minavox

Over the summer holidays I read The Fellowship of the Rings to the kids. I wasn't sure about the whole project: we read The Hobbit, sure, but LotR? For a 7year-old? But they demanded it, and so it started as a dare: See, kids, there is not a more boring story in the world then the beginning of FotR!

Only they just sat through everything concerning Hobbits and their incredibly boring migration patters, terms of relations and pipe weed (and because they are small and innocent, I couldn't even spice it up with jokes about the true nature of said weed).

And then... the story just took and I read the whole book. 535 pages. Aloud. Well, it's good practice for the speaking voice. And it did rain a lot this summer.

Some things:
* The eerie feeling of the Black Riders sniffing out the Hobbits - got me when I read it first (when I was 16 or something like that), got the kids now. There is just so much world here, they dove in readily.
* Tom Bombadil: surprisingly entertaining. The kids loved him. I had nearly forgotten him and his very special powers, the movies are good in erasing everything but the shortcuts established by the script.
* The kids haven't seen the movies yet, so they must be amongst the last people going into it unspoiled - or so I thought. But alas: they've studied the Lego catalogues, religiously, and so of course they were expecting ringwraiths. And a cave troll.
* Funnily enough they loved the heavy chunks of back story dished up at the Council of Elrond. "I love it when things are explained!"
* The thing they did not love: all the bloody songs. Celebrating some high-brow ideal of beauty that, alas, is gone and never to come back. Precious demanded skipping them after 100 pages, Crumpet did last till the last quarter... "Oh no, not another song!"
* Glorfindel - oh yes, wasn't there an Elf called that? To my great embarrassment the movie script had erased much of the memory of the book. Although: having at last one other talking woman besides Galadriel was a brilliant choice, I still think. I run out of discernable voices for reading all those elvish dudes...

* And did you know Tolkien wrote great humour? No, really, there was this one passage I had to read over and over and that had the kids in stitches, every time.
( I need no map, said Gimli )

And my lips tremble at trying to read this passage with a straight face. I dare you: read this aloud and try not to laugh over Azanulbizar at the latest. :)

Today I visited a friend (and colleague) who's into crafting jewellery - I repaired some chains which were broken, Crumpet crafted some (beautifully, I might add, he really has an eye for design), then we went to pick up Precious who preferred staying at the grandparents to crafting, then I got thoroughly plastered to celebrate the new year by my inlaws, then Grouch picked us up returning from his teaching gig (in Saxonia of all counties), we got more plastered, now - after much banter from everyone - I'm sitting on my sofa listening to Grouch singing Garageland by The Clash (horribly) as a good night song.

And tomorrow the clock will ring at 6:30 a.m. and we will all be so hang over, even those who didn't drink any alcohol.

Isn't life wonderful? (Despite everything.) Happy New Year to all of you!

I'm hoarse and have a headache and the kids are jumping all over the flat screaming Bombarda Maxima and Protego at the top of their little lungs, bless them.

I've finally started reading Harry Potter to them.
OMG, the kids are big enough that I now can read Harry Potter to them!!!

Conclusions so far:
The Dursleys are mean. Hagrid is the hottest shit under the sun. *facepalm* Dudley's school uniform for Smeltings is cool. (Knickerbockers! *giggle*) And everytime something unexpected threatens to happen they clap their hands over their ears and jump in with "is this the evil wizard???" Fandom osmosis, I tell you.

This could be fun, tracking their reactions.
Otoh, the German translation is no fun at all. And: they made me read 70 pages and demand more, more, MORE! (Grouch rubs his hands in glee and crows something about this being my own fault and how many volumes are there again???)

After mangling names from Star Wars and driving me crazy in the process (I mean, how often can you hear Obi Wan Knofi and not become mad?) (especially since Knofi is short for garlic in German...), now it's Harry Potter.

Not the actual books. Since Precious nearly bursts from excitement while watching Biene Maja (cartoon about bees and insects and their oh so scary adventures) he'd get a heart attack even from Philosopher's Stone. No, it's shouting spells he heard from friends at school and thus trying to out-magic his little brother (who gives as good as he gets, bless his tenacious little soul).

Only, there's the little problem of mis-hearing... so say hello to Inspector Patronum! No amount of correcting from my side managed to kill off this obnoxious fellow yet, who has taken permanent residence in our home. Inspector Patronum! Who drives me up the walls... *sigh*

Grouch is not helping, either he laughs his arse off about my pains or he adds new spells like Evo Morales! or Vincente del Bosque! in what he deems is his wizardly voice.

I need a family that does fannish better! :) (By which I mean: not only football, Lego and punk music.)

I'm not sure Dykes to watch out for was meant to be read lying in a bed shared with three persons of the male species - of which one pretends to be still asleep while the other two use me as a mountain / cave / climbing device for a game of I'm a little mysterious being and you're walking along saying la-di-da there surely are no little mysterious beings here and then you see me and ask "are you a little mysterious being?"

Still fun :)

One of these days I will make a post about how Star Wars has totally taken over our life. But now we have an antidote! Only I'm not too sure how much better up we're with this - for the antidote is Karl May. Or, more precisely: a ridiculously cut audio play of Der Schatz im Silbersee (um - The treasure of Lake Silver?? Does anyone outside the German speaking realm even know of Karl May, purveyor of ridiculously plotted and incredibly slashy adventure novels?).

It's a tape original from the stores of Grouch's childhood treasures. We listened to it on heavy rotation on the way to and from new year vacation. The children have learnt interesting new vocabulary: Hostage. To gag someone. Stake. (Luckily they cut the scene where Cornel Brinkley gets his ears cut off - I approve, even if this makes quite the rough jump from "Old Firehand floored him with the butt of his rifle" to "amongst those who could escape was Brinkley, once again" only two sentences later.)

Back home, they have transformed their suitcase to a canoe, Precious threatens to zap everybody with his toy gun (don't ask), he produces masses of self-made 9,000 $ notes (because Engineer Petterson was robbed of 9,000 $...) - and he drives me crazy. By mishearing Old Firehand for Holz Firehand (meaning: Wood...). "Mum, who was it with Holz Firehand again?" (The other ever recurring question is after the guy with the two guns and one of them is the miracle gun...)

Winnetou did not make any impression at all. Again, I blame the chromosomes. But am still delighted that this part of most beloved literature has taken seed. And take the good opportunity to brush up on 319 pages of incredible meetings in the Wild Wild West. :)

After all those years I really should know better than to celebrate Mr Jones' for once relatively undisturbed sleep by watching Merlin till 4 a.m. Two well rested children are trying on the best of days - after three hours of sleep they are hell.

And lead to the Big Questions In Life With Children:

Is it possible to raise them without yelling? For a saint, perhaps?

When will the anal stage finally end? (Questions like "Did you do a really big poop, Mama Bear?" get tiring pretty, pretty soon...)

Is it a bad sign when you use your son's invented words in conversion with your partner? ("What are you doing?" - "Pusila!")

And who cares, when you come home carrying 10 rolls of toilet paper, and the child grabs the packet, cheering: "A pirate boat!"