How did Francisco get the whole party ready by Sunday? Lanae

They started on Monday and did things each day.

Francisco did everything himself.

What did Francisco and Gina say they would do with the confetti eggs? - Ciara

Crack them over people's heads.

Hold them and guess what's in them.

Mama's Birthday | Quizalize

Mama's Special Pizza

Broken windows are covered. Floorboards are patched and doors screwed back on. The road that was ruined by German tanks is shovelled and raked smooth. Boot-shaped bruises turn yellow then fade and disappear. Flowers grow and spread across the ugly German footprints stomped into garden beds. The village looks pretty once more. School stops for the summer and everyone is put to work on the kolkhoz, the village farm. Women and big boys begin harvesting the barley crops in the outer fields. The biggest girls milk the cows, morning and night, and keep the barns clean. Old Nikolay mends ploughs, horse harnesses, pitchforks and scythes in his workshop. Anna Pushinka teaches Yelena and her friends how to get the honey from the beehives that are scattered through the orchards. I am in charge of collecting eggs. My friends Olga and Nina help. Olga and Nina are five, a year younger than me. They are twins and look exactly alike, except Nina’s nose is a little bit crooked from when she fell out of bed and squashed it sideways on the floor. The hens, ducks and geese wander free in the summer, so collecting eggs is like a treasure hunt and takes hours. Catching the hens for their daily hugs takes even longer, but I think it’s important because hugs make everyone happy and happy hens lay bigger eggs. Olga says I’m the best hen-hugger in all of Russia. Nina says I’ll be the best cow-hugger, too, when my arms grow longer. But good hugs have nothing to do with the size of your arms. It’s all to do with the size of your heart. When we are done with the hens, Olga, Nina and I can spend the rest of the day doing whatever we like. We climb the apricot trees, chase squirrels, lie in the meadow marvelling at how hot Ushanka’s black fur becomes in the sunshine, make daisy chains and race little boats of bark in the stream. I teach Olga and Nina the alphabet and we use charcoal to write our letters and our names all over the village – on doors and walls and the freshly cut ends of firewood. In between, I practise my knots. In case the German princemonsters return. I slip into Old Nikolay’s workshop and tie knots in the harnesses hanging on the walls. I wander into gardens where the washing is hung out to dry and tie knots in the laces on pants and smocks. I creep up behind Anna Pushinka and tie knots in her apron strings. I find baling twine in the hay shed and tie my own ankles together. I do such a good job of these last knots that I can’t get them undone. I have to jump all the way to Olga and Nina’s house and ask them to cut me free with their mama’s knife. At the end of each day, Ushanka and I run out into the distant barley fields to meet Mama. This is my favourite part of the day, because Mama always shouts, ‘Little Rabbit!’ and smothers my head with kisses. And as we walk home, we sing. Everyone – women, big boys and me. I love to sing. Almost as much as I love to be kissed by Mama. Sometimes one of the boys, Mikhail, has his balalaika with him. He takes the instrument out from beneath the sheaves of barley piled high on the wagon and plays music. We sing about forests and orchards and people who find their true love. As we walk home, arm in arm, my heart fills with happiness and my belly swells with pride that I am allowed to sing along with the big boys. And I can almost forget about the German prince-monsters and their lies about Russia and their big ugly boots. Almost. But today, when Mikhail reaches for his balalaika, I see other things hiding beneath the barley sheaves. Three of the mamas rush forward and cover them up, but it’s too late. I know they are there. I’ve already seen them. Rifles. Lots of rifles. Mikhail hugs his balalaika to his chest and blushes. ‘So play!’ cries Mama, her voice oddly loud and high. ‘Let’s play Sasha’s favourite song, “The Little Birch Tree”.’ So Mikhail plays and everyone sings about the lovely birch tree with its curly leaves and the branches that will be turned into silver flutes. They sing too quickly, too loudly, and as they sing and walk, they cast nervous sideways glances at me. ‘It’s alright,’ I say, when the song comes to an end. ‘I didn’t see the rifles.’ Mama nods and smiles, and I know it was the right thing to say. But I did see the rifles. And I think about Yelena wanting to get lots of guns and dynamite for the Partisans so they can shoot the Germans and blow them into thousands of tiny pieces, and Mama looking as though she agreed, and I know this is what the mamas and the big boys are doing. As well as harvesting, they are helping the Partisans. Three days later, I wake before dawn and I am all alone. Yelena is always here beside me when I wake. But not this morning. I climb down from our bed above the stove. Mama is filling a cloth sack with bread. She ties it closed with a piece of string and hands it to Yelena. ‘Stay out of sight,’ says Mama. ‘And don’t return until after dark.’ ‘Where’s she going?’ I ask. ‘Nowhere,’ snaps Mama. ‘Then why does she need all that bread?’ I ask. ‘There’s nothing left for us.’ Mama baked four loaves last night and she has stuffed them all into the sack. Yelena opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Mama shoves her out the door and sends her on the way to nowhere. Mama turns and stares at me, her blue, blue cornflower eyes wide with worry. ‘I know,’ I say, flopping down on the bench. ‘I didn’t see any bread.’ Mama sits beside me and takes my hand. ‘And . . .?’ she prods, obviously waiting for more. I puzzle for a while, then say, ‘And I don’t have a sister called Yelena.’ Mama laughs, softly and with a little bit of sadness around the edges. ‘Sweet Little Rabbit! You do have a sister called Yelena.’ ‘I do?’ I ask, now confused. ‘I haven’t seen the rifles or the bread, but I have seen Yelena?’ ‘Yes.’ Mama smiles and the magic makes me smile, too. And I am glad that Yelena is real because I love her very much. ‘Yelena is real,’ Mama explains, ‘but she does not carry sacks of bread into the forest for the Partisans.’ ‘Of course not!’ I shout, slapping my forehead. ‘Because there is no bread!’ Mama laughs loudly now, with not a hint of sadness. She hugs me, pressing me against her warm, loving heart, covering my head with kisses. ‘Clever Little Rabbit,’ she murmurs, and then, in barely a whisper, ‘Your papa would be so proud.’ When I wake the next morning, Yelena is sleeping beside me, her mouth open, her braided hair unravelling. Mama is serving kasha to a strange woman seated at our table. I crawl down from above the stove and slide along the bench beside her. I stare at her pants, her tunic, the rope she is using as a belt and her big boots. She’s dressed like a man! And there’s a rifle leaning against the wall near the door. ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘I’m Sasha.’ The woman doesn’t reply. She just shovels down her kasha. I line my four wooden bears along the table in front of her bowl and say, ‘These are my bears: Big Bear, Medium Bear, Little Bear and Even Littler Bear.’ ‘Hello, Sasha. Hello, bears.’ She smiles but she doesn’t tell me her name. ‘Why are you dressed like a man?’ I ask, tugging at the sleeve of her tunic. ‘Because men’s clothes make it easier to run and climb and crawl and shoot,’ she says. ‘You’re a Partisan!’ I gasp. ‘But she’s not real,’ says Mama, placing a bowl of kasha before me. ‘Is the kasha real?’ I ask. Mama laughs. ‘Yes, Little Rabbit.’ I’m glad the food is real, because I’m hungry. But I’m disappointed that the woman is not real. I was going to ask if I could use her rope-belt to tie her ankles together. For practice. But if she’s not real, then the rope and her ankles aren’t either. The woman finishes her kasha, hangs her rifle over her shoulder, kisses Mama on the cheek then slips out the door. I run to the window to watch her leave, but by the time I get there, she’s gone. Vanished. ‘Because she’s not real,’ I whisper. A week later, Mama and I are working in the garden. We sing as we weed between the flowers and pluck caterpillars from the vegetables. Anna Pushinka is picking strawberries in her garden and wanders over. ‘Taste these,’ she says, holding out the basket. Mama reaches in and takes out a fat strawberry and a tiny piece of folded paper. The strawberry goes into her mouth, the paper into her pocket. ‘What’s on the paper?’ I ask. ‘Paper?’ Anna Pushinka replies with a wave of her hand. ‘Goodness, Sasha! Who has money for paper? These are lean times. We must choose between paper for writing and noodles for our soup. And I always choose noodles.’ She chuckles and I know the paper is yet another thing that is not real. That night, Mama slips the paper to Yelena, but she drops it on the floor. I pick it up for her, and I see that there are tiny words and numbers written all over it. I wish I could read better. I’m desperate to know what it says. Or rather, what it doesn’t say, because it’s not real. Later, when Mama has tucked us into our bed above the stove and Ushanka has wrapped herself around the top of my head, I ask Yelena, ‘What’s on the paper?’ ‘What paper?’ says Yelena. ‘The paper that isn’t real,’ I reply. Yelena stares at me, nibbling her lip, then whispers, ‘A message for the Partisans. Stuff about where the Germans have their headquarters and when their trains are travelling and where they store their ammunition.’ ‘Why?’ ‘So the Partisans can blow them up.’ Yelena grabs my arm. ‘But don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.’ ‘What’s a secret?’ I ask. ‘The message.’ ‘What message?’ I say, my eyes wide. Yelena laughs. ‘Good boy, Sasha.’ My belly swells with pride. I know how to play this game. ‘How are your knots coming along?’ asks Yelena. ‘Good! Yesterday, I crept into the dairy and tied knots in the apron strings of all the girls who were milking and only one of them noticed. Today, I tied Olga’s ankles together with Mama’s embroidery thread and just now, while you were taking a bath, I tied the sleeves of your blouse together in an enormous knot.’ Yelena rolls her eyes, then says, ‘I’ll see if I can find you some rope for practising.’ ‘Practising what?’ I ask. ‘Your knots,’ she says. ‘What knots?’ Yelena, my big sister who is twelve and always serious t

