This applies to me on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, when I have been up and about since 5 am, I take great pleasure in settling down for a 15 minute nap just before 9 am. 
(Yes, I agree that the positive sides of not getting to come with Adam in the mornings are somewhat weak. But I do my best to see and cherich them.)
Ok, not true. I always have oatmeal porrige for breakfast. I just wanted to quote Sandra Boynton's Good Morning book. Just because. 
Anyway. I personally prefer the pillion to being in front. Especially at the playground. It enhances the feeling of control and gives a better overview. (And no, Bebba and I didn't coordinate our clothes, but I agree that it looks that way. Couples on motorbikes tend to be dressed in the same cool outfits.)
(Well, perhaps I should say was filled. Now there is Bora sand in large parts of the garden, and maybe a bit less than before in the box.)
Better. But the hat's still too big and my face still too exposed.
Better still. Getting there.
But really, isn't this hat even bigger? 
Ok, good. Here you see an example of weather-appropriate clothing. Finally.
Take Richard, Maja's dad, for example. Yesterday, I got to ride on his shoulders to and from the Odynca playground. And I got to swing high and for a long time on the crazy low-placed swings. The likelihood that mom or dad would have gone down on their knees for that long is very limited.
Yet, however manipulative this may sound, there is a brilliant psychology in it that means you don't even have to feel guilty about taking advantage. You see, this is all part of a social game, rather than a function of altruism: Other kids' parents get on the good side of your parents by getting on well with you. And vice versa. Your parents get on the good side of other kids' parents by sucking up to their offspring. Now, for as long as this game goes on, all kids gets to swing high and everybody's happy.
(And once the parents know each other well enough not to have impress on each other's kids at the expense of knees and shoulders, you may have grown tired of the swings anyway.)
Ok, I mainly had buns.
And Adam mainly had ketchup.
The grown-ups (and Lukas, who is virtually grown-up, being six and all) were served fajitas.
The fajita bread wasn't bad either. I found some under the table. I find that my size often can be used to my advantage. Not only does it enable me to get foods that wouldn't necessarily be offered to me otherwise. I can also get any toy that I want from any child, provided that the child is older than, say, two years old. I just crawl up to them and tug it away. Ta Da! The toy's mine! And they know that however badly they want to take the toy back and shove me away, they can't. 'Cos I'm just a baby. An innocent little baby.
And after having sung "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes", "Björnen sover", and saluted Filip with "Happy Birthday!", the cake was served. Alas, no one dropped any cake, so I didn't have any.
The most exciting part of the whole party may have been the fish pond, from which we fished goodie bags. I have a sneaky suspicion that it Filip's dad may have had something to do with the fact that the bags bit every time someone threw the hook in. Yet, I couldn't know for sure, and when Adam stood there with the fishing rod, we totally forgot that there may have been anything but fish and goodie bags in that pond.
And I just find it so unfair. It's terribly tough being two, if you don't remember. Can you imagine the frustration I feel when people don't understand what I'm telling them? It seems more or less random if they do or don't. Or how annoying it is being told what to do, and more importantly what NOT to do? All. The. Time. Day in and day out. So cut me and my age-mates a slack, will you? We don't necessarily require an analysis. And if you absolutely want to have some collective naming of us, please stick with "terrific twos" (which comes before "thoughtful threes", "fantastic fours" and "fabulous fives").
The face of someone who's about to SMALTA you is a bit scary. The smile is big but hard, with teeth clenched and chin shooting out. It's not evil. No no no. But nonetheless, it's a good idea to get out of the way if you're a baby, or a kitten, or something adorable like that. It's way nicer to SMALTA than to SMALTAS (get smalted).
One thing struck me, however: just a few weeks ago, before the temperature started raising (and last fall, definitely last fall), rain, however innocent and light, was definitely not embraced with the indulgent and tender loving that I witnessed this weekend. If the weather was wet, the skies were called grey, regardless of their actual color. (Milky white... Ha! That's definitely a romanticizing spring construction). And regardless of the quantity and texture of the rain, there was never any talk about "drizzles". I recall it being called just "rain" or even "[bad word] rain". (Yeah, I know. Foul language isn't very attactive at all. But you see, I'm a product of my parents. Thus far, if I drop something by mistake or fall down, I will blurt out a "SIT". Just like mom.)
Florence and Adam - good friends most of the time.
The fact that the concept differed from what Adam and the parents were used to in the Philippines (for example, all courses were served at the table), saved me (and Bosse and Signe and Lisa and Maja and Maggan and Richard) from having to partake of yet another teadious comparison with Makati Shangri-La's performance.
Signe and Adam kind of participated in making the pasta dish, which was served after the huge antipasti appertizer and the soup that followed upon that, but before the Easter roast (lamb, suckling pig and duck) and the desert(s).
The pasta was prepared in a huge hollowed-out parmesan cheese. Pretty cool. (I guess - in my world most things are pretty cool and few things are more surprising than others.)
I have to admit that this time it was I who tried to pull that Baby,-you're-cute-but-get-out-of-my-way!-Here!-A-push-will-help-you! thing. Not on Signe, but on Bosse. But after a short while I realized that playing together was more rewarding. Bosse may be little, but he knows to appreciate the things us big kids like, like the scary-looking stone dog, and I can totally see how he will turn into a valuable playmate within short.
And get this: I didn't even get (very) jealous about Signe focusing on Antonia, which she did. A lot.
Possibly because I know 1. that Antonia is and always will be my very own sis and 2. that Antonia doesn't really pose a threat to my friendship with Signe and Bosse at this point. Her coordination is limited, as is her balance. She doesn't talk at all , just babbles: ga ga ga, ba ba ba, da da da. And she's so light that she can't even weigh down the seesaw. 
Like the front door, for example: I'm sure those poor knights had to duck down to get inside. Germans can get really tall, you know.
But despite the littleness, the place was still pretty large. I'm sure Laban and Labolina get exhausted if they have to haunt all of Zamek Reszel. The rooms were innumerable and the stairs of it pretty difficult to climb. As a matter of fact, I was quite happy that we lived outside, in the watch-tower of the wall (the one you see in the picture). Much easier to find than one of many many many rooms inside the actual castle. And cosy. Just like the Teutonic knights wanted it.
It's been paited by dad (it's a butterfly, in case you don't see that). 
But more importantly, it's been Easter-blessed by a real live Polish catholic country-side priest. 
I swear! I saw it happening outside the Święta Lipka Cathedral on Saturday. (Święta Lipka has about 500 inhabitants, but it's cathedral has more than two million visitors per year.)
Very cool happening, indeed. The guy said things in Polish and went around with a broom, touching all the food that had been brought there for a blessing. Then he threw his hat in the air and made a split and everybody applauded him.
Now where is that, you may ask. And what were you doing there? Don't worry. We'll let you in on all the Easter details in the coming week. 
