"I was asleep in the tub when I heard the knocking on the garage door...."

In support of the union in the recent labour dispute involving the Rocky Mountaineer in my hometown of Vancouver B.C., I had downloaded some news coverage that a 'locked out' friend suffering through the dispute suggested I watch. Seemed straight forward enough. Download and view. For reasons known only to the technologically literate I couldn't skip ahead to the bit at 18:15 where my friend assured me I would find the coverage I wanted to see. So, I took a welcomed break from what I was doing (calculating grades and percentages for my high schoolers) and nestled in for eighteen minutes and fourteen seconds of local news from a hometown I haven't visited in over 3 years. And so it went....

Up first? An unbelievable tale of rescue involving an average man who claims he 'instinctively' confronted an angry Mother bear by tearing  his beloved dog from its murderous claws. The tendons in Average Man's wrist were torn by the bear, but he assured the camera that this was a 'small price to pay', as Fido was not. Fearless! This was followed by another heartwarming tale of rescue. This time involving a precious cat who had come to be known as 'Fiona'. Fiona was discovered by builders in a ventilation shaft while the roof of an expansion to a local school was being built. The builder who spoke to the camera mentioned several times that he was prepared to 'do whatever it takes' to save 'Fiona'. What it took, was permission from the school board to 'unbuild' said roof, and permission from the contracted building company to pay it's workers overtime to perform the rescue. Fiona, dehydrated and nearing liver failure, was rescued and rehabilitated. The roof was rebuilt. The Builder said that he would have done it on his own time and on his own dime if the building company was unprepared to do so. Fortunately for him, it didn't come to that. Amazing!

Yet another lucky escape....This time involving a local man and his brother in law. The pair were taking in the fresh night air in Local Man's open garage when suddenly a couple appeared out of nowhere asking to 'borrow a cigarette'. Local Man obliged, looking down momentarily as he drew said cigarette from its package. Before he (literally) knew what had hit him, he was on the floor, eyes fixed on his own splattered blood. Local Man was being beaten with his own hammer while Brother in Law ran toward the door that connected the garage to the inside of the home in an attempt to save himself from Couple's unprovoked attack. Local Man's Wife heard the ruckus.

Here is what Local Man's Wife told the camera:

'I heard someone knocking on the garage door. I woke up, got out of the tub and went downstairs to see what was going on. When I opened the door and saw my brother lying there I knew something terrible had happened. I looked around for my husband, but at first I couldn't see him. So I......'

...Wait, what? (Keep in mind I was watching this news clip by myself, and unable to 'rewind' or 'fast forward' the footage because of the a fore mentioned reasons 'known only to the technologically literate'). I waited patiently for Local Man's Wife to clarify that she had actually been taking a bath in said tub and not, as my defected hearing afforded me, been asleep in it. Surely she had been asleep somewhere less.....unexplainable, like a couch or a bed? She continued....

'I guess I didn't hear the screams 'cuz I was asleep in the tub, but when I heard the knocking I got out of the tub and went downstairs right away.....'

Alright. Any confusion or doubt has been eradicated. Local Man's Wife sleeps in her bath tub. Fine. That's what she does. That's her business. I don't even have a tub, so why am I thinking about whether or not I'd sleep in it if I had one? It struck me as incredibly odd that she mentioned then confirmed that she had been asleep in her tub, and neither the reporter nor the newscaster thought it was worth a comment. Generally speaking, I sleep in my bed. I guess I recklessly assumed that my fellow paisanos  in Canada did too, despite their tub loving ways. I mean, typically we don't have bath tubs here in Mexico. Sure, there are tubs, but it's unusual. Very unusual. So I started to explore the why of it.

Suddenly it's 2am, and I'm lying there in bed wondering why we don't have tubs here in Mexico, and if we did, would I sleep in mine? And if I wouldn't, why wouldn't I? AND, what are the benefits to tub sleeping that the people of my homeland have neglected to share with me? I mean, do I have friends and/or relatives that are at this very moment asleep in their respective tubs? Do they keep a blanket under the sink in case they feel chilly whilst a slumber in their tub?.

