October 13, 2004
What the *uck?
Jacob brings over his favourite book "Ken jij mijn vriendjes vraagt het kleine eendje" and we spend the next few minutes flicking through the pages while he points repeatedly at a large yellow fluffy object which I call a "duck" and we have one of those conversations where I say "Where is the duck?", "oh there is the duck!", "No, thats not a duck, thats a cow, where is the duck Jacob", "thats right there is the duck" and finally he says "uck" and points to yellow fluffy objects on every page repeating "uck, uck, uck" (I HOPE he's saying duck.). And I'm very pleased about this because I've been being very good about remembering to speak English to him even when I'm in a situation where I'm speaking Dutch to everyone else and it seems to be working.
Well pleased with himself, Jacob saunters across the room to his father, with a smug little smile, which is what he has taken to doing, (sauntering and simultaneous smug smiles) since he got this walking business pretty much under control, (still working on pivot turns and the distance is yet to come but its all happenning...) and he presents his father with his favourite book and they start going through the pages together and Jacob points to the "uck" and before he can open his mouth his father says "dar is de eend" and Jacob hesitates, shakes his head and points again and his father says it again, "Eend. War is de eend Jacob?" and Jacob drops the book by his side and with the most exasperated look in the world looks up at his father and then over to me as if to say, "what the #uck is going on here?"
So then he walks back over to me, a bit more purposefully now, no more sauntering, he is on a mission, and lifts up the book and points to the fluffy yellow thing and I say "Duck" and smile and tousle his hair and give him a kiss, so reassured he sets off to set his father straight but when he gets there papa persists in calling the yellow fluffy object "Eend" and Jacob is left stranded, standing there in the middle of the living room, his book hanging by his side, his mouth hanging open in dismay and disbelief, turning his head from one parent to the other.
There's no fun like messing with the kid's mind.
Posted by Faith | TrackBack