Bilingual BB

So, as you may know, I love French. I majored in it in college, studied abroad in France two times, and started graduate school in it at Vanderbilt, although I decided not to continue there for various reasons. I really want BB to speak French and am trying to incorporate it into our everyday routine. However, it is somewhat awkward to just SPEAK it to him, since it is not my native tongue--how do you baby talk in French? Plus, there's the whole baby vocabulary issue--you don't typically learn how to say changing table, diaper, crib, lovie, etc. in the classroom. So, for anyone interested in teaching their child a second language, here are some suggestions, based on things I do to help BB learn French:

1. Read books to your child in the target language. You can find many classics (Goodnight Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, The Cat in the Hat...the list goes on) translated into several languages on Amazon. Plus, this is a good way to expose your child to unusual vocabulary.

2. Let your child watch educational videos in the target language. Baby Einstein DVDs usually have a couple of language tracks other than English, so you can play the whole thing in Spanish or French (these are the only options on our BE DVDs). I am looking into buying the Little Pim DVD series in French for BB. It looks great!

3. Play music for your child in the target language. It is amazing how many CDs of playtime music and lullabies are available on iTunes in various languages. I play BB upbeat French kids' music while he is playing on his playmat and he seems to enjoy it. 

4. Look into podcasts in the Target language. Play them whenever you are having some downtime. The more your child is exposed to the language, the better. Hearing the natural rhythm and tone of native speakers is the best way for your child to become used to the sounds of the target language. I also found an application for my iPhone that streams live French radio, and I play it for BB when he's eating his cereal, or just whenever I think about it. It's great for me, too, because it helps me keep up with my auditory language skills!

5. When your child becomes old enough to read, label household items (such as doors, chairs,the TV, etc.) with their names in the target language. Point them out to your child whenever you encounter the object. You can indicate the names of anything in the target language to your child--when picking out fruits and vegetables at the grocery store, when looking at animals at the zoo, when playing outside...the possibilities are endless!

These are just things I like to do with BB to help him learn French; it is certainly not a comprehensive list of ways to help your child become bilingual. If you're teaching your child a second language, what are some tips you have for me? Please share!!

Yesterday wasn't the best day. First of all, my beloved cat that I got for my 18th birthday, Isabelle, had to be put to sleep. She had been battling feline leukemia for a couple of years, and in the past 6 months or so it had gotten a lot worse. I got to tell her goodbye on my last visit to Murfreesboro. She was a wonderful cat, and will always be remembered. RIP, Isabelle!!

My mom has a rabbit "sanctuary" in our backyard--lots of rabbit cages that are usually filled with lots of rabbits. When she's working in the garden, she lets them hop around in a couple of pens that she's set up. She always comes up with very interesting--and random--names for them, such as Boomer, Gryffindor (shout out to HP!), Lakshmi and Nikhil (named during a sudden bout of Indophilia?), St. Charles and Plaquemine (parishes in Louisiana), Audrey, Louise, and countless others throughout the years, one of which, after spawning her first litter, proceeded to eat them all (but I don't think BB has to worry about that). St. Charles is an interesting case. For the longest time, we thought SHE was a HE (hence the name). She was the scariest/most vicious rabbit we've ever had--my mom has been attacked by her several times when filling her food bowl, and has the fang marks on her arm to prove it. I like to think it was because she suffered from an identity crisis for so long before we found out her true gender. If I ever had to feed the rabbits, I was seriously afraid to feed SC and would try to distract her with one hand while sneakily pulling out her food and water bowls with the other, lest I become yet another victim of this beastly bunny. I think she was spawned from the vicious rabbit of Monty Python fame. Despite all her savage tendencies, I think she had a good heart...she was just a little emo, is all. St. Charles passed away yesterday, too, and I know she is now frolicking in the heavens above with all our other rabbits of years past. 

