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Monthly Archives: June 2013

I laff at the Inglish langwige

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” My 10 year-old says, as we drive home from my niece’s party.

I immediately perk up. This kind of open is usually a prelude to something interesting. The last time he started a sentence that way, what followed was, “… War is stupid. Why do all those people have to fight and die? Why don’t only the two leaders fight, and then just one person has to die.”

Alert the White House. This boy is on to something.

“So,” he continues, and I wait for what’s been swirling around in that adolescent brain of his. “The letter G sounds like Juh but it really should be Guh.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. So I say, “I have no idea what you are talking about. G makes the Guh sound.”  But then, as I said it, I totally got what he was saying.

“Oh you mean the letter G sounds like Jee, even though phonetically it makes the Guh sound, like Go. So you think the letter G should really be pronounced gee?” (Like geek, but without the k. Stay with me here, we’re in the mind of a 10 year-old.)

Through my rear view mirror I see he is nodding like a bobble head and smiling like he thinks he’s the smartest boy in the world. Which, of course, he is.

I point out that G does also sound like Jee, as in, this is genuinely confusing, and he points out that, that sound has already been covered by the letter J. Touche.

This whole thing gets us going on just how ridiculous the English language is. I honestly don’t know what people were smoking when they started putting it all down on paper, I mean parchment. So much of it is an exception to a rule, and the rules don’t even make sense.

Forget why is it, I before E, except after C…why is there ever an ie? We in the minivan don’t get it.

I mean, why isn’t Pierce  – Peerce

And what’s with CK endings? Why can’t it just be K?

As in, “It makes no fuking sense!”

I know you don’t miss the C. And speaking of C, we decided that it’s not even necessary as a letter. C just sounds like K or S. Try these on for size. Kantelope. Sentury. Nise, right?

K is for Kookie! image credit- muppet.wikia.com

K is for Kookie!
image credit- muppet.wikia.com

And what’s with the silent letters in words? Why do we need silent letters at all!? Lisen, it’s the elefant in the room, peeple! Let’s just get it out in the open.

There’s seriously so much wrong with our language, and when you’re teaching a five year-old to read, it’s glaring.

That’s why my sun (Sorry, the ‘o’ makes no sense. Plus, he really is the sun) and I decided to come up with a slightly modified version of the alphabet. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

Here it is –  A B  D E F G (pronounced geek without the k ) H I J K L M N O P Qu R S T U V W (now properly pronounced WubleU) X Y (pronounced Yi not Wi) Z*

My kid is so getting kicked out of kindergarten.

 

To see my son preform the new alphabet go to my facebook page.

 

Rock on, chair. Rock on!

“Oh my God, the room looks great!” I say, taking in my one year-old niece’s new room in their new house.

It is pink but not frilly. Simple, clean, tasteful. There’s a white crib, and some book shelves holding some worn and well loved books. A typical dresser with a changing table lines the wall.

As of today, there’s also a new pink flowered mini chair for her to sit on that I just bought as one of her birthday presents. But the thing that catches my attention, the thing that draws my eye is a slightly beat up rocker in the corner of the room. The cushion is a muted green and beige, somewhat out of place, yet fitting in quite nicely.

The chair and I go way back. Over 10 years ago, it sat in our city apartment.

I nursed my first baby in that chair. I slept in the chair. We slept in the chair. As time passed, we read together in the chair, favorites like A Time to Sleep and Brown Bear, Brown Bear.

We moved to the suburbs and the chair moved with us. It got a new room and a new baby to hold.  We spent even more time together because this baby really needed the soothing of both mommy and chair, especially at 2am.

When my third son was born, he too enjoyed the bonding of mommy, baby and chair. He barely even noticed, his face squooshed to a boob, that often he would share his space with his brothers who loved nothing more than to climb all over mommy exactly when she sat down to nurse.

As the years passed and my babies grew, we used the chair less often, preferring to hear Go Dog Go and Are You My Mother? in their big boy beds.

The chair was moved to the den, where every once in a while, a little boy and I would sit just to cuddle and rock, cuddle and rock. But it wasn’t often. Usually it was just our cat curled up there, impersonating a throw pillow.

So when my sister-in-law mentioned she could use a rocking chair to nurse her baby girl, I only hesitated a little. She should have it. My sister-in-law and sweet-faced and deliciously rolly niece needed a safe, warm place to snuggle. A place to read and cuddle. I let it go willingly but achingly.

Looking at it now, I clearly see myself (a little younger, a little more sleep-deprived) and each one of my boys in that chair.   I could almost cry, but then I remember. My boys and I don’t need a chair for hugging. We’ve got our own arms.