Howdy!

I'm not afraid to admit when I make a mistake.  I mean, we all make mistakes.

Buying that super-sized box of Oreos at Costco last week?  Mistake.

Weighing in at Weight Watchers three days later?  Also a mistake.

Of course, some mistakes are bigger than others.  Like adopting 2 adorable orange kittens.  Or volunteering to organize the class Valentine's Day party.  Or taking German in high school, instead of Spanish like everybody else.

That one really screwed me up, because after floundering through two miserable years in high school - and then cramming two semesters of college course work into three, "Ich still spreche kein Deutsch."  I was a pretty big disappointment to the Frau Professor who finally passed me out of pity.  Or sheer exhaustion.

Fortunately, my kids seem to have inherited their language proficiency from my husband's side of the family.  Their Nana is fluent in French and - according to Ella (who is in the throes of her "Parisian phase") - is taking her eldest granddaughter to France when the girl turns ten.  I really hope that's true, because I'm not above stowing myself away in Nana's suitcase.

Unfortunately for Nana, not all of my kids are interested in learning French.  Evie, for example, seems to have developed a passion for Spanish.  I suppose I could blame "Dora the Explorer" for Evie bursting into my room shouting "¡Buenos días, Mama!" every morning, but I prefer to think of her as a genius who understands America's bi-lingual future. 

The only problem is, between my ineptitude in all things language related and Nana's bias towards all things French, Evie has few fellow Spanish-speakers to interact with.  Several months ago, two women from a local maid service came over to help me get my house under control.  Evie came bounding in the door from school and screeched to a halt when she heard the women conversing in what can only be described as her love language.  She listened for a minute, then grinned and shouted "¡Hola! ¿Cómo estás?"

The ladies' eyes lit up and one bent down to rattle off a bunch of words I couldn't make out.  Evie hesitated a moment, then replied, "Um... Muy bien?  Um... Si?"  The lady smiled and Evie continued, "Uno?  Dos?  Tres?"  At that point, it became clear to even my uneducated mind that Evie wasn't so much conversing with the woman as she was pulling out every Spanish word she could remember.  The woman patted her head and winked at me, and Evie walked away with an even greater passion for Spanish. 

Of course, her twin sister is not to be outdone.  A few weeks ago, Ella was going on and on about the Eiffel Tower and Evie was going on and on about... well, whatever Dora's in to these days.  And Emily pipes in from the back seat, "I'm going to learn Texan!"

"Texan?  I don't know if I've heard anyone speak Texan before."

"Yes, you have," she replied.  "You know - Yee-haw!  Howdy!  Gittyup!  Ride 'em, cowboy!"

Ah yes, Texan.  The language of kings.

She's pretty serious about it, too.  Today she climbed in the car and asked, "Is it okay if I move to Texas before you die?  I was going to wait until after you were dead, but if I go when you're still alive then maybe you can come visit me.  You can even ride in an airplane and hold my babies."

Awesome.  She's already thinking of me as a grandmother.  Or dead.

She paused a moment to think.  "Are there pet stores in Texas?  Because I want to get a puppy.  And two kittens.  Cowgirls can have kittens, right?"

Apparently I can't get away from kittens.  Or discourage my daughters from pursuing the things they love. 

Even if what they love takes them away from their mommy.

That would be a mistake.