Mama Bhanji's Baby Shower

Maria's Family Celebration It is Mexican Independence Day! Maria and Luis are getting ready for a big party. "We can decorate the house," says Maria. "Let's paint a picture of our family." "Mama was born first. She is the oldest," says Maria. "Papa was born second," Maria says. "He is one year younger." "Next is Emily," says Maria. "She is Mama and Papa's first child." "After Emily, you were born," says Luis. "That's right!" says Maria. "I am Mama and Papa's second child." "What about me?" asks Luis. "You were the last to be born," says Maria. "You are the youngest." "There!" says Maria. "Our family picture is done!" "Green, white, and red are the colors of the Mexican flag," says Maria. Maria and Luis blow up five green balloons. They blow up five white balloons and five red balloons, too. "I'm out of breath!" says Luis. "Let's see," says Maria. "We painted a picture first. We blew up balloons second. The third thing we can do is fill the piñata." Maria gets the striped fish piñata from the shelf. Maria and Luis stuff the piñata with candy. When Luis thinks Maria isn't looking, he pops a piece of candy into his mouth. Maria gives him a hug. "You are silly," she says. Papa hangs the piñata. "We need a blindfold," says Maria. "We need a stick to break the piñata, toо." Abuela finds a red-checked scarf for Maria and a long stick for Luis. "The piñata is ready!" says Maria. "The fourth thing to do is practice dancing, Luis!" Maria and Luis dress in their party clothes. Then, they dance and spin. Soon, the house fills up with food, family, and music. There are six cousins, two aunts, three uncles, and three grandparents. There is Papa, Mama, Emily, Maria, and Luis, too. "There is one last thing we can do," Maria says. "And it's the most fun!" "What is it?" asks Luis. "CELEBRATE!" says Maria.

Carlos's Family Celebration It's Mexican Independence Day! Carlos and Selena are getting ready for a big party. "We can decorate the house," says Carlos. "Let's paint a picture of our family." "Mama was born first. She is the oldest," says Carlos. "Papa was born second," Carlos says. "He is one year younger." "Next is Mateo," says Carlos. "He is Mama and Papa's first child." "After Mateo, you were born," says Selena. "That's right!" says Carlos. I am Mama and Papa's second child." "What about me?" asks Selena. "You were the last to be born," says Carlos. "You are the youngest." "There!" says Carlos. "Our family picture is done!" "Green, white, and red are the colors of the Mexican flag," says Carlos. Carlos and Selena blow up five green balloons. They blow up five white balloons and five red balloons, too. "I'm out of breath!" says Selena. "Let's see,"says Carlos. "We painted a picture first. We blew up balloons second. The third thing we can do is fill the piñata.” Carlos gets the big star piñata from the shelf. Carlos and Selena stuff the piñata with candy. When Selena thinks Carlos isn't looking, she pops a piece of candy into her mouth. Carlos gives her a hug. "You are silly," he says. Mateo hangs the piñata in the apartment's grassy yard. "We need a blindfold," says Carlos. "And a stick to break the piñata, too." Abuela finds a red-checked scarf for Carlos and a long stick for Selena. "The piñata is ready!" says Carlos. "The fourth thing to do is practice dancing, Selena!" Carlos and Selena dress in their party clothes. Then, they dance and spin. Soon, the house fills up with food, family, and music. There are cousins, aunts, uncles, new babies, and new friends. There is Papa, Mama, Mateo, Carlos and Selena, too. "There is one last thing we can do," Carlos says. "And it's the most fun!" "What is it?" asks Selena. "CELEBRATE!" says Carlos.

