Yesterday, Ma Fille came home from school and played a tricky monkey on me. 'Oh, Mommy! I have so much homework tonight. I'm really worried that I won't be able to finish it!'
'Oh, no! Really?' I assumed it was another French history lesson or an epic poesie to put to memory.
'Yes! I have to learn the numbers to 100! In English!' She thinks this is hilarious. And like her father, has a tendency to continue with a joke way past its expiration date on funny. It's genetic, I guess.
Then the Middlest and I walked over to the pharmacy to buy lice deterrent spray and pink eye drops for the Littlest. (I've never had to deal with les poux and I don't want to start now.) We do our best talking on these little walks. Plus I get some hand holding which I greedily sneak whenever I can.
He had had his first English lesson of this school year and when his teacher asked the class, in accented English, to take out their English notebooks he was the only one who did it automatically. Which made everyone turn and look at him, the usual in these English lesson situations. 'Oh, watch Rowan. He knows what to do!', they chorused.
He told me that they picked out English names for themselves and he chose Sam. His best friend in Ireland's name is Sam and he said that this way he can feel close to him. He suggested other names to his friends too; Matthew for Matheo, Josh for someone else, and for another one, Harry.
The thing I thought was the sweetest though, was that two of the children chose the Middlest's name, Rowan, for theirs. To them, he's a living, breathing, running, screaming, jumping example of an English speaker. Even if he rarely utters a word in his langue maternelle while he's at school.
I think it made him feel good. He smiled up at me with those oversized front teeth when he told me, our hands swinging. It made my night, that's for sure.