My first thoughts are obvious: Water is a precious resource here. And then I silently arrive at this: Aside from the previous revelation (duh) Mexicans generally prefer things that have multiple uses. Mexicans like multipurpose things. Take 'Pinol' for example. This is an incredible useful solution. After cleaning your floors, sinks, walls and driveway with this stuff, did you know that you can move into the laundry room and add this awesome stuff to your laundry's rinse cycle to remove stubborn stains? I have kids, I do their laundry, and this stuff is second to none. Multipurpose. Lets talk about 'Zote'. Another great example. This stuff goes from top to tail in the shower, even your teeth, then does overtime in the fregadero washing all your unmentionables, and..... Fido! Sensitive skin? No problem! Now available, Zote: Unscented. I'll bet you didn't know about that last one. Lets move out of the kitchen and into the living room. The Mexican couch, for example. This is no ordinary couch. This baby is as wide as a twin bed when you remove the back cushions and just as comfortable. Coincidence? I think not. The hammock, for another: Great for lying around in, great for getting the baby to sleep in, and great for sleeping in when your esposa locks you out of the house. Coincidence? Nuh-uh. Lets talk about limes: A Mexican staple. These green-meanies are amazing. Out of deodorant? Cut one of these in half and rub it in your nether regions and enjoy the hottest of Manzanillan days odour free. No salad dressing? Squeeze a lime over your greens and voila! Untameable mane? Squeeze some lime up there and sport obedient locks all day, short or long. Pesky flies bothering your dinner invitados? Relax! Rub some lime on the table and those filthy pests are gone! Fabric softener: Curly locks that go haywire in this humidity? No problem, do as my ingenious coworkers do, and comb liquid fabric softener through your wet hair.

I could go on and on, but what I come back to is the tub. I don't believe that sleeping in it is a comfortable option, and aside from that, everything else I think I might use it for, I instead use my fregadero. But I'm concerned. Have I been gone so long from Canada that I don't even know what a tub is being used for these days? Don't laugh, this type of fear is genuine. I rarely get 'home', and when I do, there is always a plethora of things I thought I understood that become glaringly obvious to me that I don't. I'm going to attribute all of it to culture. Because product evolution just doesn't seem to apply to the bath tub...in my humble opinion. It is just a tub, after all. Isn't it?

The D-I-V-O-R-C-E

Oh sure, I can give lots of lip service about important topics such as co-parenting, parallel-parenting, single-parenthood, parenthood....The truth is, I'm flying blind. I probably read the same blogs you read. I probably search the same key phrases you search. Like...

'How to tell your kids you're getting a divorce'
'How to raise happy kids after a divorce'
'How to survive a divorce'
'What kind of a family will I have after divorce?'
'How to brutally murder your lying, selfish ex-husband and get away with it'

.....etc. Obviously I jest about the brutal murder bit. Ha ha ha... A girl's bound to make some bad jokes under duress. You see for me, the truth is that Tammy Wynette's D-I-V-O-R-C-E is all a massive emotional tangle of pain, humour and grief. I suspect that to an emotionally stable person, who I recklessly assume is unburdened by jealousy, rage, infidelity, abuse and neglect, I probably seem a tad 'bonkers'. I accept this perception, and often times I embrace it.

Hell...Lord knows I'd be a fool to turn down an embrace at this juncture in my emotional career. I suppose that's a positive thing. There's no shortage of hugs in this house. A person needs to stay connected. My wiener dog gets probably more attention than she would sign up for, my kids definitely get more hugs than they'd expect in a day, and you'd be surprised at how rewarding it actually is to hug a turtle. (I love you Lulu!) The DHL Delivery guy was a bit off-put last Monday when he got his hug, (totally his own issue, not mine) and come to think of it, I don't think Jesus the butcher was that receptive to his either. Whatever. I'm not taking that on (throws head back and cackles wickedy at the phony manner in which she humorously regurgitated a famous and acceptable deflective phrase within the Church of Self Help).

I hug more than most, I guess. That's some of the fallout from my separation, it's a truth and I accept it. Among the many truths I accept, a big one is loneliness. I can list off all the things a person can do on their own, and the list is long. There are scads of activities that were specifically created for soloists, lots of them. Kayaking, for example. I live on the ocean, kayaks are for rent all over the place. Just try and fit 2 people in a kayak, ridiculous! Libraries, for another: How many librarians have you encountered that welcomed chit chat and socialization? I'll hazard a guess...none! The gym: Unless you have a trainer, this is definitely a solo activity. Which brings us to our next activity, Masturbation: It's right there in the title, this is a solo activity. Next up? Reading: Unless you're under 5, this is again a solo activity. Lastly? Coffee shops: Always a welcome retreat for the soloist who may or may not choose to multi-task with a secondary activity like reading to accompany  the first: 'drinking coffee'. I could go on and on, but why bother. We all know what to do when we're single, we're doing all the things that our miserable spouses prevented us from doing while we were un-single. Isn't life better now that we can do nothing whenever we want? The obvious answer is yes. And no. And then yes again, and later no, then a resounding 'yes!'  D-I-V-O-R-C-E is all very confusing, Tammy.

