The other day we were on a bus with a friend, and Linnea mentioned another bus journey on which she had felt a bit sick. "I was bus-sick," she said. "Yes," I said, "but you didn't get sick, did you?"
"No," she said, "I was bus-ill."
And today Emer fell slightly when going upstairs and said "Oops, I had a little tumble."
Neither "ill" nor "tumble" were in my childhood vocabulary at all. I consciously adopted "ill" when I was nine, but didn't use it much - it wasn't a word in common use in my circles, and sounded faintly wannabe-posh, in the same way that children in 1950s Cork didn't say "mud," they said "mire" but that would sound trying-too-hard for most children I know now.
"Aren't I" instead of "amn't I," too. Unvoiced R sounds. It is interesting, having children whose language is so different from my own, in spite of being the same one.
Twelve nights by Andrew Zurcher – cover reveal and giveaway! - Note, post contains affiliate links. Pre order at Amazon Kay and her little sister, Eloise, never imagined that their standard icy Christmas Eve in Cambrid...
2 weeks ago