Zed

The kids at school still find me awfully funny, but I'm not sure they actually trust anything I am trying to teach them.

After the seasons and number of days in the year fiasco last month (still to be posted - turns out the seasons in Australia don't start on the same day as the rest of the world and um, yeah, there are 365 NOT 356 days in the year ANYWHERE on the globe!) the school is still letting me come in and volunteer in the classrooms.

Must be desperate for volunteers!

Yesterday was fun though.  I get to do writing with Andrew's 3/4 class.  The kids really inspired me with their fantastically imaginative descriptions of an ancient castle sitting in the middle of a misty lake.  (And yes, I had trouble writing that sentence after all the more evocative descriptions I read yesterday.)

I have definitely got to pick Sophie's mind for some of her stories.  Tyla too.  I'm thinking of a book of childrens' stories about the floods last year.

Then there's the poetry.  I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone in my former writers' group that the kids are way better at it than I ever was.  Never mind that they are supposed to be writing in complete sentences.  Correcting Samantha's free flow of words would have destroyed it entirely.  Beautiful.  She would have gotten an "F" in Germany - not a complete sentence on the page.  Here, we figure we'll work on the sentences later and recognise the thoughts and flow.  Work in progress and all that!

Spelling, for the most part, was not the strong point.  I helped the best I could.  (I know now, for instance that 'gray' is spelled 'grey'.)

When Connor asked me to spell 'frozen' though, we hit the latest snag.  He had the F and R so I continued with O and Z.  He looked at me as if I came from another planet.  Which, I guess I do.

Zee?  ZEE?  WHAT THE HECK IS THIS LADY TALKING ABOUT?!

Andrew, one row back, was probably snickering his little butt off - it's a running battle in our house and has been ever since Boeblingen English Playgroup in Germany.  (You have never seen the alphabet song become such a battleground, the Americans and - well, the rest of the English-speaking world - belting out their versions of that final letter at top decibel!  I have never been too committed to Americanisations - but fondly remember my mother and father battling it out laughingly over that same letter.  I choose to continue the struggle for the sheer fun and history of it.)

By the time I corrected myself to ZED, little Connor had convinced himself it was spelled with an S anyway.  Although I DO admit to mixing up Zed and S on a regular basis - Americanization, for example  (Is that even a word?!),  I am fairly certain that frozen is spelled with a zee.

Connor chose to look it up in the dictionary.

Which I like to think means that I am teaching the kids something after all!

Sooky

It's only recently that I've realised the twins no longer understand German. 
What's odd about this is that I continue to reprimand them in German and they continue to quiet down and behave when I do so.

Turns out noone is listening to what I say anyway.

They just know enough to keep quiet when I start yelling in any language.

Odd though that they follow directions in German too.  Probably just because when I'm screaming "ins Bett.  JETZT!" they already know the safest thing to do is to crawl into bed and be quiet, no matter WHAT it is I'm saying.

They still use some German verbs though.  Mostly when announcing their intentions to go to the bathroom. 

And, as wrong as I think it is to turn German into my language of fear and punishment, well frankly, I can't think of a better language for instilling fear and punishment.

You should have seen the look on the face of the women sitting in front of us at the Medieval Festival a few months ago when I broke out with   "Faire Attention!  Muss das sein!  You people are going to fall off the bleachers."  Yes, three languages at once.  Not one of which my kids probably paid any attention too.

Then I promptly forgot how to ask for the time in English and asked Damon "Kile ou genyen?"  which is Haitian Creole for  "Qui L'heure" or however it is the French ask for the time.

Multilingual maybe.  But still very few people who will understand me!

And speaking all these languages at home - I use "Je suis tres fatige" on a regular basis - just makes me realize that noone is listening to me anyway no matter WHAT language I speak.

At least I amuse myself.  J'adore francais.

We're also getting a big kick out of being multilingual in English.  Damon's "winching" was topped this week by Andrew patiently explaining a new word to us all over dinner.

Ryan was being 'sooky', he told us.  Sooky?  Yeah, he assured us, it means pouty.

Pouty? Sooky?  I thought about the accent, I thought about how an Australian would say it. And yes, I am fairly certain that 'sooky' is actually spelled 'sulky'!

