I picked up a few loaves of pulla at the Saturday Market on Saturday and it was an instant hit with the kids. They had pulla for morning, afternoon and bedtime snack. They talked about the pulla morning, noon and night.
Tucker and Piper were the absolute worst.
"Can I have some poo-lah?" Tucker asked me at 8:23am on Tuesday morning.
"No." I said. "You just had breakfast."
"Can I have oo-lah? Can I?" Piper pleaded.
"No." I said. "You just had breakfast."
At 8:28am, they surrounded me again.
"Can I have some poo-lah?"
"Can I have oo-lah? Can I?"
"No!" I said. "No pulla!"
They moped and shuffled into the living room. I decided to take this opportunity to teach them how to properly pronounce pulla.
"Piper, say pulla." I said.
"Oo-lah!" she said, smiling.
"No, p-p-p-pulla!" I said.
"P-p-p-oo-lah!" she said.
Forget it.
As I made lunch that day, Avery stopped and asked, "Can we have poo-lah with our lunch?"
"No!" I said. "No more pulla!"
She stomped her feet and crossed her arms over her chest.
I heard Piper in the living room, "Tucka, say oo-lah. O-o-o-oo-lah!"
"No, Piper, it's poo-lah!" he yelled, obviously annoyed.
"Oo-lah!" she said, proud of herself.
3pm snack time came and guess what was served for snack?
All that was left of the last loaf of pulla was the gunda. The kids were eyeing it the rest of the day, asking over and over again if they could have that last piece.
By 7pm, I had had it. I was tired of hearing about the pulla and tired of everyone asking if they could have the last piece. I ceremoniously picked it up out of the pan and threw it in the trash, anticipating moans and groans, but no one noticed. They were all busy reading and playing. Perhaps I should have announced it prior to doing it to get the reaction I thought I would get.
But regardless, the pulla is gone and I don't have to hear about it for another year.
Tucker and Piper were the absolute worst.
"Can I have some poo-lah?" Tucker asked me at 8:23am on Tuesday morning.
"No." I said. "You just had breakfast."
"Can I have oo-lah? Can I?" Piper pleaded.
"No." I said. "You just had breakfast."
At 8:28am, they surrounded me again.
"Can I have some poo-lah?"
"Can I have oo-lah? Can I?"
"No!" I said. "No pulla!"
They moped and shuffled into the living room. I decided to take this opportunity to teach them how to properly pronounce pulla.
"Piper, say pulla." I said.
"Oo-lah!" she said, smiling.
"No, p-p-p-pulla!" I said.
"P-p-p-oo-lah!" she said.
Forget it.
As I made lunch that day, Avery stopped and asked, "Can we have poo-lah with our lunch?"
"No!" I said. "No more pulla!"
She stomped her feet and crossed her arms over her chest.
I heard Piper in the living room, "Tucka, say oo-lah. O-o-o-oo-lah!"
"No, Piper, it's poo-lah!" he yelled, obviously annoyed.
"Oo-lah!" she said, proud of herself.
3pm snack time came and guess what was served for snack?
All that was left of the last loaf of pulla was the gunda. The kids were eyeing it the rest of the day, asking over and over again if they could have that last piece.
By 7pm, I had had it. I was tired of hearing about the pulla and tired of everyone asking if they could have the last piece. I ceremoniously picked it up out of the pan and threw it in the trash, anticipating moans and groans, but no one noticed. They were all busy reading and playing. Perhaps I should have announced it prior to doing it to get the reaction I thought I would get.
But regardless, the pulla is gone and I don't have to hear about it for another year.
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