February 26, 2009 § 1 Comment
everyday you gather up new words and spit them into the world. your tongue is so flexible now, it makes sounds that my flat tongue tries to imitate and fails. so although it is supposed to be me teaching you how to speak most days it is you who are adding new words to my vocabulary.
this morning you were the fashionista again, dancing around in a straw hat and insisting on wearing your ‘zipper’ which in my language means ‘hoodie’.
yesterday you were the travel guide as we rode in the taxi you pointed out the cars and lights that we passed. and then as we were walking through the ancient streets of christian and jewish cairo, i was marveling at the afternoon light. your papa at the wood and stone work. and you of course pointed every cat and puppy that passed us. and then started up conversations with the shopkeepers who had closed up shop and were sitting on benches watching the tourists and smoking cigarettes.
right now while your father is discussing plans for starting a daycare for east african refugee children, you are playing with them and their older brothers and sisters. a few days ago after hanging out with them for a couple of hours, you came home insisting on using new words that i could not decipher.
yesterday in the restaurant you left rose petals as a tip for the waiter.
and there is frustration in all this. like i would have liked to have shielded you from elmo and the entire sesame street gang for a little longer. you arent even two yet and insist on staring at that little red head monster sing his abc’s with various pop stars. well, it could be worse.