Lost in Translation

I realize, telling cute stories about my kids generally only impresses their immediate family members...but since (at this point) that makes up for most of my audience, here goes.

Overheard: A conversation between John and Anna in which Anna is asking John to get her a granola bar. She can't reach it, and they've just gotten to the point where they've figured out how to cause maximum destruction through teamwork.

She says, "oh bar...I wanna oh bar, Johnny. Please!"

John's answer, "It's not a 'oh' bar Anna. Silly. It's a 'gola' bar. Say it. GO-LA bar."

Anna: "Ooowe bar."

Right. John gets it but is foiled by the foil rap and they both end up screaming in frustration. Doh!

After putting down her crack pipe (that's a joke), Mommy finally came to the rescue and chocolate gola bars were had by all.

Robin

April 2, 2005

I wish I could write something profound about what’s happened, but my feelings on the passing of John Paul II are simple. I am Catholic. I am Polish. I was eight years old and I remember-- as clearly as if it were yesterday--how my grandfather nearly wept with pride on the day a man named Karol Wojtyla became Pope. Grandpa Kordowski was a first generation Polish American and he lived to see the day when one of his own ascended to the Throne of St. Peter. Today, I feel like I’ve lost a part my grandfather all over again but in a strange and comforting way. God bless them both. And to John Paul II, I imagine you’ll have lots to do when you get to heaven. But, when things settle down a bit, if you could please spare a few minutes for that handsome old guy in the back. The one with big smile, big heart, telling off color jokes. His name is Stanislaw…Stanley, but you can call him Korda. Tell him Buckets says hi and she misses him.

Robin