“Do you think Ella is learning 9 words a day?,” queried The Wife as she perused some website.
“Gee, I don’t think so, is she supposed to?,” I stammered, incredulous.
I thought about it later, about how hard it is for me to understand her when she’s describing common items. The poor kid will patiently repeat herself again and again before her buffoon father finally says, “oh, juice!” or “oh, boots!”. (In my defense, they do sound quite similar. Though on the other hand, context should help me here, since rare is the request for ‘boots’ while eating breakfast, for example.) It might be a bigger challenge for me to understand 9 new words than for her to learn them.
So in a rare moment of intelligence, I decided today to be proactive: I’d teach her some words, and avoid all of the trouble of translation. My first narcissistic suggestion? Why, our last name, of course.
“Staz-lun” she said, on the first try. I repeated the process to make sure that it wasn’t a fluke, and yep, she can clearly say “Ey-ya Staz-lun” without even breaking a sweat.
Now if I could only think of another word.