December - part IV - in which there were young ones

The day after my exploration of Bayern, I spent the afternoon with a family.  An organization that connects foreigners with German families put me in contact with these folks and we planned to hang out for a day.  Super Great!  I met them at church where we stayed late so the daughters could practice for a Christmas Eve dance that they would be participating in.  The youngest, Celina, was probably 7, the daughter Malacha was 9, and then the only son was Michael, about 12 years old.   My youngest sister is now 14, so spending a day with this family brought back many old memories.


For starters, lunch.  Very German, with some sort of rolled up meat with gravy and mashed potatoes and red sauerkraut.  I thought it was delicious.  The youngest didn't agree though.  She was told to finish her last three bites of sauerkraut (which would have been about half a bite for myself), she burst into tears.  Her sister tried to help by getting right in her face yelling "don't cry!" over and over again (didn't help).  Just like my sisters back in the day.  


Once we finished there, we played some board and card games in the living room, where I held my own. Learning new games via German instructions takes a ridiculous amount of focus, especially when a 7 year old does the explaining!  Eventually the music kicked on and the girls started twirling around the living room while I chatted with Michael.  Eventually I stepped in and taught some swing dancing.  Before it was out, I picked Celina up on my shoulders.  She quickly started yelling and clawing my face so I put her back down.  A few minutes later, "Wyan, darf ich wieder hoch gehen? (Ryan, may I go high again?)."  


"But Celina," I said, "I thought you were terrified last time."
"No, just a little bit.  I wasn't really scared."


So I picked her up again, and she started screaming again as expected, so back down she went to the amusement of her siblings.


Both of the girls had just gotten Polly Pocket contact books (for those of you without sisters, it is comparable to Barbie).  They each had me fill in my info, and my hobbies, and my favorite food and color etc.  While I was filling it in, I found a finger poking my face all of a sudden.  The father of the family, Martin, keeps his whiskers shaved shorter than I do mine, so the 7 year old was fascinated.  I asked if I could draw a beard on the picture of Polly Pocket that was on my page, but her grin turned into a scowl and she yanked the book out of my hands.  Not a joking matter apparently...