Carla was our next-door neighbor. Her parents, Ann and Gille, thought that we could benefit from spending time together. Carla could learn English and I could learn french. So I would walk across the street and collect her after school almost every afternoon and spend time with her until one of her parents came to claim her again. We learned a few words from each other, but not many. Honestly, play is its own communication and few words are necessary. So that experiment was doomed to fail from the beginning. All we did was play.
There is a word that I will always remember though. Dégueulasse! Carla said it one day as she watched me make Hawaiin chicken for dinner. She declaimed it more than once actually... several times in fact. When her parents got home I asked them what it meant and they were deeply embarrassed that their child had been so rude to me. I thought it was hysterical. Mostly because, despite all her Frenchness, Carla was a typical 4 year old. Once they saw that I thought it was funny and was not at all upset, they had a good laugh over it too. They threatened to leave Carla for dinner.
The French dictionary defines dégueulasse as disgusting, revolting, shitty, swinish, putrid... so you see...
Anyway, here's the post...
Carla walks down the sidewalk in the same self-absorbed way that all small children do. She walks down the middle of the sidewalk in the manner of a child who has not yet been informed that she, in fact, is not the center of the entire universe. She doesn't even watch where she's going while she scouts for interesting bits of flotsam to pick up and pocket, I steer her by palming the top of her head and turning it gently in the direction I want her to go. Eventually, though, I get tired of trying to avoid stepping on her heels and I nudge her to the inside edge of the sidewalk so I can walk next to her.
She keeps up a constant stream of chatter and questions, which I can barely hear, let alone understand. It doesn't seem to matter, she doesn't require any actual input from me. If she does need an answer she'll look up at me when she speaks so I know that she is actually addressing me and needs a response.
Today, in an effort to just get her out of the house and away from the TV, I tricked her into exercising by making her walk to the bakery with me. Amazing what the promise of a sweet treat can do to motivate a 4-year-old. I realize that part of her ceaseless chatter is a dialogue in which she's wondering out loud what she'll get.
When we arrive at the boulangerie Carla walks along looking into all the counters until she comes to the patisserie counter. She stands there carefully considering all of her options. I'm amazed at how self-assured she is, how confident in her world she is. She makes her choice and then looks to me. They hand her her meringue and I ask for my baguettes de rigueur and an éclair au café for my walk home treat.
The return trip is tastier and much quieter than the trip out though much slower, if that's possible. Carla turns up her sweet little face and with a mouth full of meringue says 'sank you, Missy'. I make a face at her and say 'Carla! Dégueulasse!' We both laugh so hard we're spewing crumbs onto the sidewalk. It only makes us laugh harder as we both try to say 'dégueulasse!' again to each other.
She keeps up a constant stream of chatter and questions, which I can barely hear, let alone understand. It doesn't seem to matter, she doesn't require any actual input from me. If she does need an answer she'll look up at me when she speaks so I know that she is actually addressing me and needs a response.
Today, in an effort to just get her out of the house and away from the TV, I tricked her into exercising by making her walk to the bakery with me. Amazing what the promise of a sweet treat can do to motivate a 4-year-old. I realize that part of her ceaseless chatter is a dialogue in which she's wondering out loud what she'll get.
When we arrive at the boulangerie Carla walks along looking into all the counters until she comes to the patisserie counter. She stands there carefully considering all of her options. I'm amazed at how self-assured she is, how confident in her world she is. She makes her choice and then looks to me. They hand her her meringue and I ask for my baguettes de rigueur and an éclair au café for my walk home treat.
The return trip is tastier and much quieter than the trip out though much slower, if that's possible. Carla turns up her sweet little face and with a mouth full of meringue says 'sank you, Missy'. I make a face at her and say 'Carla! Dégueulasse!' We both laugh so hard we're spewing crumbs onto the sidewalk. It only makes us laugh harder as we both try to say 'dégueulasse!' again to each other.
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