April 2009 of James 5, Sydney 7 years
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April 3, 2009
James keeps the questions coming: Why is there wind/where does it come from? How old is God? Is the Easter bunny real/will we see him on Easter/How does he hop to all the houses...does he stop to take a nap?
One of my favorite was today. He wanted to know how we switch from one language to another. Good question, buddy. I told him that some people have many languages in their head but I didn't know how they switch. He'll probably just ask Stephen since he thinks his dad's so much smarter. While he's at it, he might get Stephen's take on where wind comes from. I'll field the social sciences and religion and he gets the hard science. Sterotypical stuff we're raising our kids to see.
April 12, 2009
James has been very curious about the easter bunny. More so than about Santa Claus. Yesterday he said, "How does he get everywhere? In the world? Does he hop? Does he take a nap"? Stephen just answered, "Well, he's magic." I mean, what can you say, really?
In today's string of questions, his confusion seemed to build and he was frustrated that earlier attempts to understand had failed. He shot off questions like a rifle: "Where does he live the rest of the time? How does he get in the house? Where is he from? What language does he speak?"
April 14, 2009
Language awareness struck me like it did with the Easter bunny today. James saw a crane hoisting something into the air, near the road we were on. He started to say something about it, in excitement. Instead he said, "How do you call that in Portuguese?" I said I wasn't sure, that I would call it a "levador" (which can be used for an outdoor elevador...close as I could think at the moment) but that I would look it up. I just did look it up and I was totally off base (it's "quindaste"...go figure). I love that he was curious what the word was. It'll be interesting when I tell him I looked it up later what his reaction will be. I wrote it down b/c otherwise I know I'll forget.
April 15, 2009
This was a first. I just now drove JAmes and his little preschool friend home from preschool. When we left the school, James said to me in Portuguese that he wanted me to drive quickly because he really had to go to the bathroom. When his friend said, "what?" and waited for a translation, James said just as if he were translating what he'd just said to me, "She says we can play outside when we get home." Ah the webs we weave!
April 22, 2009
Woe is me. May I vent to you, dearest journal? For I am in the trenches. I found a book the kids had received as a gift and realized we had hardly opened it. I felt a pang of guilt, that I hadn't been reading to them very much. So tonight I asked if I could read them their bedtime story. They looked stricken. James told me that if I read, they wouldn't get to read the book they wanted to because it was in English. As I write this, it seems silly to get my feelings hurt over such a little thing, but it made me sad. Ahhh, the sacrifices!
April 24, 2009
We spent this past weekend in D.C. with a friend I've known since graduate school. She and her husband have a 2 year old and are raising him to be multilingual. He speaks English to the father, Italian to him mother, and Spanish to the nanny. I made up a game with the kids to tell me any words they heard in Italian that they understood. It was pretty fun because the vocabulary is so similar. The kids would whisper in my ear what they'd understood. It turned into this big competition though and James would get all upset if he saw Sydney whispering to me or if he heard she'd gotten a point.
It was odd, I found. Everytime I heard myself speaking Portuguese compared to my friend speaking Italian, Portuguese sounded so hillbilly. Or crass. Or ...just not as pretty. I think I would compare it to how Spanish sounds next to French. There are probably people who would strongly disagree with this interpretation, but it's just how I felt at the time.
April 28, 2009
Sydney was sick today leaving school. We got home and everyone collapsed in the den. I put "101 dalmatas" ("101 Dalmations") on for them and went to work in the office. James came in about 20 minutes later to say that they were speaking English in the film and that Sydney said she knew I'd be mad. I said, "But it was in Portuguese when I left?" (Some of the Disney videos I have you can choose the language and I had seen that it was on the Portuguese setting.) He said, "Mas ela estava gritando 'STOP!'" ("But she was screaming 'STOP'") I explained how some words in English were common and that other countries knew them and used them sometimes. He seemed to want to blow my theory because ten minutes later he was back telling me how they had said "kitty cat" in English. I told him that it was okay. That sometimes we use words in French. (He's used to Sydney pointing out anything French she sees written. It's part of the regular curriculum at her school and they do a great job with it.) I told him it was like the restaurant that sydney thoguht was French because it had Cafe in the name. Instead it was Iranian and it's full name was "Cafe Punlanah," or something like that. I'm not sure he understood, but he went back to the film, guilt free.
April 29, 2009
After telling a teacher yesterday that I've only used English with the kids once or twice in their lives, I used it TWICE today. The first time was just a sort of sneaky to get Sydney to understand. And it didn't even work. She had lost her read-a-thon sheet for the past week and it was due today. Horrors! No, really, I did feel for her because she'd read so much, had me putting the kitchen timer on while she read and read. So I told her I could go online and get the form or make a form similar to the one she'd had. She was frustrated and didn't understand. Finally I said to Stephen, "Stephen, can you explain to Sydney how..." giving the explanation to Sydney through Stephen. His response was, "Well, I think you just did explain it. He tried himself too but didn't get the idea across. At least I knew it wasn't a language issue.
Then later this morning, I hear this wailing coming from Sydney's room. I'd never heard her cry out like that and my first thought was, "Oh no, the hamster died!" (We bought a hamster last week which goes against all my better judgment.) So I ran upstairs and his cage was open. Sydney shreaked, "He's gone! We'll never see him again!" Of course, this was the time in the morning when we should be heading out the door to avoid being late, not the time to start a whole new project. And a project it was. We searched upstairs assuming he wouldn't try to go downstairs. I saw him scurring along away from my and under my bed! We worked for half an hour or so trying to catch him. I had him in my hands once, but he jumped (didn't know they jumped) away and ran, barely missing the little trash can I tried to put on top to trap him.
I knew for sure that I wouldn't catch him if we continued on this path. Mainly because I was too scared of him to hang on to him when he squirmed. I have a history with mice. I'll share only one story and it'll give you an idea of why I'm creaped out of holding one. I was in the 6th grade. We had a great science program and were using mice in a little experiment. One got loose and started running around, making all the girls scream. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about so I just scooped him up. I had him in my grip and was looking right at him when he chomped down hard on my finger. My reaction, without thinking, was to throw him on the ground. The girls was then upset, "Poor thing! You threw him on the ground!"
Well, later on, the mouse died. We got a call at home saying that an autopsy was being performed to find the reason for his death. I was terrified all night, remembering all the stories of kids with rabies who had to take huge long needles in their stomachs for days and days. Tramatic for a sixth grader.
Anyway so today with ittle "Pandy Oreo Jernigan" the fear remained. We put towels under every door he might use to escape (closets, bedroom door, bathroom door) and I put on thick gloves that Stephen uses in the dead of winter. By this time, the hamster wasn't under our bed. James had seen him go...where??? into the bathroom? into Stephen's closet?...no! Into my closet. He was all tangled up in wigs and costumes I had shoved in the corner. Another half hour with carrots and waiting and shifting things around and waiting until I nearly caught him. He retreated behind a box of t-shirts and began making the most pitiful cry. The kids and I looked at each other, pained. He sounded so scared. Sydney said she didn't even know they could make a cry. We made an attempt, this time with my hands, but mid catch I realized I'd need the shoebox I'd recently emptied. I said, in English, "Get the box!!!" Even as I said it, it sounded funny. Like instead of speaking, I'd sung it, opera style.
BUT Sydney did give me the box quick smart, and I pushed him in it. He squeal from my room to the cage was that of a ....how else can I say it...was that of a caged animal. He was nearly growling. UGH! And to think that we got this little guy with the agreement that I wouldn't have to have anything to do with him except maybe feed him while Stephen and Sydney were camping.
