English to French and back again

Téo's first words were in English. Then, one by one, they turned to French.

I panicked. I searched for English playmates, implored C to speak to him in English, toyed with the idea of an English creche. He only watched DVDs in English. Most of his books were in English. My child would speak English!!

It wasn't until he was over three though that he began talking properly in English. Prior to that, his French was French, but his English was franglais, a mix of English and French. Even my native-English-speaking friends here spoke to him in French since he mainly spoke in French.

The trigger was going to Sydney for Christmas. After a week or so, his franglais disappeared - and he never looked back. He could switch perfectly between English and French depending on who he was speaking to. He could translate for me when I didn't understand. His grammar was sometimes a bit mixed up, and he had a French accent when speaking English and an English one when speaking French, but he was fully bilingual.

His only hangup was that he couldn't talk to me in French, or to C in English. I suspect he still can't talk to me in French, but in August, during our English-speaking holiday in Scotland, he became able to speak to C in English. Another breakthrough.

Then, with visits late last year from my mum, brother's family and school friend, he had six more weeks of only speaking English between September and November. More and more often he began to initiate conversations with C in English. His French turned to franglais. And in February, he started talking to our Swiss friends - friends we have only ever spoken to in French - in English.

We arrived back home from Australia on Saturday - and Téo can no longer speak French. It all went out, he explained to C when at his cousins' over the weekend.

Um, oops. Guess my English offensive went a bit too far there.

Brave to be home

Once again, several of you called me brave while I was in Oz. Brave for flying halfway around the world with two little kids, brave for being a single mum for a month.

Honestly though, compared to being home alone with the kids today, the trip was easy peesy.

Four hours sleep during a 24-hour journey? Fine. Lukan throwing up copiously on the plane to Sydney? Fine. Lukan just being Lukan on the plane? Fine. A sick, clingy, whiny Lukan for 2 weeks? Fine. Lukan waking me at 5 most mornings? Fine.

Yes, it was all fine because even though I was tired, we were never alone. With new toys to examine, playmates each day and fun excursions, Téo did not constantly demand my attention. And being in other people's homes meant I didn't really have to do anything. I helped when I could, but it wasn't me planning the meals, doing the shopping, or cooking. I wasn't working. I didn't have a house to keep tidy. I didn't even completely look after my own washing.

Today I had to do all these things (except work, that starts tomorrow). Lukan was sick. Téo nagged nonstop for me to play with him. Fusses were kicked up. We were all up at 5 thanks to Lukan... and my goodness does the day drag when you're up that early, it's grey and chilly outside, and you have no adult company. Oddly, tolerance to bedtime screaming also becomes severely diminished.

C is away from tomorrow morning until midnight Friday. I'm thinking I should have stayed in Sydney for another week...

Sydney summer

Cockies screeching
Lorrikeets chattering
Kookaburras laughing
Kids squealing, chasing, splashing

Planes roaring
Prawns sizzling
Sausages blackening
Wine opened, poured and drunk

Night falling
Lightning flashing
Thunder scaring
Fat drops chase us home

Postcard

Dear all,

We are in Australia! I did mean to tell you we were going, but, well, you know, things got busy. So then I thought I'd pop you a line to say we'd arrived safely, but Lukan and I were quite sick the first week, and jet lagged, so not much got done. We left the bug with my family in Sydney and headed to Melbourne for a week. Tomorrow we go back to Sydney where I hope my brother will have gotten rid of the bug. And forgiven me for letting it loose in his house.

Anyway, we are having fun and enjoying the warmth, water and sand. I'll fill you in once I'm back home.

love Emma

I guess this is why it's called abstract art

- What's dat picture of mummy?

- Well, what do you think it looks like?

- It's a princess.

- A princess?? You don't think it looks like a wave?

- No, a princess. See, there's her shoe.

Don't do this at work

Do you know it can be very hard to tell the difference between natural boobs and those with implants by sight alone?

I discovered this one Friday afternoon while I was living in Germany. My shared office was empty, and someone had just sent me a heap of boob pictures in a PowerPoint presentation where you had to say which ones were natural and which ones implanted.

Should be easy, I thought. Just need to look at the position of the nipple. And maybe for scars.

I guessed fake for the first picture. Wrong. Real for the next. Wrong.

Oh come on those are surely fake!

Wrong.

Those ones are small, they must be real!

Wrong.

Wow, this is hard, I thought, maximizing the file and leaning closer to my computer screen for better investigation of each picture.

Wrong wrong wrong.

I was deep in examination of a pair of nipples, nose pressed right up to the screen, determined to get at least one right, when it happened.

A tentative tap tap tap.

I turned to see the new work experience girl, all of 16, who'd knocked on my desk to get my attention so she could ask me a question. About work.

I may have blushed.

Mellowing monster

Do you think he's gotten easier lately?

Definitely.

I've mentioned before that Lukan can be a bit of a pest. Before he become mobile, I think we had one broken toy. Now we have a collection. He purposely pulls and twists and tugs on everything, until it comes apart. He rips pages out of books. He delights in breaking apart Téo's Lego constructions and train tracks. He throws. He whacks. He tangles. He unplugs.

He opens every drawer he can, and empties their contents. Repeatedly. Same for bins. Toilet brushes are his favourite thing of all, with toilets a close second.

He twists and turns on the change table, standing up whenever he can to turn the lights on and off.

He broke a 1 litre bottle of olive oil on our very absorbent limestone floor. There are chips in the floor all around his high chair from when he's thrown his cutlery down. The brand new table is dented for the same reason. He's broken two plastic plates, my hair dryer, plastic knobs on our toilet, and an electric power plug.

There was no coaching, no coaxing, no direction at all for the Lukanzilla video.

But then, last week, I noticed there's been less trouble. We can leave the bathroom door open and not end up with toilet paper all over the floor. We've been able to untie all the kitchen drawers. He stays on his back during nappy changes. He's not throwing unwanted food on the floor. I took him into a pharmacy and - despite the shelves and shelves of bottles and boxes right at his eye level - he didn't touch a thing. Even more remarkable, he opened a drawer while I was having a shower and when I said no, don't take anything out, he actually listened. He didn't look happy, but he didn't empty it.

Which is all a very welcome development ahead of our plane trip to Sydney in 10 days.