Talk of toast in my office


Me: Hank?  How do you say toaster in Portuguese?

Hank:  (thinking) I do not know.  Ask your… (pause) wife?

Me: You mean my husband?  Your papa?  Or do you mean my other wife as I am your papa’s wife?

Hank: Your marido (husband).

Me: Or I can ask my other marido (husband), o meo dicionário (my dictionary). (flipping through pages) Toast: Torradas.  A piece of toast: Uma torrada.  Etcetera, etcetera…  Ah score: toaster:  torradeira.

Hank:  Now I am very hungry for uma torrada.

Me:  Well, we will have to go to the café because our torradeira caught fire this morning and I believe it is dead.  I needed this word because we need to buy a new one.

Hank:  WHAT!

Me: Don’t worry.  I unplugged it and tossed into my dishwater.  Same thing happened when I was a little girl about your age.  Our toaster caught on fire and your Grandpa Snitch threw the flaming toaster out into the snow.  So if you want toast we better buy a new one.

Hank: Uma torradeira nova (a new toaster)?

Me: Yup.

Hank: Lets go.  Lets go right now.  I can wait.  New toast in our new toaster.  Come on my mama!

Me: Let me get my keys and my marido (husband) not my dicionário.

Hank: Papa!


Oh no, my mama, rain is water.


Hank: You know you told me clouds aren’t blue and now I know.

Me: Yes, the other day.

Hank:  I know I can draw blue clouds when I want like when I draw pink cats.

Me:  Truth.

Hank:  But now I remember, blue is behind the clouds.  Clouds are white.

Me: Yes or…

Hank: (thinking) Gray!  When it is going to rain.  Do you know why the clouds change color?

Me: Why?

Hank:  To tell us it is going to rain without talking.

Me: Oh yes, I agree.

Hank: It is their way of com-in-ucating.

Me: Communicating?

Hank:  Yes.  Talking without talking.  Showing us.

Me: Sure, showing us they need to xixi (pee).


Me: Rain is cloud pee, isn’t it?

Hank: Oh no, my mama, rain is water.


While walking in a field with grass to our knees


Me: Oh Hank!  Look!

Hank:  What is it?

Me: These are buttercups!

Hank: Buttercups?  Like in our story about the people who live in the buttercups?

Me: The very same.

(puts his finger into a butter cup then licks it)

Hank:  But?

Me: (laughing) Nope, buttercups do not taste like butter.

Hank:  Can we take some home to draw?

Me:  Only if they do not have houses.

Hank: Mama, that is only in our story.

Me: Is it?

Hank: (looking closer before he picks)