I sit on the floor with my legs curled under me, carefully lining little foam magnet tiles up with a pattern sheet on a magnetic board. I am babysitting my boss' daughter and we are making a magnetic mosaic of a fish, using the pattern to cheat a little (it's like magnetic color by number). She is half American and half Italian, and has apparently just discovered a passion for Christmas music (American) and so "Have yourself a merry little Christmas" drifts in and out of my consciousness.
She knows all the words to the chipmunk song. It's pretty cute, and actually very soothing - childhood favorites while attaching bits of colored foam to a black board. It only gets a little iffy when we're listening to the "Santa baby" song, where some woman is using her sexy voice to ask Santa for a yacht, a million dollars and other related things, and the kid goes "who's the woman in the song?" I hesitate, "umm... probably she's friends with Santa". The kid thinks for a moment. "Oh. I thought she was Santa's mom." I wonder where she got the impression that that is the voice that mothers use to speak to their children. I'm momentarily glad that she doesn't have any brothers, and therefore can't have gotten it from her own family.
Oh, and P.S.: speaking of patriotism (ish) happy 14 juillet to la Francia! I once taught the little French student the chorus to the Marseillaise (by her request, actually)... I dedicate that effort to you, fellow frogs.
About Me
Life in Italy... and other places.
An American takes a year post-college (and pre-medical school) to go to Italy and teach English. The year stretches to three... and four... and this blog is a record of small things that get remembered at the end of the day. On occasion, she can also be found in New Jersey or France, the familial homelands.
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