I'm a Mum. That's what I've always waited to become. I was born waiting to be Mum, and when my moment arrived, I embraced it, that's what I do, I'm a Mother. I don't have anything figured out, which surprised me some, I thought that would be included in this marriage package somehow, but surprisingly, it's not. I love my kids the best way that I know how. Some days their Daddy is involved, and some days he's not. I'll never shut that door without their permission. But their too little to know about stuff like that. All they know how to do is love, and laugh and hug and imagine and grow. I know that I will work double over time to be the best damn Mum I can be to my tots, and I will pray for nothing but the same from my ex-husband. But along the way, I expect I will be lonely for someone to taste my tomato sauce and see if it needs salt, someone to whom garbage isn't Kryptonite and will take it out, someone to 'Get it off! Get it off!' when I can't, someone to see what the hell that noise is at 4:37 am, someone who doesn't expect a reasonable answer to the question 'Why are you crying?', someone who will see that I'm cold and put a blanket on me, someone that will see that I'm sad and comfort me, someone who will see that I'm impossible but will keep trying, someone who will love me for me, and for no other reason. Surely after surviving the disaster that is divorce there is a pleasantry like...peace at the end of it all?

I'm sure D-I-V-O-R-C-E has mistakenly been underrated....

Who are you calling Gringa?

Taking the bus in Manzanillo is wonderfully easy.

It's like I'm living in a frat house....

Living with my now 3 year old, is just like living with a frat boy.
Normally that wouldn't be such a great thing, but I love it. Not that I love frat boys...that has never been true. 
There's just something so freakin' joyful about Jorge.
She laughs at everything, and makes jokes at the most inappropriate times. She never takes me seriously, has the memory span of a goldfish and refuses to wear anything but gonchies. She thinks showing you a chewed mouthful of food is hilarious. Thinks 'being lazy' is a perfectly good reason for not doing things, and only stares at you confusedly when you don't accept it as such. Drinks milk straight from the carton and draws all over her room mate's body in felt marker 'because it's funny'.

Then there's the physical evidence of her frat boy ways visible all over the house: Half full plastic cups littered everywhere. Under the couch, in the yard, the bed....the shower. DNA stains all over the furniture. Plastic Mardi Gras beads IN MY FREEZER. (?!) You can find party dresses and gonchies strewn throughout my house at any given time. Balloons in the turtle tank?

Jooooorge! Why are there balloons in the turtle tank?!


In the turtle tank?

Yes! In the turtle tank!

Balloons?

Yes Jorge, balloons. Why are there balloons in the turtle tank?


( shrugs shoulders, gives sheepish sideways grin ) Muuuuhhhh-Meeeeee, I loooooove you

I love you too Jorge. And all the nutty things you do. Please take the 'Kinder Surprise' alien out of the salt mill.
Love, Mum.

My Bilingual Babes, and their Bilingual Issues

I've never mentioned this, but I'm a native English speaker living full time in Mexico with my native Spanish speaking husband, and 2 bilingual daughters, 3 & 5. I speak almost exclusively in English with them (the occasional word here and there in Spanish) and my husband speaks probably about 60% English and 40% Spanish with them.

My kids go to a 'bilingual' school that teaches half their subjects in English (by non native English speakers) and the other half in Spanish (by native Spanish speakers). The issue I'm having is not so much within our home, as we seem to have finally struck a workable balance here, but rather in their school. Since my kids are truly bilingual, they have begun to dominate in contests and games in English, as well as their share in Spanish. It was agreed recently among the teachers and a couple of parents that when my kids win an event, that they will be praised or awarded, whichever is appropriate, but a tie will be declared between my child and the first place winner among their monolingual classmates. This practice irks me just enough to write about it.

Is it fair to my child to declare her a tie winner with a child who isn't scoring as well as she is? My eldest feels like she studies and practices and should be rewarded fairly for her efforts, and I'm inclined to agree. What about the message being sent to my kids? It's deflating to stand before your teachers a winner, only to receive a ' That's nice dear, we knew you were going to win.' and stand aside while your classmate is doted on for her accomplishment. It diminishes the achievements my kids, and other bilingual kids have reached. No?

