Prior to Cliff's departure to pick up Keenan, I have found it quite difficult to explain to Miles that Keenan would be coming home to live with us sometime soon. The concept of waiting and time are very difficult to discuss with any four year old, let alone a four year old who doesn't speak the same language as you. But since Cliff has left for Haiti and in less than 24 hours we'll be able to talk to Keenan while he's in Florida with the Mister, I had a long discussion at bedtime tonight with Miles and Atticus in my very best Kreynglish.
I explained to the boys that Daddy was going to take an Avion to Tante Marie's to get Keenan Ti Blan. Then they were going to go back in the Avion to fly to Wisconsin. (Somedays, I'm a Kreyol-speaking machine, I tell you! But I mean that machine as the english machine, not the Kreyol machine, which would then mean that I just wrote: Somedays, I'm a Kreyol-speaking car, I tell you!)
Then, I continued to explain in my rockin' Kreynglish, we were going to put Keenan Ti Blan's new carseat in the Manmi's Machine and drive to the airport. Once Daddy and Ti Blan would get off the avion, we would go to Manmi's Machine and everyone would chita in their carseats.
(For those of you non-Kreyol speakers out there, chita is pronounced "sheet-a." Just for fun, you should take your kids to the park and ask your child to chita on the top of the slide when they stand precariously perched on the edge. All the other non-Kreyol speaking blan parents will turn and do a double take to see if they heard you correctly. Or, if you are lucky, sometimes you will encounter a non-Kreyol speaking blan parent who is quite confident that they did indeed hear you correctly, and as such they will toss several disgusted looks your way. It's a lovely time.)
Anyways, I continued to tell the boys that we would then have FOUR carseats for all of you kids to chita in. To add to the drama of four, I said it loudly and held up four fingers.
"Miles, can you say, Holy Chita?" Atticus then asked him.
Now, truth be told, my first thought was, Holy Chita is right! because the thought of four carseats in my van both equally impresses and scares the snot out of me. But then it dawned on me that this was my seven-year old sweetie pie talking.
Oh, goodness, no. Did he actually just say that? I thought.
"Atticus, honey, where did you learn that?" I asked him, all the while praying, please, Lord, please, don't let it be that he heard something vaguely familar come out of my pristine mouth.
"Oh! I heard Dad tell that to Boppa and they both thought it was funny!" he brightly replied.
Ha! I knew it! I love it when I'm not the one to blame for moments like these.
So Mister, be prepared for the fact that you and I need to have a little chit chat together when you return from Haiti. We need to set some clear boundries for when and where it is appropriate to use such language, or else if this continues, the chita just might hit the fan.