
"Mmmmm!"
It didn't even look that impressive, just plain white icing and plain cake but I'd successfully blown Dominga's mind.
Ahh yeah. Mission accomplished - introduce icing to the world of non-icing eaters.
[Next stop: fairy cakes!]
When it was out of the oven and cooling down, I asked her if she was going to ice it.
"Eye sit?" She looked at me confused.
"You know, ice the cake. We say the white stuff on top of the cake is the 'icing' with icing sugar - "
At 'icing sugar' she made an 'ahh!' face, opened the cupboard and got out a little packet of icing sugar.
"...mixed with water," I finished.
"What?" she looked at me again.
"With water?"
"Yeah, you know when you mix it with water it makes a thick sort of paste."
She looked at me incredulously. I hesitated.
"You've never mixed it with water...?"
"No... What is 'icing'? It's sweet?"
"Oh yes. It's loooooovely."
Oh my gosh. They'd never made icing. Quite easily the best part of making the cake; mixing up the icing and then licking the bowl when the cakes are done.
So we decided I would ice the cake once it was cool and Dominga could see what icing was.
As I shook the icing sugar into a bowl and mixed in some water, she just stared, amazed, at the white paste that was forming. Mind blown. I spooned the icing into a plastic bag, snipped the end and then piped a lattice across the cake (it was too big to ice the entire thing..).
"Woah-wow!" she said.
"Go on, try it."
"Mmmmm!"
 |
| Dominga saved me a bit - apparently the icing went down well. |
It didn't even look that impressive, just plain white icing and plain cake but I'd successfully blown Dominga's mind.
Ahh yeah. Mission accomplished - introduce icing to the world of non-icing eaters.
[Next stop: fairy cakes!]
Friday, 15 March 2013
Delizioso Desserts: Brigidini
Brigidini
/bridÊ’idini/
Noun m pl. (singular: brigidino?)
1. Thin crunchy golden wafers mildly flavoured with aniseed, originating from Lamporecchio, Tuscany.
I tried these during the first few days of being in Italy, and they're looovely. Probably not to everyone's taste, as aniseed is one of those love-it-or-hate-it flavours but brigidini isn't half moreish.
They're so light and melt in the mouth you feel like you're not really eating much, just a sweet taste and a delicious flavour. And it'd be super easy to eat a whole bag. *ahem*
Brigidini sfusi are the broken pieces of wafer, sold in a big clear plastic bag from most supermarkets. There are many stories of where they came from, but one is that they were made by a nun in a Saint Brigida convent in Lamporecchio when she was trying to make conventional wafers and failed - resulting in Brigidini.
They can now be found at fairs and festivals all over Italy, and supermarkets (clearly Carrefour).
And they're proper delizioso.
/bridÊ’idini/
Noun m pl. (singular: brigidino?)
1. Thin crunchy golden wafers mildly flavoured with aniseed, originating from Lamporecchio, Tuscany.
 |
| Mmmm.. |
They're so light and melt in the mouth you feel like you're not really eating much, just a sweet taste and a delicious flavour. And it'd be super easy to eat a whole bag. *ahem*
Brigidini sfusi are the broken pieces of wafer, sold in a big clear plastic bag from most supermarkets. There are many stories of where they came from, but one is that they were made by a nun in a Saint Brigida convent in Lamporecchio when she was trying to make conventional wafers and failed - resulting in Brigidini.
They can now be found at fairs and festivals all over Italy, and supermarkets (clearly Carrefour).
And they're proper delizioso.
Easter Is Coming!
You know Easter is coming when your Au pair Mum goes and
buys you and Clarissa a huge great Easter egg and puts them on the top top
shelf in the kitchen so you can't reach it until Easter day.
Eeeeeeeee.
 |
| They're just so tempting. |
(Mine's the Lindt one on the left. THEY'RE SO BIG.)
It also means that the shops are full with chocolatey treats
and Dominga will come home with a surprise when she's been shopping.
 |
| omnom. |
Yayayay!
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Nocciolina's Walk
On Wednesday afternoon, Giorgio had gone to Rome for a few
days and Dominga had to visit her father in-law's doctor so I had to occupy
Clarissa when she got home from school. As soon as Dominga's car disappeared
from the drive, Clari decided she wanted to go to the shop.
"No Clari, we can't. Can't you see she is scared of the cars? What will you do if she gets hit by a car?"
"She won't."
"Of course she might! She keeps running in the road!"
"We try."
We walked back to the end of our road, and Clari said she would sit on the grass and wait for me. I ran with Nocciolina all the way back to the house, and let her back into the garden. I then ran all the way back to Clari, and Nocciolina wasn't on my tail. We carried on, turning into the street that lead past her school. I heard a noise at my feet.
We did eventually make it to the shop, Giusella coming out and seeing me (as I had to wait outside with Nocciolina) and we did finally make it back home; Nocciolina in one piece.
Emptying the entire contents of her money box into her
camera case (which was acting as a purse) we opened the gates at the end of the
garden and started up the hill. Nocciolina bounding after us. Nahh, it's all
right, I thought, she'll head back when we get to the end of the road.
But no. She followed us half way to the shop, until we
reached the roundabout and she saw the cars going past and started going wild.
I stopped Clari.
"We can't take Nocciolina to the shop, can we."
She looked at me.
"We try.""No Clari, we can't. Can't you see she is scared of the cars? What will you do if she gets hit by a car?"
"She won't."
"Of course she might! She keeps running in the road!"
"We try."
No. I told her I wouldn't go to the shop with Nocciolina
following us. The risk of her getting run over was so high, and Italians aren't
exactly the most careful of drivers..
 |
| Just chillin' (on Bronson)... |
We walked back to the end of our road, and Clari said she would sit on the grass and wait for me. I ran with Nocciolina all the way back to the house, and let her back into the garden. I then ran all the way back to Clari, and Nocciolina wasn't on my tail. We carried on, turning into the street that lead past her school. I heard a noise at my feet.
Nocciolina.
She'd somehow got out of the garden and run all the way back
to us. Clari was getting annoyed now as she couldn't see the problem with
taking Nocciolina into the village and she just wanted to go to the shop. I
looked down at Nocciolina.
I then had an idea. Taking the piece of string acting as a
strap off of Clari's camera case, I clipped it to Nocciolina's collar and -
voila, we had a lead. Clari was pleased, Nocciolina less so.
I don't think the poor dog has ever been walked in its life.
She didn't mind the lead, but she was absolutely petrified of everything else;
the cars, the people, the noise.
And what's more, we started getting some funny looks. People
were driving past and staring through their windows like they'd never seen a
dog on a lead before. It was so weird.
Our trip to the shop (usually a 10 minute walk) took over an
hour and a half. How exactly, I don't know. Clari wanted to jump in every
puddle on the way there and every puddle on the way back. And having a dog on a
lead appeared to be a great conversation starter as everyone seemed to be talking
to us.
We did eventually make it to the shop, Giusella coming out and seeing me (as I had to wait outside with Nocciolina) and we did finally make it back home; Nocciolina in one piece.
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