I love the way N's face lights up when she learns something new--especially when it's something that her brothers can't quite understand yet. Tonight when I was tucking her in, the topic somehow turned to pig Latin. She didn't know what pig Latin was. She was clearly excited that this was some new bit of knowledge that she and I would share. And yet, as I started to tell her what pig Latin was, there was a voice in my head saying , What are you doing? Why would you teach her pig Latin? Isn't it bad enough that you can't spell in front to her anymore? Pig Latin is all you have left! It's like your rump tay ard cay!
I knew the voice was right. We really don't have any way to communicate in front of N without her knowing what we're saying. She spells better than we can. I can't use the approximately ten words of Spanish I know, since N now knows them, plus ten more that I don't know. And it's not like Jimmy and I can use Irish to speak, since I never really know if those few words he's taught me really mean what he told me they mean. Even if I had enough words to try to tell him "The kids are driving me crazy today", the words he taught me could very well mean, "I think you should go to the pub every night and stay as late as you want". So I knew that the voice had a point. And yet, when I saw the look of sweet excitement in N's eyes, as she anticipated this new tidbit of amazing mommy knowledge that I was about to share with her, I chose to ignore the voice. I'm sure at some point I will regret this, as past experience has taught me to never, ever ignore the voice.
I justified this decision with the fact that, though pig Latin should have been a great way for Jimmy and I to talk about the kids without them knowing what we were saying, we had, in fact, never actually used it. I don't know why this is. As I sat with N and translated words like ommy may and addy day and oop pay, I realized that I'm not even sure if Jimmy knows pig Latin. How do I not know this about my husband? As N practices a few words of her own, I make a mental note to ask Jimmy when he gets home if he knows pig Latin. Not that we can use it around the kids, of course, since I have now let N in on this little secret. I comfort myself with the thought that at least B and O can't spell yet, and I'm pretty sure N won't teach them pig Latin anytime soon.
And, of course, N and I have this cool mommy-daughter thing that, for now, is just ours. I realize that we'll have to let Jimmy in on it soon, though. It wouldn't be right for N and I to speak in a language that he can't understand. That's always struck me as incredibly rude. It's like when the ladies in the nail salon talk about me in Vietnamese when I'm sitting right there. Please. As if I don't know that they're saying that it looks like I haven't had a manicure in ten years. That's because I haven't. I have three kids and a husband who can't even speak pig Latin. How am I supposed to get out to get my nails done? Not to mention, I'd have to change a diaper as soon as I got home, which means my newly manicured nails would get all irty day within an our hay.
It occurs to me that maybe Jimmy and I should learn Vietnamese. At least then we can speak to each other without the kids knowing what we're saying. It could be our new secret language. And I bet we don't even know anyone else who speaks Vietnamese. Except for the ladies at the nail salon, and it would be nice to answer them in a common language when I know they're talking about me. But, you know, Vietnamese is probably a really hard language to learn. Maybe I can just teach Jimmy pig Latin and we can use to communicate without the kids knowing what we're saying. I mean, would they really be able to translate, "I think I've just ost lay whats left of my ind may?", or "I need a ig bay tiff say rink day?"
And maybe the ladies at the nail salon speak pig Latin, too--at least enough to understand when I ask for a nice shade of brown. To blend in with the oop pay.
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