Lego thoughts, or kids say the darndest bilingual things

That's it. This Christmas season, the final lego block transforming me from young adult to competent mother clicked into place: I became obsessed with baked goods. Cookies, cakes, muffins, you name it- I baked it. I didn't have an overwhelming desire to eat said goods myself (though I did consume quite a bit), but I felt that everyone entering our home should at least have the option of consuming something freshly baked.

The other big factor in our baking marathon was Eliot- the kid loves to help in the kitchen, and baking is a really kid-friendly project. We made several batches of cookies, and then, in a very uncharacteristic Martha Stewartish move, I shaped them into cookies, placed them on a cookie sheet... and FROZE them. Now, we have sacks of cookies in our freezer, and fresh baked chocolate chip or cranberry oatmeal are only 20 minutes away. We can serve fresh cookies for months! Well, ok, weeks at lesat.

And while we're not on the subject, let me tell you about this funny memory I've got of my own youth. Yesterday, Eliot and Ivy were sharing a banana. And I thought about one of my earliest memories- possibly my first memory of my brother, possibly my oldest memory, period. My mom prepared a banana for each of us for a snack. For Marc, she gave him a whole banana, which he was able to peel himself. For me, two years younger, she sliced off the stem part of the banana to make it easier for me to begin peeling it- I didn't have to break it open to get the peel started. Anyway, I can remember being totally crushed when my brother informed me that REAL monkeys eat their bananas like him- with the stem still on, and I wasn't eating my banana like a REAL monkey would. I was quite upset to discover that I wasn't as close to a real monkey as my brother was.
In retrospect, of course, I've found peace with the fact that my brother is more similar to an ape than I am.
What does this memory have to do with this post? Nothing. I digress.

The point is, kids say some funny things. And when the kid in question is bilingual, they say some really funny things. The following examples will only be funny to the 3.6% of my audience who speaks both French and English. However, I feel the need to record this stuff for posterity, as Frederic and I spend at least 20 minutes every night quoting Eliotisms and giggling. You can be sure, if we are laying in bed and trying to sleep and one of us just gets a case of the giggles, it's related to something Eliot said.

To ask "What is it?" in French, one might say, "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?" This is a mouthful, obviously, especially for an almost three year old, so Eliot has invented his own phrase, which is "Que c'est ca quoi?" which roughly translates as "Whatsitwhohow?"

And his franglais is getting a little out of hand.
"Il est ou, mon leaf?" (Where did my leaf go?)
"J'ai already dit good night à maman" (I already told mommy good night)
"Tu dois aller au work, daddy?" (You have to go to work, daddy?)
"Je veux help-ay!" (I want to help! (He loves to conjugate English verbs like French ones))

And then, the stuff he comes up with using colloquial language...
"Hey guys, what's going on here quoi?"
"Hey what are you talking about guys, huh?"
"That's silly toutes ces choses."

You may be wondering what this has to do with baking cookies and becoming a mother. So am I. But the essential point is this: I don't remember much of what Eliot was like as a baby, until I go back through my blog and posts and pictures spark memories. Every day, there is always one or two moments with each kid where I think "This, this, is a moment that I want to always remember." And every day by bedtime, they are slipping away. Motherhood for me is filled with moment after moment of unforgettable adorableness, closeness, cuddlyness, love, laughter, illumination, and insight... and I find I don't have the hard drive I need to remember every silly or sweet thing Eliot says, every soft, buttery ounce of Ivy in my arms when I hold her, Eliot reminding me, "Mommy, be gentle with Rabbit, he's delicate like Ivy", Ivy blowing raspberries against my skin and then looking up to make sure I laugh, breaking into a giant grin herself.

Not that there isn't drudgery and impatience and moments of insanity as well, but those memories are just as fleeting as the happy moments, just as fleeting as this period of babyhood itself. I am never mentally bookmarking my irritation and impatience for future enjoyment the way I try to do with the happy vignettes that net our days together.

And today, today it was:
- Hearing lots and lots of giggling, from both children, coming form Eliot's room. Peeking in the door to find Eliot in his bed, under his blanket, popping out to peekaboo at Ivy, and them both laughing. Then Ivy ducking her head below the level of the bed where she was holding on, then popping back up to peekaboo at Eliot, and them both laughing. Over and over again, until, of course, they noticed I was watching.
- Ivy rattling and rattling her plastic keys that came new with her Christmas present, squealing in happiness, then suddenly looking up in my face and holding the keys out to me with a smile and expectant look, as if to say, "Try it mama, Shake them hard and listen to the rattle. It's AWESOME!"