Keir Royale

First, you long for them to utter a word, any word, but preferably Mama.

Then you’re waiting for something that could be loosely described as a sentence. You marvel over their first complex construction involving prepositions, adverbs and the like, and you boast that no child of yours is ever going to use an adjective as an adverb, so help me God.

They start school and learn about things like alliteration, and then they take to dropping their aitches and perfecting the glottal stop to see what you’ll say.

“I think water has a “t” sound in the middle of it, darling.”
“Well Jordan says War-uh.”

While thinking, “Yes I bet Jordan does,” you have to come up with a reply that won’t criticise his friends but will convince him that pronouncing things correctly is important.

“He probably misheard it, it’s definitely war-tuh.”
And then you are treated to the first of his new uses for formerly innocuous words.

“Whatever.”
You let it go because the main point here is “water” with a “t”, and “whatever”, with or withuot a “t”, can be tackled another time.

But before that other time, there comes another handy little word that suddenly prompts you to seek a modern day equivalent of soap and water.

It starts with one of your regular complaints.
“You left your coat on the floor in the hall, darling.”

And then he hits you with it.
“And?”
“What did you say?”
“And?” said in a slightly quieter voice, but still audible.
“You know I don’t like rudeness.”
“What’s rude about And? It’s not swearing.”
“It’s the way you said it. You didn’t say And you said And? with a question mark after it, and that’s rude.”
“Is why rude too? That has a question mark after it.”
“You know exactly what I mean, just pick up your damn coat.”

And with one small utterance he’s manoeuvred me into being ruder then he was in the first place. Such is the skill of a contrary eight-year old boy who strives to have the last word.

I know I should ignore all provocation and hope they end up pronouncing most of their consonants, but I can’t ignore the And? thing. Even my daughter understands the difference.

The other day she came belting into the kitchen with a new complaint about her brother. He hadn’t whacked her, teased her or dangled her dolls over the edge of the banisters.

“Mummy, Ben said the rude And to me.”

I managed not to say it, but I did think it,

“And?”

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