*sigh* Am I being 'one of those parents'? Because I guess I just can't quite tell. I'm at a loss, and I don't necessarily like the way I am feeling about this situation, and need to resolve it. I don't expect that there are too many parents of bilingual kids reading this, but I need to sort this out. Advice?

Suegra generosa

So here's what happened: My mother in law offered the use of her credit card at Coppel, so we could get a camera...or whatever else it was that we wanted. She's the generous sort. Plus, we have a good credit history with her. We got our stove on her card too. Thanks Suegra!

New camera! And man, is it cute. It's a Fujifilm Z...something. It's good. And....( super awesome detail coming up ) the only model they had left was fuchsia. FUCHSIA! I'm understandably more excited about this than my husband, but...he'll manage. 

So, lots of nutty pics of the turds coming right up. A wise woman told me not too long ago, that your life needs to be documented. She's a smart girl.

i - Nothing

Of all the devices I don't have, ie: camera, blackberry, mp3 player, i-anything, which would you recommend I get first?

It's not that I NEED any of these items, I appear to be managing quite alright without them. However, it would definitely be nice to snap a photo or 2 of my rapidly growing children. Or make the occasional phone call OUTSIDE of my house or send a flipping text message once in a while. It's not like I'm considering a 40" flat screen for the john, or a slingbox so I can catch 'Jersey Shore' on the bus. I'm just talking about your basics here. By the way my students talk, I'm the only person in the free world without these devices. 

I have had digital cameras in the past, but I don't have much luck with them. My first one landed face down and was rendered unrepairable. Second one ( a hand me down from the early 90's) I traded for a ColecoVision or something, which I sold to buy a new camera from Wal Mart Mexico which came out of the box broken. Wal Mart Mexico refused to accept it as a return, citing their return policy as: 'We don't accept returns'. Harumph.

The cell phone that I have right now had 2 functions: Received calls and told the time. Now it does neither. Though, I bought it new more than 4 years ago for about $250 pesos, which is about 20 bucks CDN, so, I did have a good run with it.

The most technologically advanced device I have apart from my laptop ( hand me down without a working internal fan ) is my cordless phone. Seriously. I don't even have a microwave, or any sort of plug in and hook up to your TV game station like ATARI or whatever it is the kids are playing these days.

So, I ask you, constant reader, which if any of these new fangled devices would you suggest I consider? You know, in case I find a wallet full of pesos on the bus or something.

First Day at School

When our nanny was out with the chicken pox ( enter high pitched sing-song voices: 'Maricela tiene varicela!' )  we had to bring the girls with us to work. Helps that we work at the best school in Manzanillo. Anyway, first day in and Jorgie and Phoebe have lots of questions for one another, like this one....

What's your teacher's name Jorge?

Miss Funny!

No es cierto... 

Si! Es cierto! Her name is Miss. Funny!

Are you lying?

No! I'm not lying, her name is Miss. Funny.

( Long pause while Phoebe ponders the notion of having a teacher named Miss. Funny ) 

Is she funny?

It's as I mentioned before, tiny little bilingual people make wonderful mistakes. Jorgie's teacher may well be a funny lady, I don't know her very well, but that's not actually her name. She is Stefani. Or Fani, for short. But not to us, here in the Sandcastle, she is and will forever be, Miss. Funny.

Greatest. Name. Ever.

I'm normal. Right?

Today is my 35th birthday. And by 'today' I mean the day that started 51 minutes ago.*hiccup*

The circle of life is on my mind. Not in it, as in I'm humming Elton John's 'Circle of Life', but definitely in my peripheral. Life and death is literally at my doorstep today. For a start, a capsized cockroach met me at the door this morning. Ghastly. Not that I'm a fan of said vermin, but still.....ghastly way to die. I had jokingly asked the girls once:

'...and whose cockroach is this here in the hallway....? Hmm? I SAID CLEAN UP YOUR MESS! '

That totally made it into the rotation, regrettably. After changing course this morning so as to avoid the big ugly beast, the tiny BFF traveling in my wake ratted me out to everyone....

' Whose cockroach is this?, '  she demanded  ' it's not Mummy's, 'cause she didn't pick it up, and she saw it! '

Sheesh...no loyalty in this joint! I swept it up. Sad...ish.

Later this afternoon, the quirky little Korean that I have the privilege of teaching 3 times a week announced that the family cat had had 5 kittens of her own. One of those kittens is bound for Beth's house, and Jorgie of course thinks it should be called Blanca Nieves. But then, she's obsessed. I vote Fleabag, or as Phoebe suggested, Dirtbag.

