A Handful of Anecdotes

I am having an awful time trying to get the November and December pictures and videos off my laptop and onto my desktop, where they belong, and where I have all the software I need to edit and FTP the images onto my website (which is fully functional again). I had wanted to post a lot of pictures last night but ran out of night before I could solve my technical problems. I’ll try again tonight.

Meanwhile, some anecdotes…

Yesterday Trine went to the office to pick up a package from the post office. It was obviously a Christmas bundle from the states (from Molli Malou’s paternal great-aunt and uncle), and while Trine cooked dinner I opened the package to show Molli Malou what I knew would be beautifully wrapped presents. She was very excited.

She rushed to the kitchen and told her mother breathlessly (in Danish), “Mor! There’s a Christmas present for me! And also one for you! And one for Daddy! But none for Oliver.”

She latched right onto the one that was for her, though, and kept asking to touch it, to look at it, to open it. After about twenty minutes she seemed to get the picture.

“This present is to me,” she said. “But not now.”

“That’s right, honey. You can open it on Christmas Eve. There’ll be lots of presents for you then. But you can’t open any of them before that.”

“No, they are not for now. Also the presents to Mor and Daddy, they are not for now.”

“No.”

“They are also for later. But I get Christmas Calendar presents tonight.”

“Yes you do. You can open a Christmas Calendar present every night until then. But no real Christmas presents.”

“Okay, Daddy. I won’t open it.”

We had come to a clear understanding.

We ate dinner and Molli Malou kept staring at her present. After the meal Trine relaxed with whatever was on television while I began clearing the table. Molli Malou asked if she could hold her present.

“Of course,” I said. “But hold it carefully and remember, you cannot open it.”

I was washing dishes about five minutes later when Molli Malou came ambling into the kitchen with a big goofy smile on her face, and her present folded in half in her hands.

“Oh God, Molli Malou, don’t fold your present up!” I cried. “You could break it!”

“But Daddy,” she said, “I have to fold it, or else I can see it!”

I snatched it from her hands and unfolded it. It looked all right. Then I flipped the present over in my hands and saw she’d ripped the back open, exposing denim fabric.

“Oh, Molli. . .” I said. “I’ll tape it back up. But as long as you haven’t seen it, I guess—“

“I did see it, Daddy! It’s pants!”

* * *

The other night Molli Malou and I were playing before her bedtime while Trine was out talking to our neighbor or something. For some reason I took down my cool hat, put it on, gave her a cool look, and said in some kind of weird dimestore Bogart voice:

“Heya, toots.”

She went wild and was saying, “Hi, toots,” and “hey, toots,” for the next ten minutes. She thought it was hilarious. Eventually I trained her to say it very seriously, very Bogarty, which was much funnier for me.

It has now been added to her repertoire, and at random moments she will suddenly stop what she’s doing, give me the ole hairy eyeball, draw her little mouth into a taut line, and say, “Hey, toots.”

It melts me every time.

* * *

Lastly I should mention that her friend Astrid at kindergarten has Australian parents. Molli Malou has always loved that Astrid also has a Mor and a Daddy. The other day Trine said Astrid’s Ausssie grandparents were picking her up at kindergarten and Astrid went running over to them with glee, shouting “Nana! Pop-Pop!”

Those girls must have quite a lot of notes to compare!