Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little Blog Gone?

Greetings from planet . . . hmm. I can't even think of a funny planet name right now. That's how creative my once-writerly brain has become. Has anyone been wondering why I don't blog anymore? I'VE been wondering why I don't blog anymore. It's as if I used to think in Bloggish, and now I don't.


Here are a few classic Saffron quotes I forgot to post months ago--it's almost sad to have the girls' English get so good we can't enjoy as many of these moments any more.

"Mom, my room is cute I dead!" Translation: My room is so cute I could die.

"I'm going to save my money for laffy taffy for my birthday." Does she really think she must save up for her birthday to get a 25 cent Laffy Taffy? No. Laffy Taffy = walkie talkie.

"When is turkey turkey?" Translation: Trick-or-treating

"Ruby went to get the iron man." Translation: blow dryer

Once I sent her to tell Steve to get a razor blade. Knowing it was hard, I even practiced it with her several times first. A few minutes later I turned to see him bringing me a box of Raisin Bran. Saffron thinks these moments are hilarious.

"Mom, did you say put this in the freez, or freezer?" Translation: fridge or freezer


Saffron is an excellent soccer player, and is playing on the highest level team for her age group. I went to the first practice with her and quietly tried to translate several of the coaches words for her on a drink break. After that I thought, forget it. She'll figure it out, or he'll figure out that he can't haphazardly interchange words like "halfback" and "midfielder" and think she'll know she's going to the same position. In fact, it was only after the first few games she mentioned to me that she wished the girls wouldn't "choose" her so she could play the whole game. When substitutions came in, she thought they got to choose whom to replace. She must have thought the coach just told her who to go in for because she couldn't choose fast enough. Who knows how many other things are lost in translation and we don't even know it.

Doesn't matter much, though--she's still been game MVP the last two games in a row. I taught her the word "aggressive" and told her it has to be said with a big roar on the "ggr" part, and with fingers up next to your face like claws. She laughs in embarrassment when I yell it that way from the sidelines, but she definitely gets the meaning. She has no problem being aggressive. She even heard a mom yelling from the other team's side "That girl is mean!" I told her she wasn't doing anything wrong, just playing fierce. Once she knew she wasn't in trouble, she was pretty proud of that moment. We like to say that she's playing her Ethiopian ancestors proud. She tells me she's not as good as Little Brother. He must be quite the soccer star, then. I only wish I could see him play.