There have been, oh, a few Calvinistic incidents recently, which I will now relate.
- I was working in the office, as usual, when I heard a loud crash from upstairs. EM and I were home alone, and she seemed well enough alone, as she was reading, as usual, at the time. I waited for any follow-up noise, and then, waited patiently for little Thérèse to come tell on herself. Which she obligingly did:
EM: Papa, I was fixing the window, and then it broke; can you help me?
I didn't help my stern look one wit, those guilty, imploring, eyes of hers. Pusong mumon is my middle name, after all. I went upstairs to investigate, finding merely the curtains had been dislodged from the window frame. That (the curtains) was easy enough to fix, so I then needed to fix my little girl's heart. A hug and a word of encouragement fixed that.
- Another day, in the midst of one of my DDR sessions, and the li'l tyke interrupts me between sets.
EM: Papa, I tried to flush the toilet, but the water didn't go down like it should...
Those eyes again, working on me.
I went upstairs to resolve the issue. The toilet didn't seem jammed, but, yes, the bowl was full. So, what's a genius to do? Flush the toilet.
Not so smart.
Water, clean water, Deus gratia (that is Suisse), flooded the banyo. All the more embarrassing because I had just finished lecturing and praising the little one about not fixing this problem herself, just as Calvin, erhm, didn't. Everyone else was still sleeping, but my hurried repairs and plunger action was a guaranteed reveille (that is Mayan).
So, I guess it's okay for her to read Calvin and Hobbes, maybe it's her pater familias that is more like Calvin than she is.