Usually, we read a couple of story books to the children before their nap and bedtimes. One of the days when DH was locked away in another room working on a project deadline, I was with DD. To my (mixed) chagrin, she picked out a Chinese story book.
It had hanyu pinyin text alongside the Chinese characters, but as most of you know, I can’t speak Chinese to save my life, mostly because my speech inflections are wrong, about, um, 80% of the time. So…
Me: Hgmmph….Xiao Hei? Er, how about another book?
DD: No, I want this one.
Me: But…you know mummy can’t read Chinese very well.
Me: Aahh…well, yes…okay. (Can’t say no to that. We’re always saying she needs to try speaking Chinese more).
DD: Learn. (Another statement to floor me completely…)
Me: Yeah…yeah…I should learn.
And she bestows a benign smile on me, the exact kind I give her when I’ve convinced her to do something that Mummy says is for her own good.
Life…just has a way…