Baby Teeth

Dear Teenagers,

Please remember that God gave you eyes, so that you can see where you are going instead of falling all over that stroller of mine that is a) much too small for you, b) already full of Tadpole anyway. Now, should you fail to do so, how about using the tongue God gave you and apologize? No, not to me, but to squished and unhappy Tadpole. I ask her to apologize when she hurts me/her sister/the cat (Husband being left to fend for himself), so why not extend her the curtesy?

Also: hopping onto the elevator's ramp will stop the whole thing, didn't you know? Where you put that butt of yours is strictly your business, I agree, but the stroller, Tadpole and I strongly object to having to climb the bloody escalators on foot. So please wait until we have cleared the area to break down the building. Thank you for your cooperation.

No love,
Rainette, Who Will Take The Elevator Next Time


Dear God,

Please make Tadpole colour-blind at mealtimes. I am tired of picking out anything that is green, orange or yellow (or any other colour that is not fried-rice-brown) out of her fried rice.

Much love and many thanks,
Rainette


In other news, I have discovered the Sekrit of baby teeth: threaten them with a visit to the dentist, beat them up with a Very Sticky Lollipop, and that tooth that was so firmly planted in Froglet's gum yesterday morning, with the new, permanent tooth, well visible and already tall behind it, jiggled so hard today that I cancelled the appointment with the dentist that I had just made. The dentist wasn't pleased. I am now wondering if that tooth will still be attached to Froglet when I go get her this afternoon (I gave her a little plastic bag to keep it, should it fall off.)

This morning, as she looked at herself in the mirror, my Froglet asked sweetly: "Mom, am I magnificent?"

:D

I don't know about magnificent, but she is undoubtedly cute.

ETA: The tooth is still there. I suspect a ploy to get another sticky lollipop.

You know you are really Canadian when...

Your little one won't eat a crêpe that hasn't been doused in Maple Syrup, and your older daughter suddenly speaks in onomatopoeias that you have only ever seen written in comics, and never actually heard before.

I jumped Froglet tonight. "Yikes!" she exclaimed. It may surprise you, but I had never heard that word spoken out before.

And then, two seconds ago, I overheard an enthusiastic "YeeHa!", which admittedly sounds more Albertan than Torontonian, but who cares. We're getting somewhere, linguistically speaking.

You know, I think in French, or English, or German, according to the moment of day, people I have just been interacting with, or things I have been thinking about. I am pretty good at switching from one language to the other, even though it can be exhausting at times, and you can only do it so many times a day before your brain implodes and you are left with one single syllable in your vocabulary. Generally, that syllable is "nghhhn" and left to everyone else's free interpretation, not that you care, at that stage, anyway.

And I actually do not know what language I am thinking in at each moment of the day, I mean, I do not think "Oooo, look, English!" while I am thinking about something. But if I absent-mindedly step on your foot while I am in linguistic auto-pilot, I will automatically apologize in whichever language I am currently thinking in, before my brain speaks up and gets me going in the right direction (hang on, this is Toronto, ooo, let's speak English, or Look, Froglet's school! All French!)

But that is because I am Well-Mannered. My parents taught me to apologize, thank, greet, and I do most of it automatically. It's what I am trying to teach my girls, too, and occasionally it works and they will apologize to a chair they have accidentally kicked. In the most important moments, though, it is All Gone and my many exhortations to "say hi to the nice lady" are met with a deeply distrusful silence.

As far as multilingualism is concerned, the other dead giveaway is the language of pain. We think it comes from our deeply wounded feelings/nerves, but actually, this is another acquired thing. Do you want to know which language I am currently thinking in? Hit me on the head with a great big hammer. If my last words before passing out are Ouch, I am thinking in English. "Aie" or "Ouille", and it's French. "Aua" or "Aua-Weh" would be German.

But then be ready for retaliation. Cos man, that hurt, and vengeance is sweet.