Why is a duck?

D #1 got her greatest wish, that D #2 take over the dishwasher duty. Little did she know that that means she is promoted to sink duty, i.e. dishes too big for the dish washer, and she now has to supervise D #2's dishwasher loading (as I have to supervise them both). So now D #2's complaining that D #1's telling her what to do.
Me: D #1's gotta tell you what to do.
Her: Why?
Me: Cause I used to do that, then D #1 did and I told her what to do. Now you do it, and she tells you what to do.
Her: But I know how to load it.
Me: You know some stuff, but you don't know everything. And if you don't do it right I'm gonna be mad at D #1.
Her: Why?
Me: Because it's her job to instruct you, just like it's my job to instruct her. That's the hierarchy.
Her: What?
Me: The hierarchy, when people above you tell you how to do your job.
Her: What is hieratchy?
Me: That's when people tell people what to do. At work Mama tells some people what to do, but other people tell Mama what to do, and still others tell those people what to do. That's what "hierarchy" is, more knowledgable people tell you what to do.
Her: But this is a "hat" (pointing, actually, to a basket on her hat). 

Stupid Birds

Did you have fun chasing the birds?
Yes, I scared ALL of them!

Friend?

Every day I ask Daughter #2 how her day was, and she tells me about kindergarten, that she went outside and took a nap, what she played, and what she ate. This was the play part of one conversation:

D #2: I played with dolls.
Tete: By yourself or with a friend?

D #2: With my friend.
Tete: Which friend, Pijus?

D #2: No, another friend.
Tete: Who?

D #2: Friend.
Tete: Well, what's her name?

D #2: I don't know.
Tete: How you can call her your friend if you don't even know her name?

D #2: (sighs) I played by myself. 

Coffee

Hey did you make me some coffee?

I just gonna pour it.

But someone's gotta make it first.

You make it.

Why not you?

You big, I small. 

I suppose that's true.

Halloween Ideas

Tėtė: What should I be for Halloween?
Daughter: Tėtė.
Tėtė: But I'm Tėtė every day.
Daughter: I don't know.
Tėtė: Don't you remember dressing up for Halloween?
Daughter: Yes.
Tėtė: So who should I be this time?
Daughter: Mama.

For Cereal

#2 doesn't know why the term for cereal is funny, but she knows it's some kind of joke.

"Tete, I wanna play with you."

"For cereal?"

*sigh* "Yes...for cereal."

Children...children...future...future...

I had one of those moments yesterday. Unfortunately, nobody though to bring me a beer (except for myself).

Piano/guitar recitals yesterday. #1 has been playing the piano for six months now. She was amazing. She played Tarantula.

The rest of the recital was just like Children...children...future...future...I was not able to sit through it to  the end. But let's back up to the beginning. (If anybody has a link to the Simpson's clip in English, I'd put it right up.)

Knowing what a mess the show would be, I called ahead to Verkiai Restaurant to confirm the sale of beer. When I get there, they say no, the kitchen's closed. I'm ordering beer here, not food, and two hours ago on the phone you told me no problem. Turns out there is a problem, they don't have a cash register (What?), so they can't take orders separate from the single event renting the premises/ordering some snacks and punch at the end of the ordeal. So, to get a beer they have to include it's price in the main order and charge the piano teacher, to whom I then have to give six lits in coins. Awesome.

And then they tap a new keg to pour me the one beer, which takes them about 25 minutes. Awesomer.

#1's performance was definitely the best. That doesn't mean she was the best pianist, but she did choose her song most wisely. The kids who are better than she chose songs that were too hard, or maybe their parents made them, but so they made mistakes. Some of my favorites, like Joplin's Ragtime, were destroyed. Each time I heard a song come on that I like I cringed, feeling the music march itself up to the gallows.

Looking around me, I knew that I was not alone. The rest of the parents shared my fate. There were four types of faces in the audience: yawning, eyes-shut, shit-eating-grin, and video camera. The last was one that each parent took his turn at when his kid went up. I took my turns at the first and third, doing my best not to let my face betray the horror I was feeling. I was even intent on sitting through it, golden rule and all. But after about 20 songs I volunteered to take #2 for a walk, because "she" was getting antsy.

And I thought to myself, after I'd escaped from musical hell, golden rule? Perhaps, in this bizarro world of disharmony, the golden rule is different. Maybe it's Every Man For Himself. So we'll see if I get over it before next year's concert (Oh God, please don't let them be more often than annual), but I think the best plan of action might be to bribe the teacher to let my kid (the talented one!) go first, and quietly take our leave immediately thereafter.

Note to parents: #2 was dramatically displeased not to receive any flowers, despite my insistence that she "did do anything to deserve flowers."