andamu

It seems we go through stages where Angel Face has us continually rolling on the floor with the things she says. Just as well I am mostly recovered now, and laughing doesn't really hurt much anymore.
::
The restaurant we went to on Saturday evening has some coloring books and wax crayons, which delights and occupies her. But she is at a stage where she wants someone to "help" her color (read, she wants attention focused on her and her tasks, instead of quietly amusing herself).

So when the whining began for Mommy to help, instead of allowing the adults a bit of quiet conversation for a change, Nini said: "No, we are not allowed to help in these books. You have to do it all by yourself."

The owner loves kids, so everytime he came to our table, he made sure to engage with her after talking to us. This time, when he asked if she was enjoying herself, she piped up: "Please uncle, can my Mommy help me to color in this book?"

Needless to say, much laughter and red faces around!
::
Age was a sensitive subject at home this weekend, what with birthdays and all that. It turned out that the worst faux pas was not aimed at me though.

Setting the scene: we are all dressed up very nicely, much more than usual, for our dinner out when we get in the car. However, my precious one is still wearing chappals - as a true South Indian of the old school it has to be either snowing or a job interview to get him to wear closed shoes without duress.

Nini and I are both complaining about how much our fancy shoes (that we never wear) are hurting us, when Angel Face remarks that all the "girls" have pretty shoes, but that mpo's shoes are old.

Teasing her, we try to take the subject further, and she says, "But it is OK for your shoes to be old, peddananna, because you are old."
Hmm. Some further exploration reveals that she, Nini and I are "new" while he is "old."
::
These days as a couple we are starting to look like Grey and Greyer.

For me it is still mostly pepper, with a liberal sprinkling of salt; for him it is all salt, with the merest hint of pepper here and there.

In Africa, they call it "Snow on the Rooftops."