15 March 2006
Beeeeg spi-dair-mon, or, The Patient English
She'd only been home about 6 months or so, Three. She spoke an enchantingly accented and often quite inventive English, heavily larded with the odd word or two from Kreyol, from whatever Chinese dialect Five was still speaking, and from the mandatory Spanish lessons she sat patiently but largely unproductively through in school.
There was a lot of noise in the room. A lot of activity. Bickering in one corner, a dog doing something illegal in another, stuff all over wherever it didn't belong, crankiness from tired out kids in various whine-tonalities, me on the tippy-top of my last nerve.
Suddenly, Three began dancing on her tiptoes, waving her arms frenetically, yelling, "Mom! MOM! MOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!! [unintelligible jumble of words]!!!!"
Tiredly, I begin in that annoying way we are all taught by child-rearing "experts": "Now, Three. Remember we talked about this? I can't understand you unless you try to talk slowly."
Three replies: "Mom, MOM, MOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!" [Now she's leaping into the air and waving her arms like the Semaphore Wuthering Heights sketch--one of my favorite Monty Python bits, but not making me happy now.]
Me: "Three, calm down. What are you trying to say with your words?" [Again with the requisite know-it-all schoolmarm tone--aka, by those experts I just mentioned, Talking Calmly To Your Child.]
Three, being incredibly and genuinely patient (as opposed to my totally bogus variety) with this dope of a MOOOOMMMMMM: "Mom!!!! Loooook at eeet....eeet, eeet...eet eees...[clearly desperately groping for the ever recalcitrant English noun]....Eeees beeg, BEEG, BEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGG Spi-dair-mon!!!!!!!"
Sure 'nuff. Outside, on the corner nearest the big window, looking a helluva lot more patient than even a child-rearing expert, slowly making its ancient way up the side of our house, is a tarantula.
Henceforth and forever to be known in this house as a Beeg Spidairmon.
There was a lot of noise in the room. A lot of activity. Bickering in one corner, a dog doing something illegal in another, stuff all over wherever it didn't belong, crankiness from tired out kids in various whine-tonalities, me on the tippy-top of my last nerve.
Suddenly, Three began dancing on her tiptoes, waving her arms frenetically, yelling, "Mom! MOM! MOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!! [unintelligible jumble of words]!!!!"
Tiredly, I begin in that annoying way we are all taught by child-rearing "experts": "Now, Three. Remember we talked about this? I can't understand you unless you try to talk slowly."
Three replies: "Mom, MOM, MOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!" [Now she's leaping into the air and waving her arms like the Semaphore Wuthering Heights sketch--one of my favorite Monty Python bits, but not making me happy now.]
Me: "Three, calm down. What are you trying to say with your words?" [Again with the requisite know-it-all schoolmarm tone--aka, by those experts I just mentioned, Talking Calmly To Your Child.]
Three, being incredibly and genuinely patient (as opposed to my totally bogus variety) with this dope of a MOOOOMMMMMM: "Mom!!!! Loooook at eeet....eeet, eeet...eet eees...[clearly desperately groping for the ever recalcitrant English noun]....Eeees beeg, BEEG, BEEEEEEEGGGGGGGGGG Spi-dair-mon!!!!!!!"
Sure 'nuff. Outside, on the corner nearest the big window, looking a helluva lot more patient than even a child-rearing expert, slowly making its ancient way up the side of our house, is a tarantula.
Henceforth and forever to be known in this house as a Beeg Spidairmon.