家 jiā family/home 家人 jiārén family member(s) 爸爸 bàba dad/father 妈妈 māma mom/mother 爷爷 yéye grandpa (paternal/dad’s dad) 奶奶 nǎinai (paternal/dad’s mom) 外公 wàigōng grandpa (maternal/mom’s dad) 外婆 wàipó (maternal/ mom’s mom) 狗 gǒu dog 猫 māo cat 鸟 niǎo bird 鱼 yú fish 天竺鼠 tiānzhúshǔ guinea pig 兔子 tùzi rabbit 大 dà big 小 xiǎo small 可爱 kě‘ai cute 有 yǒu to have 没有 méiyǒu don't have

Carlos's First Halloween It is Carlos's first Halloween in America. Carlos, Selena, and Mateo put on costumes. They visit friends in their building. Trick or treat, Maria! Do you like our costumes? Thank you for telling us about Halloween. Look, Mrs. Florio made a ghost. Trick or treat, Mrs. Florio! Thank you for the cookies, Mrs. Florio. Ms. White made a pirate! Trick or treat, Ms. White. Thank you for the juice, Ms. White. Look! Mama and Papa put a big black cat on our door. Abuela, you made treats for us, too! Mama! Papa! You scared us! Our first Halloween has been fun!

La familia el padre/papa father/dad el hermano brother el hijo son el abuelo grandfather el tío uncle el primo cousin el sobrino nephew el esposo husband el nieto grandson el padrastro stepfather el hermanastro stepbrother la madre/mamá mother/mom la hermana sister la hija daughter la abuela grandmother la tía aunt la prima cousin la sobrina niece la esposa wife la nieta granddaughter la madrastra stepmother la hermanastra stepsister el bisabuelo great-grandfather la bisabuela great-grandmother el tatarabuelo great-great-grandfather la tatarabuela great-great-grandmother el padrino godfather la madrina godmother el ahijado godson la ahijada goddaughter el suegro father-in-law la suegra mother-in-law el cuñado brother-in-law la cuñada sister-in-law el yerno son-in-law la nuera daughter-in-law Mi my mis my nuestro our nuestra our nuestros our nuestras our tu your (informal) tus your (informal) vuestro you all's vuestra you all's vuestros you all's vuestras you all's su (él) his sus (él) his su (ella) her sus (ella) her su (Ud.) your (formal) sus (Ud.) your (formal) su (ellos/ellas) their sus (ellos/ellas) their su (Uds.) you all's (formal) sus (Uds.) you all's (formal) nuestro abuelo our grandfather tu hermano your brother mi casa my house mis casas my houses tus hermanos your brothers sus libros his books Mi, tu, su, nuestro/a/os/as, vuestro/a/os/as must agree with the thing that belongs to you (or me, or him, or her, or them) in number and gender. That means that if the thing that belongs to someone is plural, you must add an "-s" onto the adjective. Nuestro, vuestro must agree in number and in gender with the thing that belongs to us (or to you all). vuestros hijos nuestras hermanas nuestra abuela su hermana his sister mis primos my cousins mis primas my cousins (female) sus padres his parents nuestra hija our daughter tener to have yo tengo I have tú tienes you have él tiene he has ella tiene she has Ud. tiene you (formal singular) have nosotros tenemos we have nosotras tenemos we have vosotros tenéis you all have vosotras tenéis you all have ellos tienen they have ellas tienen they have Uds. tienen you (formal plural) have Nosotros tenemos ocho tíos. We have eight uncles Yo tengo tres hermanos. I have three brothers. Tengo dos hermanas. I have two sisters ¿Cuántos años tienes? How old are you? Tengo dieciocho años. I am 18 years old. Tengo catorce años. I am 14 years old. Yo tengo tres hermanos y una hermana I have three brothers and one sister

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