Also, while clipping BB's fingernails, I accidentally cut his poor little finger. He was just napping peacefully, getting his manicure on (what a life!) when suddenly his little eyes popped open, his bottom lip stuck straight out, and he commenced wailing, the likes of which have only been equalled when receiving his shots. Of course, I started crying too (maybe more than he was). I felt so terrible! It was a traumatic 10-15 minutes in the Glancy household. We put an adult-sized (or, as I referred to it, "human-sized") band-aid  on his finger and he calmed down a little bit. Poor guy!! And poor maman. 

Girls, you know how, right after you get a haircut, you just want to go home and wash/style it yourself right away so you can see what it really looks like? The curiosity just kills you! Well, after washing and styling MY hair yesterday, I discovered that the dang stylist (she of the disparaging comment) cut an incredibly awkward-looking layer straight across the back of my head. Seriously? Was she getting back at me for not working or something? I did not ask for a diorama of the continental shelf on my skull, nor am I all too thrilled with its sudden and undeniable presence there. Oh well, I guess it doesn't really matter, since it wouldn't be a stretch to dub me Our Lady of the Perpetual Ponytail these days. I know, isn't that so "mom" of me? I never fail to entertain. 

On a side note, I think I have discovered the origin of Pikachu. Random, non? 

As I'm writing this post, a box of half-eaten bonbons lies next to me on the couch. I've just woken up at the leisurely hour of noon, and now I'm just scrolling through HBO On Demand trying to find a movie to watch to occupy my time, since I have nothing to do all day but sit around on the couch. Later on, I think I'll go get a manicure and pedicure, maybe do a little shopping...since I don't work, what else do I have to do? Isn't life great? 

Reality: As I'm writing this post, a half-empty (or full? eh?) cup of coffee sits next to me (maybe the only substance I will ingest until lunch, as, quite simply, I often forget to eat...who would have thought that was possible?) on the coffee table (that needs polishing), I've just woken up at the leisurely hour of 7:30 (only because I was too tired from waking up at 3:55 to tend to BB--usually, I rise and shine at 6:50 on the dot), and the TV will likely not be turned on today, like most days around here. A manicure and pedicure are the stuff of dreams now--I attempted to paint my own nails last Friday, only to be interrupted by a waking BB, who was begging to be rescued from his crib. Most of them got ruined. I still haven't taken the polish off. Oh, and shopping? Please. The only person for whom I buy anything these days is BB. 

Why is it that stay-at-home moms are perceived as lazy, spoiled women who have nothing to do all day but lounge on the couch? The painters of this image are missing one important piece of the puzzle when crafting their ludicrous stereotype: the word "mom." I'll admit, I used to be one of those people who thought to myself, "What does she do all day?" about the non-working mothers of my elementary school friends. However, now that I'm a mom myself, I totally get it, and I feel guilty for ever even thinking those thoughts. I've got a better description for what I (and countless other women) do: stay-at-home nurse, chef, housekeeper, watchdog, organizer, and chauffeur...am I missing anything?

You might be wondering what has prompted this rant. Yesterday, while getting a 5-months-coming haircut (sans BB, as his wonderful grandmother was watching him), I was making the usual chitchat with the stylist (whom I was seeing for the first time, which is always a little awkward in itself) while she washed my hair with shampoo that made me want to eat my own fist, it smelled so good. Our conversation went a little somethin' somethin' like this:

Me (nonchalant): Yeah, BB grows so fast and it seems like he's doing something new every day. I'm so glad I get to see it all.

Stylist (feigning innocence): So do you get to stay home with him very much?

Me (dropping the bomb): Yes, I'm home with him all the time.

Stylist (with a hint of bitterness): That must be nice. To not have to work.

Me (awkward and bumbling): Yeah, well you know, I've been trying to get a job, but nobody gets back with me, something about the economy, okay please stop judging me and just wash my hair...