Although I can totally see Aidan and Matthew's Scottish prep school aide pronouncing it 'sooky' as well.

Last week I had to write a note to Aidan's speech therapist asking her if she really thought he had a problem pronouncing his "o's" - as in dog and hog - because we found him quite clear and were wondering if it might just be an American accent.  Pronounce 'dog' the way a person who might pronounce 'sulky' as 'sooky' might and you'll be able to see the confusion!

Andrew still gets a German accent when giving a presentation in front of the class.  Just like his Opa.

And it's been suggested that a few of the Prep kids might be intimidated by me because they think I am famous.  You know, that glamorous Hollywood accent!

Last week Damon noticed the twins were singing in Spanish.  Shakira for 45 minutes on the way to riding on Saturdays.  Each way.

And the twins answer "ling" when I catch them doing something they shouldn't be doing and ask them what it is.  "Ling" is Chinese for 'zero' but I'll take it.

Am I raising my kids bilingually?  Heck - they're trilingual in ENGLISH alone!

And they are bright enough to ignore me in just about any language I throw at them!

Sydney's Famous New Building

Being bilingual is so much fun. You understand things from different persectives. You get to mix and match. And, sometimes, you get to misunderstand things in an entirely different way too.



Ryan and Andrew presented their posters on Australia today. To a not-so-rapt audience made up of Aidan and Matthew and their six-year-old friend Jordan, who is also staying here for the week. Since Jordan, and all the other guests Ryan and Andrew are hoping to present to (their BIG debute, here on the Birkholmhof in Iglersreuth!) speak German, they prepared the presentation in German.



Andrew likes to improvise so it's really fun to hear what he comes up with sometimes. I've heard the speeches FOUR times since yesterday so I just keep reminding myself that they are learning the facts - oceans and states and historical events - as well doing something that makes them feel important. And I amuse myself with the extra "facts" Andrew comes up with. (Ryan uses flashcards and keywords - she was in the German school system far too long to feel comfortable with improvisation.)



I've learned that the first man to land in Australia who COULDN'T play a didgerigoo was James Cook. That the weather in Australia is too warm to go snowboarding anywhere but in the mountains. But that snowboarding is so dangerous that most Australians wouldn't want to do it anyway. He wasn't sure about ice-skating. (I couldn't shake the image of 1900th century Australians iceskating in Sydney Harbor.) And that the English sent prisoners down to Australia as punishment until they realized that the weather in Australia was so nice that all the people down there were sunbathing and surfing and watching koalas in the trees. Then they got mad at themselves for being stuck in the cold and rain and stopped sending people there.



This one only works in German.



"The Sydney OPER house,"explained Andrew this morning, " is a big old place where Opas can go to sing.'' He thought about it a moment. "I'm pretty sure Omas can go and sing there too.''"



Just for that, I think I'll make an effort to keep up the German in Australia after all!

New Worlds For Ryan

Here's what I found on my desk - amidst a half-finished chocolate milk and some brotchen crumbs - when I came home from Writers' Group on Saturday.

With all my worrying about whether or not I am doing the right thing for Ryan, about what I could be doing differently, and better, for her, it is nice to have confirmation that just being me, and letting her be herself, is the best I can do.

Ryan's story, written while home alone (the boys were at baseball), VOLUNTARILY for FUN, came complete with pictures of horse and owner. I can only reproduce the written words here. Remember, English is her second language. (Read it out loud; it helps!)

I couldn't be prouder.

Cobolt (Picture of a black horse with Carole.)

Carole Hanson (HEART for loves) Cobolt they meant to be together but Cobolt is Veronicka di Angelo's Horse. She killd Cobolt with forsing him to go over a gump. Dr. Judy had to put him down. Carole wanted to quit riding bekos of Veronika and she almost did. Stevie and Lisa thot (say it out loud!) of a plane. Veronicka shold bey (out loud, I tell you!) Starlight but Carole said: ''You are not gonea kill Starlight and your not gonea get Starlight eather understand!?" and Veronicka said:

That's it. It's a direct synopsis of her favorite book - and TV - series "Saddle Club." Written in a second-language by a child with problems synthesizing information.

