From a slipper to a sponge
Some of the earliest memories I have date back to when I was some six years old and still a very small pudgy child. Back then of course my sister and I would argue and fight every so often. Our brother would sometimes join and it’d be a great confusion.
One day, as we were arguing in my sister’s room, fighting, jumping on the bedspread and shouting - a scene that would have made our mother faint - a slipper went sailing through the room at very high speed and hit my sister right on the cheek. Whether it was the left or right one, I can’t say.
The culprit, dear baby, was either one of your uncles. My memory seems oddly blotted and I can’t seem to be able to name the guilty.
One day, as we were arguing in my sister’s room, fighting, jumping on the bedspread and shouting - a scene that would have made our mother faint - a slipper went sailing through the room at very high speed and hit my sister right on the cheek. Whether it was the left or right one, I can’t say.
The culprit, dear baby, was either one of your uncles. My memory seems oddly blotted and I can’t seem to be able to name the guilty.
In France, young
kids usually snack around 4PM and have bread, butter (lightly salted mind you) and a mug of hot steamy chocolate. One time, my brother, your mom and I were finishing up the goûter. Anne-Lise was fooling around with a table mop - a spongelike one - until it landed smack in the middle of my bowl and came floating up, bobbing about in my chocolate. I probably started howling like mad but both my sister and brother found it rather hilarious.
Morale: «Little baby, mind your bowl when you have a hot chocolate, you wouldn’t want Mommy to drop a sponge in, would you?»
