O has been in preschool for seven weeks now–just twice a week, a bridging experience before we try out big school next year. Almost immediately, we heard her accent start to slip. I’ve known this was coming for a while, but it doesn’t get any easier. She loves school–the play kitchen, the painting, the small friends and teachers who will warp her speech into something native sounding.
Any given day, she’s at 1/3 still sounding like me, 1/3 the cheery British woman telling stories with actions on the internet [Cosmic Kids] and 1/3 local.
Last week she was recovering from a cold and sounded like someone else entirely, someone significantly older, with a smoker’s rasp, asking for scotch and a rubber.
[tape and eraser]
This week anything with an o sound is getting an extra r.
Tonight at dinner she had snar peas.