When Gabriella and I were a year into our relationship, I imagined what it would be like to have children with her.  Ok, maybe it was more like a month in, but I couldn’t help myself.  I’m a planner.  She, on the other hand, was never the type to try on partners’ last names or think about kids or even contemplate life two weeks out. I knew that I wanted to have children one day, and when I was dating, and part of my date-evaluation-process was figuring out if my date would make a good baby-mamma.

While I never fooled myself into believing that any one person could tick all the boxes in my search for a partner, I definitely assigned a range of values to various criteria.  This scale assumed, of course, that we shared a mutual attraction and healthy worship of the other.  I’m referring to a checklist beyond chemistry.  I needed to be with someone who knew enough about Judaism that I wouldn’t have to explain why I insisted on using puns.  I wanted to find someone who wasn’t super sensitive because my foot and my mouth were quite familiar with each other.  I have also always been partial to a commanding yet smooth phone voice.  And if she spoke another language and could teach our unborn children how to speak it, well, I’d forgive her just about anything.  Gabriella pulled a bait and switch on me.  We used to work at the same company, and every now and then I passed by her office and heard her speaking with her family in Sicilian.  She told me that she knew enough Italian to get by, as well.  “Bonus points,” I thought to myself.  To date, the only time she ever uses her native tongue is when she refers to the boys as “amore” at which point they usually say, “My name is Asher/Levi, not Amore!”

You may recall from my last post that I had bought a gentile, girlie book for my Jewish son because he wanted it, and because I’m bigger than that. Levi loved Silverlicious, and truth be told, we didn’t mind reading it either.  And when we got to the end of the story, Levi would turn over the book and look at all the other books on offer.  One with cupcakes on the cover caught his attention.  So I ordered Pinkalicious for him on Amazon.  I’m sorry Sparkhouse and Words not only because I turned my back on my local businesses, but because I probably would not have made the mistake that I did when I selected Two-Day 1-Click FREE.

I ordered the book in Spanish which I didn’t realize until it arrived.

Levi insisted on looking through the pages.  The illustrations were so colorful.  “Sure, Levi, here you go.  When you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the box and we’ll return it for…”

RIIIIIIPPPPP

Levi accidentally ripped one of the pages, and the book was officially ours to keep or give to a friend. 

“Never mind, Levi.  It was an accident.  But you know our neighbors speak Spanish, so we’ll give it to them.”

“Read it, Mom,” said Levi.

“But Levi, you won’t understand the words.”

“Read it, Mom, please?”

And so I read Pinkalicious to him in Spanish.  I understood the gist of what I was saying, but I my vocabulary was rusty, and I struggled.  Levi stared at me wide-eyed while I pushed the words out of my mouth and tried to articulate each syllable as best I could.   When I finished each page in Spanish, I translated the page into English-pretty much.  By the end of the book, my mouth hurt from using muscles I don’t usually use.

“Well, that was a great book, Levi.”

“Yah!” Levi shrieked with excitement.

“What do you say we give it to the kids next door now?”

“No!  I want to read it again!!”  He squealed.  And we read it again.  Y otra vez.

Asher, our 7 year old, was not so keen.  That night at bedtime, I asked Levi to select a book for story time, and he presented me with his new favorite book, Pinkalicious en Español.  Asher usually enjoys sitting next to Levi and listening to Levi’s bedtime stories, too.  Mostly, it’s because he’s participating in TV Turn-off and doesn’t know how to entertain himself.  Also, he likes stories.  He did not care for Pinkalicious en Español. 

Afer the first page, Asher piped up.  “Can you just tell us what the words mean?”

“Levi,” I said.  “Is it ok if I read the story in English?” I secretly hoped he’d be amenable because it was easier for me.

“NO!”  He answered.  “Read the Spanish!  Please.”

I turned to Asher.  “I’m sorry, Asher.  This is Levi’s story time.  If you don’t want to listen to the book in Spanish, you can find something else to do.”

“Hrmpf,” he grunted and slumped his shoulders in resignation.

I found it easier to read the story the second time.  I recognized more words and I was able to add the necessary inflections and emote in the appropriate places. If you’ve ever caught a telenovela, you’ll know that Spanish is a language well-suited for drama. 

Asher did not complain which is the most I can say about his reaction.  Levi, however, loved it just as much as he did the first five times.  I wondered if Levi was more open to Pinkalicious en Español because he was only 4 or because he has more of an ear for languages?  Perhaps Asher’s frustration had more to do with impatience than an appreciation for foreign languages.  He wanted to know what was going on without having to wait for me to translate.

Either way, I’m delighted that Levi enjoys the Spanish, and it felt good practicing what I thought I had long forgotten.

So, what is the lesson?  Always support local business?  Every mistake yields a teaching opportunity?  Foreign languages are best presented to children at a young age?  I don’t know.  I’m not going to …. READ … into it too much.  But it made a cute story.  And, I am grateful that I studied Spanish.