1992
Growing up bi-lingual doesn't just happen. It takes dedication, a great deal of patience and often repeating words over and over again. French Husband speaks French to the children, and naturally I speak English to them. It made and makes for a very different type of conversation wherever we are: Some French, some English and a hodge podge of Franglais.
When Chelsea was three years old, she said with a sweet reflection, "Mere de Dieu." I noticed from the corner of my eye that French Husband was beaming with pride. He whispered, as if I didn't know what she had said, "Chelsea said, Mother of God, in French." He assumed full of his pride, "She is praying."
Chelsea repeated, "Mer-de...Dieu!" Then she started to giggle.
I looked over at French husband, and asked if I was missing an inside joke or something? He shook his head no, but studied Chelsea with a very stern look.
"Mer...de... dieu." She repeated then giggled louder.
Then went on to say with a sweet little voice, "Mere de Dieu." She repeated this over and over, once with a sweet voice, and then Merde Dieu with a stern voice. Each time giggling harder and harder. "Mere de Dieu. Mer-- de Dieu. Merde Dieu. Merde Dieu. Mere de Dieu..."
Glancing over at French Husband I saw he was shocked silly, rather speechless, not translating the obvious. Chelsea hearing the sounds of the words "mere de," which means, "mother of." Then saying them quickly together mere-de, realizing she was saying, "merde," a bad word, which means shit in English. Literally she was saying, "Mother of God, and then in the next breath, Shit God."
One of the best things about being a bi-lingual family is moments like this. I leaned over to French Husband and beamed, "At least I know she didn't learn it from me... I pray in English."
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