Circle of life...circle of life. These 35 years have been all that they should have been. I have my kids, and I have my health. I used to have Ghost Whisperer, but with the time change, it's just not the same in the bright of day. Sorry Melinda, I miss you too...Call me!

As another year passes, I realize that they aren't really about me anymore, they're about them. That's normal, right? Right?

Yogurt Seeds

It's not 40º or even close today. But it's hot. There's a bit of a fresh breeze. I can't smell the ocean today, but I can smell the coconut with a fluorescent pink straw stuck in it that is sitting next to my laptop on my patio table this afternoon. We're almost midway through semana santa a.k.a. Spring break. While it would be nice to walk down to the beaches, our beaches are unrecognizable right now. That is to say, they're packed.

No bother. I've been keeping busy here at home. The girls bought seeds and planted a container garden. In 30 days I'm promised radishes. 60 days until my basil harvest, and 90 days wait for the beets. Phoebe drew pictures of her veggies on cardstock, glued them to chopsticks then stuck them into the pots to identify the plants. There's also a pot whose card has a question mark on it, this will be the mystery plant. The seeds came free with Phoebe's yogurt. There was a little paper packet inside the packaging of her tiny snack cups. We're all a little excited to see what the seeds produce. But that wasn't so in the beginning.....

Look Mum! Seeds! Now I can have my own garden!

Cool! 

Later that day....

Look Papi! Seeds! I'm going to grow them with water and sun! I'm going to have my own garden!

Cool!

Later that week at breakfast, while studying the empty little yogurt cup...

After we plant the yogurt seeds, you're not going to have to buy yogurt from Soriana anymore. I'll have my own yogurt tree!

Uhhh....

It's gonna be so cool Mum! I can share them with all my friends at school! 


But Honey, the seeds that came with your yogurt are going to grow a plant, or a flower. Yogurt doesn't come from seeds Babe. Yogurt comes from cow's milk, then people do something special to it to turn it into yogurt. Yogurt doesn't grow on trees Sweetheart.


( painful pause as colour drains from daughter's four year old face, which then drops it's jaw agape and twists itself  in preparation for....FULL. ON. MELTDOWN. )

It was not a typical reaction. Certainly not for Phoebe, but in retrospect, I think she must have been silently imagining the entire yogurt harvest from start to finish for the whole week. Perhaps when she had lined up all of her school bag options the day before, she wasn't just playing around, but rather deciding which bag would be the most appropriate for transporting her harvest to school to share with all of her classmates when the yogurt seeds finally produced their bounty. She had probably daydreamed about which flavours would grow from her tree. Maybe even secretly hoping that the peach yogurts she loathes wouldn't grow at all! Or maybe she had already planned on giving those ones to Alejandro. (He's rotten)

However it played out in her beautiful little four year old brain, she was quick to recover from her meltdown. And now we all excitedly wait to see what will grow from the mystery seeds.......

My world tour begins Monday

Vacation!

In the spirit of the staycation, We've carefully planned a week of theme nights. Baulk if you will, but this week is going to be rad. Think Russia...with borscht and vodka! Italy with homemade pasta, red wine and classic Italian ballads! Japan with homemade sushi, saki and Hayao Miyazaki! Greek night with souvlaki, falafels, tzatziki, more wine and 'Dogtooth'! I just can't wait for Hawaiian night... Piña coladas, grass skirts and season 1 of Hawaii 5-0!  


Theme week! Theme week! 

The teacher in me longs to work a lesson into each night...and I just might do it. I'm thinking flags. Simple, but important. The kids are just 2 and 4 after all. 


This year's staycation is going to be a good one. As long as we don't go anywhere near our normally vacant beaches, which promise to be packed with tourists for the next two weeks. Asi es.

Wild Card

Here's the deal: Students can't work, so they get a break / reward for bettering themselves through education in the form of a government issued ID card that gets them on the bus for half off. Teachers, who work but earn almost nothing (me) labouring tirelessly in the name of education are also entitled to the same card, same discount. Bus drivers hate this. And they make sure you know it. I don't know exactly why, but I have a few theories.

1) They think you are a student, thus, you are admitting that you are in NEED of an education, or in other words, you're dumb. Because you're dumb, the bus driver can't miss an opportunity to snicker or out and out laugh at you for your stupidity.