Now, I'm sure she meant no offense, but it rubbed me the wrong way. I only wish I had retorted with something like, "Yeah, keeping a tiny human alive is a piece of cake! Listening to him scream for hours when he should be taking a nap is a breeze! Waking up at all hours of the night--who DOESN'T want to do that? I mean, come on!" Instead, I was gracious and felt the need to defend myself by describing my futile "real job" hunt. Now, I'm not saying that staying at home with BB isn't totally wonderful--it is more wonderful than I could ever have imagined. But that does not mean it is easy. If a mother stays at home, she is often in charge not only of caring for her child(ren), but also of doing the grocery shopping, cooking and planning the family's meals, keeping the house tidy, keeping everyone (pets included) on schedule with appointments, and various other responsibilities. I know that some "real" jobs are much more challenging in some aspects; however, for those jobs, the workday ends when it ends--a mother's workday is never over (this is also true for working moms, who often take on the responsibility of a full-time job(s) plus the majority of household tasks; in effect, they are working two--or more--jobs). I'm on call 24/7/365, and I love it. I know how fortunate I am to be able to spend this precious time with BB, and I appreciate my wonderful husband so much for working so hard and allowing me to do this. As for the "real job" hunt, I'm still working on that. But for now, I've got a couple of new mottos: "Staying home with a screeching infant--it ain't easy!" or perhaps, "Motherhood--don't knock it 'till you've tried it." 

You know you have been co-sleeping too long when...

...you mistake your pillow for your child. Seriously, that happened. C came to bed late last night after studying for the CFA exam, and, upon his arrival into our lit, I woke up to find myself cuddling my pillow (which is about the size and shape of BB) as if it were BB himself.  I looked over to the pack-in-play to find that it still contained BB, fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the momentary dreamy confusion that his half-asleep mother was experiencing at that moment. H slept until 3am, at which point I was FORCED (yeah, right) into snuggling with a very warm, very real, very un-foam-filled BB. He has no idea what's about to hit him when we transition him to his "big boy" crib next week. Poor bébé. And poor maman. I might have to adopt that pillow for a while so I don't go into BB withdrawal in the middle of the night.

Who would do this?

This is exactly the type of news story that C tells me to stay away from, but the headline drew me in with a mixture of curiosity and horror, not unlike a car wreck: http://www.justnews.com/news/19653921/detail.html. Anyone who knows me knows that I am (more than) mildly obsessed with cats, and reading things like this just kills me. What kind of heartless psycho would do this to a cat? I mean, I know that not everyone is a cat person, but come on! When I read things like this, I am usually affected for the rest of the day. On that note, I am going to go give Biscuit a big kiss on the nose. 

Bienvenue!

As I am writing this, my five-month-old-son--who shall, in the blogosphere, be known as "BB" (short for Bébé B)--has decided to awaken from his nap (what's new?). Alas, this first post will be curtailed so that my neighbors do not call our apartment's front office (or--gasp--CPS) with reports of an incessantly, helplessly screeching infant. Since becoming a mother, I have become fascinated with things I never knew could be so interesting--namely, baby gear. And not just any baby gear. The kind of baby gear coveted and toted by celebrities and posh moms who use "summer" and "lunch" as verbs. One glance at a futuristic-looking stroller (which are becoming more and more ubiquitous in the Green Hills/Belle Meade area of Nashville), and I can tell you whether it's a Bugaboo, an Orbit, or (my personal favorite, since it is BB's mode of transportation) a Quinny. I am well-versed in the language of Maxi-Cosi, Storksak, and Whoozits. However, the sole purpose of this blog is not to market the latest in pricey tot paraphernalia. I will also regale you with anecdotes and amusing tidbits from my life as a 23-year-old maman who is hopelessly in love with her bébé, to whom she is attempting to teach French. Who knows, I might even throw in a recipe or two to show you what I'm cooking for my husband, C. Guess you'll have to wait and see.  Throughout all the adventures and mesaventures of motherhood, sometimes I just have to remind myself that this is the life I've chosen, and c'est la vie. I think all the other mamans out there will agree with me. À
 bientôt!