Somewhere beyond the sea…

I’d love for Devilboy to acquire some foreign language skills while he is still a tiny little spongey thing.

He has strong verbal skills and we’d like, without becoming pushy parents, to encourage this. He can already sing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” in perfect Japanese, thanks to his Japanese childcare teacher, and he’s surprisingly verbose in English. He quite literally stuns us with his conversation skills every single day. In fact, at the age of two, I’m fairly certain he already knows more words than the average professional footballer… which in fairness is not that impressive as there are trained monkeys who can communicate better than half of those with grunts and flash cards.

Suffice to say the boy is a very good communicator.

Dad of Devilboy and I both feel quite strongly that if we do start him on some basic language lessons we’d like it to be Spanish or the more challenging (for his parents) Mandarin, the language we feel would be most advantageous to the future of a growing Aussie boy.

But, as per usual, our random little devil has other ideas and has become increasingly fixated on all things French. He’s long had a thing for an old French CD that’s been floating about in the car since our trip to Europe almost two years ago. Whatever I choose to listen to in the car, whether spoken word or music, it’s invariably met with demands to turn it off because, “Me not like this song, me want the the French song!” For the sake of peace, I occasionally give in and he’ll sit happily muttering away to both the English and French translations he hears with his own quirky pigeon interpretations.

At first, I thought it was a kind of weird but kind of cute phase but now think that he absorbed so muchof France by osmosis as a baby on our holiday there that he is becoming a Frenchman!

His favourite song of the moment is “La Mer.” A somewhat unusal choice, some might suggest, for our normally rock loving Devilboy. He insists on nicking all our Brie, the Frencher, stinkier and unappealing to normal children the better, and can eat a whole party size portion of good French style Pate in one sitting. He pleads for French Toast for breakfast every morning (and isn’t thrilled with the antipodean vegemite alternative he usually ends up with). And, on a recent trip to the city to the fabulous Abbey’s bookstore, refused picture books about pirates or dinosaurs, instead insisting on “My First French Picture book.” I did my best to steer him towards colourful kiddy covers with comical puppies and bears and even a Spanish version of the same…. but non, he wanted the one with the “Eyes Full Tower” on the cover. He won that battle and now he’s even insisting I dress him in a stripey French sailor style top, just like the one in the book.

So why was I surprised this afternoon when I arrived at childcare to the following Devilboy greeting delivered in perfect off-handed Gallic style.

“Bonjour mama, ca va?”

Que?

So now, I’m starting to wonder if Casa Conception mixed up some embryos from “somewhere beyond the sea” and accidentally implanted me with the love child of Charles Trenet and a French Tour Guide.  Aide Moi!

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