Just look at what these kids can do when given the chance and encouraged!

They need an interest. And they need a visual. (The German education system is not very visual, no pictures of the alphabet, no charts of the multiplication tables.)

But I'm psyched - again - about a few months of homeschooling in the fall. The schoolroom will take shape around us. Area history and culture. Language. Reading and math. And I'm thinking TV - and the Internet - isn't all bad for a kid like Ryan, if it is used properly. She responds to the visual and to the story. Our trip to the movie theater on Sunday is just the sort of thing she personally soaks up better than taking notes from the board or listening to a presentation.

Ryan is opening up new worlds for me. I'm thrilled to be able to do the same for her.

KEEN! (Pardon our English:Part Three)

It has recently occurred to me that my family is speaking a foreign language here in Germany. No, not the German. Not even the Swabian dialect. It's the English. You see - not only have we picked up a rather Swabian lilt on the end of our sentences, but it turns out we are picking up English from citizens of the Empire.

No, not THAT Empire - Princess Leia and the gang have that in hand. I'm talking about the British Empire, a rather farther-reaching concept than most Americans take into consideration. Except for us tea-dumpers, the other corners of the former kingdom had gentler separations from mother England and still follow her customs and language to a closer degree.

It's bad enough that we're interspersing our sentences with Germanisms, but must we now start speaking ENGLISH as well?! Noone at home is going to understand us.

I remember the first misunderstanding clearly. We were still in Geneva, and another mom at the English playgroup sponsored by the American International Women's Club asked me for a "nappy." Well, sure I had a nappy. Sounded kind of like napkin. So I pulled out some wet wipes. No go. A burp rag? She looked at me like I was out of my mind. "A nappy, you idiot!" is I'm sure what she was thinking. I finally handed her my bag and she helped herself to a diaper. "A NAPPY!" she repeated, as if I was just a touch slow. Oh - a nappy. Why didn't you say so? She might as well have used the French word, for all that our two Engishes had in common on this one point. (I don't know what I would have done with "couche-culotte" but at least I would have known we were dealing with a foreign language.)

There are others. They unfortunately don't come to mind since I now intersperse them into MY American English regularly. I mean, it is pointless to ask someone if we should bring the strollers on our outing to the park, when the whole time she is planning on asking me about whether or not to bring the buggies. Come to think of it, OUTING? Is that even a word?

The latest example came from Damon last night when he was explaining some of his business details to me. (Or trying to: I admit my eyes glaze over no matter what language he discusses finance in.) Some company wasn't keen on the contract and they needed to renegotiate terms in order tha.....hold up, a minute. Eyes unglazed. Did my American husband REALLY just use the word KEEN in casual conversation?! What is this the FIFTIES?

Best part is he wasn't even snoggered!

You Bitch! (Pardon Our English: Part Two)

Having blamed my children's swearing on the kindergarten, I am understandably sensitive when they DO, in fact, break out with inappropriate English words.

So that I immediately felt guilty the morning, a few weeks ago, when Aidan greeted me, happily, with a cheerful "You bitch!". He was sitting on the couch and showed no animosity towards me as I entered the room. So then why the hostility? And where the heck did he pick up THAT particular turn of phrase. I'll admit, there are others, but I honestly don't recall using that one at all. "You bitch?"

It took only a few minutes of frantic pantomime, and finally a trip into the kitchen, for Aidan to show me that what he was looking for were the Nougat Bits, his chocolatey choice of breakfast cereal at the moment. Oh! NOUGAT BITS! What a relief.

So it was cause for consternation yesterday when he clambered onto my lap once again calling me a bitch. I mean, who talks to their mother that way?! And he was clear this time, pointing to me, slowly saying YOU and then repeating BITCH over and over and over. There was clearly something he wanted me to do, but calling me names certainly wasn't helping me to do it any faster.

Turns out he wanted me to build a bridge with my legs. So that he could crawl over the BRIDGE, ie my legs, from the footstool onto the chair and my lap. (The chair having ostensibly turned into a fighter pilot or a fire engine.) You. Bridge.

#%@*$& it! Am I ever going to understand these kids?!