What an idiot! Pfft...Had to go and ask someone to teach her! What a sad sack of stupid! Sure glad I got me some smarts natural like, and didn't have to go looking for it!

2) They think you paid someone to issue you a card, and don't really study or teach and just want a discount on the bus. (this is especially infuriating to bus drivers when it's a Gringo, because everyone knows they're loaded.....and cheap)

Look at this....It's not enough that she comes here showing off all her money, now she wants to go taking it right from my pockets....Gringos!

3) They believe you to be a teacher (you get on their bus everyday at the same time, carrying books, wearing a flash drive around your neck.... in a uniform) but are labouring under the misinformation that teachers earn a good living. Lie.

Here we go again. Great paying job and she still wants a freakin' discount on the bus! Like she can't afford 6 pesos?....sheesh!

Whatever the case is, it sucks. It's at the least: uncomfortable. At the most: dangerous.
Let me paint you a picture. I had gotten on the bus at our usual stop, while Beth had walked on ahead a few minutes earlier to grab a coffee. Heavy school bag, bus fare, bus pass and hot coffee in hand, she gets on and flashes her card. Bus driver reaches out to take her fare, sees her bus pass and before she can pay,  looks away with an 'Oh come on...do you believe this crap?' sneer on his face. She is left standing there beside him as he slams the bus into gear and hits the gas, sending her into the pole beside her and splashing hot coffee onto her own outstretched hand which still holds her bus fare. Dangerous.

Maybe I get a sneer, maybe I get a comment, maybe I get thrown into the isle ass over teakettle, or maybe he just says buenos dias back to me, and accepts my discounted fare. It's a wildcard, but whatever the case, I'm getting a 50% discount on the bus because I deserve it, and couldn't do my job without it.

Who, What, When, Where, Why, HOW?!

It takes a lot of effort to speak their second language 'naturally', ie:without the help of a translator or dictionary, but despite their hard work, students can sometimes find themselves staring confusedly at their teacher as she doubles over in an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Case in point: A homework activity. My mixed level ESL students had to record a current event in their notebooks twice a week. Using the W5 format. Great practice with question words. Now...skip ahead to the part where Miss checks the assignments.

I read the first current event assignment which was about the tragic death of soccer player Antonio De Nigris. I then commence uncontrollable fit of laughter coupled with unsuccessful attempts at composing myself so as not to make for an awkward situation. I fail.

After a brief apology, and a brisk 'MISS.APRIL' stamp on the assignment, I move on. Quickly discovering that the death of Antonio De Nigris is actually quite big news among my students, as it appeared in almost each of their notebooks. I address the masses, and try to figure out what caused this man's death. Through a quick charade I deduce the cause of death of the famous Mexican soccer player. A tragic loss, and certainly no cause for the side splitting laughter coming from their Canadian teacher. I wipe my tears, straighten my skirt and consider my explanation. I begin by saying that I am sorry for the death of Antonio De Nigris, and that I find nothing funny about it. I watch as their newly relieved faces return to those of confusion:

Why did you laugh then, Miss?

Well, I laughed because 'infarto massivo' translates to 'massive heart attack'....


Who: Antonio De Nigris
What: Dead at age 31
When: November 16th
Where: Larissa, Greece
Why: It was his time to go
How: He died of a massive fart 

And not....'massive fart'.

Exam Week

The jokes from my 4 year old are moderately more amusing, not surprisingly. So as not to be outdone by her little sister, she delivered this one in Spanish:

Un ratoncito subio al elevador.
El operador le pregunto: ¿Que piso? 
El ratoncito le dije: Pues...mi colita!

I retold this joke this morning to my highschool English class, and they laughed. I think though, that since they've never heard me speak in Spanish before, that part of their amusement was just listening to me do that.

Exam weeks differ from regular weeks though. Once you've administered yours, you can relax some, and let your kids relax some too...watch a movie, study for exams in other subjects, and sometimes, speak a little of the L1 without anybody getting upset about it. =)

'Knock knock!'

Let me hit you with this hilarious ditty my 2 year old threw at me in the shower this afternoon:  

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Knock knock!
Who's there?.....

Hilarious. Though she hasn't quite mastered the knock knock joke, the rolling guttural laughter spilling out of her dimpled face when she 'tells' it is, all by itself, hilarious. I'm going to have to brush up on my knock knock jokes before we can take our show on the road. The one with Aw....don't cry, it's only a joke! as it's punchline is the only one I know. My tiny BFFs believe it to be the funniest joke on the planet. So naturally, I do too.