The American and Her Swedish Offspring (Incidentally Named Bob)

Good morning, blogging world.

I wish I had something to dip in this coffee.

Or rather, good Almost-Afternoon!  Tim and I stayed up rather late last night watching The King's Speech, which was an incredibly lovely movie due entirely, I think, to a British sense of humor, so I got something of a late start today.

Which is perfectly fine since The Thing I Was Staring At All Day Yesterday (70k rows of transcript stuff) is off my desktop today.  Which means I get to finally finish the bit of art I started for my Eventual-Etsy-Shop (it's going to happen, at some point, I swear).

... And play the keyboard.  Did I mention my wonderful pastors loaned me a keyboard for the time being?  After seven something years of weekly piano classes and then two years of not playing at all, I am finally ready to get back into the swing of things.  Rusty, but ready.  I actually brought my entire collection of sheet music (and I say collection in the loosest sense of the word: it's a taped-up notebook with tattered pages busting out at all angles) along with me from the States, despite the fact that I had no idea how I would be playing it.  Life is good, ain't it?

Don't ask me to play for you anytime soon.  You'll regret it.

.... And do a few Angela Parker Body-Inspired-Fitness toning videos.  My new exercise regime goes something like this: MWF runs, T-Th 45 minute arms, abs, core, etc.  I like Parker's workout techniques because they require as little or as much time as you choose, no equipment, and practically no space.  And, once you get used to her saying "healthy bitch girls" all the time, you begin to find her rather endearing.

... And have a skype date with my Engel person.  (In case you haven't known me long enough to be in the know, the Engels have been our friends since I was ... oh, two, maybe.  Since they have a cheaper-by-the-dozen kind of family, and there were eight of us kids growing up, we all sort of paired off and claimed an Engel or two as our own.  And, after all these years, it sort of stuck.)

... And read my British mystery novel.  I do love Dorothy Sayers and Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane.  I'll leave you with a favorite line from Gaudy Night: "All the children seem to be coming out quite intelligent, thank goodness. It would be such a bore to be the mother of morons, and it's an absolute toss-up, isn't it? If only one could invent them, like characters in books ..."

.... And take a nice three hour walk to the library.  (It's only three hours when Isaac walks and we do not take the stroller; otherwise it's fifteen minutes.  Not because he walks exceptionally slow or anything, but because he is easily distracted.  "Look! A stick!  Look!  Another stick!  Look!  I have all the sticks!") 

... And try to get Isaac to answer some fairly straight-forward questions in full English sentences (as opposed to "[insert jibberish here]."  Or something of the sort.)  He is so stubborn (don't you just love it how your kids take after your more endearing qualities?).  I know he knows the answer to these questions; he's said them before as clear as day.  But even so, our conversations always go something like this:

"Isaac, how old are you?"
"[Insert jibberish here]."
"Isaac, who are your parents?"
"[Insert jibberish here]."
"Isaac, what is your name?"
"Bob."

(?)

Some kid in church informed us that Isaac is, in fact, speaking Swedish.  Finally the mystery is solved!  After all these years of not being able to understand my kid, I now know why.  The Stork got lost!  Somewhere, in Sweden, there is a misplaced American child wandering around asking for a pbj (I'm quoting you, you), while Isaac, the misplaced Swedish child, is here with me, being indecipherable.  And I simply refuse to learn Swedish because let me tell you, Danish is hard enough.

I started my online Danish class this week and may I just say: $#%^%#.

And by that I did mean: WHAT A CONFUSING LANGUAGE.

Despite the fact that I am something of a pro at online classes (due to the time I had to cram two years worth of classes into eleven months, which was just a blast, let me tell ya), it is incredibly difficult to learn a new language online (which is why I will probably switch to actual classes once Isaac gets into his preschool).  I have learned the meaning of quite a few words this week, as well as some basic grammar, and yet I have absolutely no idea how to pronounce any of it (quite the predicament, eh?)  I will soon be able to carry around a Danish book and actually read every twenty-third word (in my head), but if a Danish person asks me what I am reading I will not be able to respond beyond holding up said book and pointing to said title.

(Case in point, while out on my weekly runs, I always see one or two Danish people who yell something to me in passing.  I never have a clue what they're saying, and since I'm not going to stop running long enough to explain that it's all Greek to me - or Danish - I just sort of raise my arms in the air and laugh and keep running.  They usually laugh in response or say "Okay?" - which I've come to find is a favorite word of theirs.  Soon I will actually be able to understand what they're saying, and I still won't be able to respond.)

At some point I have to turn in an assignment in which I record myself speaking in Danish.  So I did the first thing that came to mind.  I emailed the text to a friend of mine, asked her to call my voice-mail and read it to me, after which point I intend to listen to the message over and over and over again until I can repeat it.  (Thank you, Gitte.  You're a life-saver.)

And now I must go build Isaac a fort.  We've been building two or three forts a day lately, and they are quite involved.  They usually require the table, the benches, the couch, his bed, all the bedding, the laundry, my right foot, and a partridge and a pear-tree.

Happy Thursday, all!

p.s. I miss this:

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