House of Cards

Captain's bLog: 21 weeks.

We, the teachers, have officially designated the coming week as Spring Break. We have a car rented for the week and places to see, dammit! Plus we are not a little weary of school, and remembering we could just *decide* to do things like take breaks from it was like finding a forgotten $20 in a jacket pocket. Whee!

We - the teachers, that is - have been doing simply loads of very clever things like preparing assignments, then grading said assignments. Teaching things. Even making a report card, for goodness sake! Like, who do we even think we are? I think all children are a bit surprised when they realise their parents don't actually know everything (or anything, as the case may be), but Small Fry is gonna be pissed to learn we were faking it so hard. Maybe it's just my consultant side talking, but shouldn't I have provided a disclaimer somewhere? He can't sue me for teaching him Grade 6 without any training or credentials, can he? Who even let me have children in the first place?

Honestly, the whole thing is a house of cards. Best not to think on it too hard.

Unfortunately, my time in Spain has led me to believe my Spanish language skills are a house of cards as well. Even after poking fun at DH about his app-based French language proficiency, I went ahead with a learning app myself. And despite seriously questioning some of the claims DH's app was making about his progress, I was still fooled by my app into believing I was making useful, measurable progress, despite learning equally dubious phrases such as 'You are a genius!' Let's be honest here: the person I'm most likely to say that to is myself, so the learning of it gave me the illusion of progress while actually leaving me standing at the starting line with my thumb in my ass. The irony is not lost on me - Eres un genio, indeed.

Would you like to know who did teach me some useful Spanish?

First I'll set the scene: Imagine a leisurely, multi-course meal at a sidewalk cafe in atmospheric Girona. My belly is full and I'm feeling warm and buzzy from that extra glass of vino tinto I acquired by eloquently flapping my hands around my empty glass at the waiter, when a complete and lucid phrase comes burbling unbidden from the mysterious depths of my meat computer: Senor, la cuenta, por favor. I think the waiter was just as surprised as I was.

That's right, I learned my single most useful Spanish phrase to date from Weird Al's 1992 magnum opus, "Taco Grande." Honourable mentions go to "Pretty Fly (for a White Guy)" by The Offspring, although I am unable to count to seis without saying cinco twice, and Dora the Explorer's backpack. Basically, thanks for nothing, Memrise. Eres un genio. /s

Anyway, I've managed to pick up a few new useful phrases in the past seven weeks, and what I don't know I've been mashing together like a crazed toddler: Round with apple please! got me the pastry I wanted at the bakery, for instance, while Very fatso please! got me the dress size I needed at the store. It ain't pretty, but it is getting results and really, who can argue with that?

I only hope Small Fry can come to feel the same way about his Grade 6 teachers one day.