Share and Share alike

We explain important human relationships to the boys, kith and kin, blood ties, legal ties and the thing that is about to happen to change their lives.
“So of course you understand that once they’re married things are going to be very different.”
“Different?”
“Yes. You’ll have one more person to share with in the family.”
“More sharing?”
“Indubitably. And what is the most important thing that you have to share?”
“Computer time?”
“Nope.”
“Dats o.k. den. We can be sharing everything else.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that you’ll be able to share your chocolate pudding with Mr.B.”
“Never!” he howls making a fine impression of wolf.
“Well you have to start somewhere. Look around the table.”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me which person you could start to share with?” Each person watches him as his eyes travel from one to the next, steadily, silently, round and round and round. It appears that we are all of us inadequate for such an honour. Then we witness the decision maker spark as a very bright idea occurs, as they so often do, given time. “I know! I am choose mum.”
“Ahh thank you dear. You are so kind and generous.”
“Yes but also I am knowing.”
“What do you know?”
“You are not liking chocolate pudding.”
Well that would make the decision easier of course.


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Caring and sharing

On Labour Day afternoon after another nocturnal phase with my older son, we are determined to wear them all out in the pool. It is immediately apparent that the water is one degree cooler than on the previous day. My youngest son, in his wet suit, shrieks as his toe touches. Only 18 lengths to go. I do not know how many breaths the average person takes per minute. I do know that every breath equates to one 50 decibel shriek of agony interspersed with cries of “I gonna freeze into an iceberg.” Despite the protests he persists and doesn’t escape from his watery end, but continues to persevere and decrease his average length time. I’m sure that all of our neighbours also enjoyed the experience of his progress as they certainly couldn’t fail to hear the running commentary.

Afterwards he is calmer, spent and in a much more malleable frame of mind, which is just as well as we thrash our way through the evening meal:-

“All I’m saying is that perhaps, just this once, you could share your chocolate pudding with your brother and sister?”
“I would raver die!”
“Come along now, it’s not really fair that you get two desserts every night is it?”
“It is justice for the poison one.”
“Well if it Queen’s Pudding scored a 3 then it’s not really in the same category as poison, is it? Could you give it a try, just this once? I just didn’t have time to make dessert tonight.”
“O.k. but only a very teeny tiny one, not dah whole darned puddin.”
“Ah thank you dear, that’s so sweet of you…..so mature.”
“Dis is dee manifestation of adultishness.”
“For you…..that is most probably quite right.”


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Grammar


Although I speak English, went to English speaking schools and fulfilled their curriculum requirements, I don't recall ever being taught English grammar formally. [translation = this is probably why I have such trouble with foreign languages] As luck would have it, I am expanding my knowledge of English grammar at my current advanced age of 46. I can manage noun, verb and adjective on a good day, but anything more than that is a bit hit and miss. I have read “Eats Shoots and Leaves,” in recent years, but that was more for the purpose of entertainment rather than education. ‘Between You and I’ gives me a “ghost” of a chance, but on the whole I have other more pressing matters to tie up my brain with.

Strangely American schools teach English Grammar. [translation = as does “TEACCH”] This is proving more than a challenge to someone with such a tiny brain as myself. [translation = can't teach an old dog new tricks] I struggle with third grade homework. [translation = and second and first grades too] More often than not, I am completely flummoxed by the old Kindergarten worksheets too. The sheet of paper has twelve little pictures for you to identify, but because it is in American English rather than English English, I am a hindrance rather than a help.

We sit at the dining room table fighting with homework. [translation = times three, although my maths skills are similarly challenged] They are simple line drawings, not that I think that coloured pictures would necessarily help. Even after all this time, whereby each of my children progresses through the school system, I still have a 33% failure rate in identifying these little pictures. I know that he can complete the whole thing in under a minute, but instead he prefers to paw the paper and drag out the whole exercise for the best part of an hour.

“It is a compound word?”
“Is what a compound word?”
“Chocolate pudding.”
“Er, no that's two words, not a compound word. Seashell, sea and shell stuck together would be a compound word, or rather, is a compound word.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, stop messing around, lets get this work sheet done.”
“I can have a not compound word now?”
“How do you mean?”
“Can I have my chocolate pudding now which is not a compound word?”
“You can have your chocolate pudding after you've finished your worksheet.” He sighs and drapes himself over the table.

“Look at the sheet lovey. Ooops you're drooling. Come along. Look at the picture.”
He looks and wipes and sighs. I nudge. “It's a bed dear. B E D, bed. Can you write it on the little line underneath?”
“It not bed.”
“It is. Look! Look at the picture dear.”
“No bed.”
“Just three letters. You can do it.”
“NO BED.”
My daughter leans over, “he's right.”
“What do you mean he's right?”
“He's correct then. He's right and you're wrong.”
“How else are you supposed to spell bed may I ask?”
“C O T.”
Well really!
“O.k. lets move onto the next one then.”
We trudge through the worksheet. [translation = amid much parental pain]
“What is this a picture of dear?” Now I really know the answer, but he has to find it for himself.
“Come on luvvy, it begins with a 'c'”
“I know dat.”
“Good, so why don't you just write it down here, on this little line.”
“No.”
“Only three little letters?”
“Not three, four.”
“It's three dear, you're already written it once.”
“NOT THREE, FOUR!” he bellows.
“Cot dear, just three letters.”
“NOT COT!” His sister leans over, “he's right.”
“What do you mean he's right?”
“He's correct then. He's right and you're wrong.”
“How else are you supposed to spell cot may I ask?”
“C R I B.”
Well really!

He finishes up writing out the four letter word. [translation = I swallow all of my own four letter words]
“Now I can be having my chocolate pudding that is not a compound word?”
“Yes dear, of course. Well done for finishing.”
“You are sure?”
“Er…yes, of course I'm sure. I mean, what am I sure of?”
“You are sure that chocolate pudding is not dah compound word?”
“Yes, I'm sure. It's two separate words and they're not stuck together.”
He sighs with an air of melancholia. The English language, American or English is curse to one and all.
“O.k……… how about…….chocpud, it is a compound word?”
“It is now.”

I am beginning to appreciate that this isn’t just a pond issue. [translation = US v. UK] but also a Canadian v US division. [translation = aren’t they more or less the same?] If you like to cook, enjoy a challenge and are not following a gluten free diet, then you might enjoy this “recipe.” I might enjoy it too when I can work out which continent I am cooking on?

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