brosedshield: (Default)
 My brain is spinning pointlessly this week, but I made soup. Let's hope that lentils cure the blues.

In other news, let me share with you the first three lines of a Spanish book for three year olds titled El gatito Marramiau, which I have chosen to translate as Marramiau the Kitty

SHOULD I WARN FOR SPOILERS? SPOILERS ANYWAY, THE WHOLE BOOK RIGHT HERE FOLKS!

Marramiau the Kitty was sitting on his roof when he received a letter.

In the letter, he was asked if he would like to marry a pretty, white she-kitty. 

It was such a surprise that he fell off the roof.


The book goes on to say how he had to get carted off to the hospital and all the cats cried and all the mice danced (and played the trumpet) until he was revived by the scent of fish. Either I really know how to pick 'em (the first Spanish children's book I read was called The Merchants of the Devil and started off with an illegitimate child being abandoned in a slum; the second-most-recent involved urine rather more than usual, though it was funny) or Spanish children's books are more willing to embrace disaster and destruction than those back home.

Then again, my sample is small. And the more advanced version of Marramiau's story here (sorry, all of these are in Spanish) seems to make more sense and is also funnier.

Though for some reason, I can't stop laughing at It was such a surprise that he fell off the roof.
brosedshield: (Default)
Childcare today included mpreg and balls to the face. I was amused.

Explanation:

"balls to the face"--in a game that I pretended not to notice because everyone was having fun, a larger child permitted smaller children to throw bouncy balls (BIG bouncy balls, like, headsized) at his head and face, repeatedly. My theory: if I tell them to stop, they're going to start tackling each other, jumping off the equipment, or other things that seem much more likely to kill them.

"mpreg"--children love sticking balls into their shirts. I'm not completely sure that I'm supposed to permit this, but I do. One small boy kept coming up to me telling me that he was pregnant, that he was going to have a baby. One time I asked him if he wasn't maybe just fat (am I maybe not a good teacher? Eh, they haven't eaten each other yet) but, no, he was pregnant.

I almost asked him if there was going to be a wedding first, but decided that if I'm too cowardly to tackle explaining the basics of reproduction to a four-year-old, I should keep the jokes to myself.

Profile

brosedshield: (Default)
brosedshield

September 2016

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
11121314151617
181920212223 24
252627282930 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 07:58 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios