For those of you who don’t know us IRL (in real life), my husband is Hispanic. He does not, however, speak fluent Spanish. I am so white that I blind people when I wear a swimsuit. I majored in Spanish, and speak it much better than Knight. (He freely admits that he knows just enough Spanish to get himself in trouble, and I’m the one who knows enough to bail him out.) (Hi, honey! I would bail you out! I think!)
Jet’s preschool teacher is also Hispanic. She and I graduated high school together, and she is an AMAZING teacher. We have all been working to teach Jet just a little Spanish. He can count to ten in Spanish, and say a few other words.
Jet and I have pretty much the same conversation on the way home from school everyday. First, the discussion revolves around whether or not he was able to play outside!! that day, and why or why not. Then we discuss what happened inside, who played with whom, what all was eaten throughout the day for snacks and lunch, etc, etc.
Yesterday, the conversation went something like this (note: I know the Spanish words are misspelled. The phonetics are what’s important, here. And I’m sure I did those wrong, too, but work with me, people.):
Jet: Know what we had for lunch today?
Me: No. What did you have for lunch today?
Me: Oh, great! You love beans!
Jet: Yes, I do. Do you know how we say beans in Spanish?
Me: How do we say beans in Spanish?
Me: Well, I think it’s free-hole-ays.
Jet, insistently: No, Mommy! When I have four of them, they’re called four-hole-ays.
(Bah-dum-ching. Yes, thank you. He’ll be here all week.)