This morning we slept in which meant that our whole morning fell behind schedule and we all felt rushed. I put on Andrew's socks while he tied his tie--that's how desperately hurried we were. We had nearly gotten caught up with the day when it was time for Rachel to leave for school. Just past time, actually. I told her we had to hurry or we would be late.
The minute she was out the door she zipped down the driveway and started running down the sidewalk. I closed the door and jogged until I had caught up with her.
"Quick, quick!" she urged me, "Before they learn something!"
She was quite distressed about the idea of not being there while something was being taught.
I chatted with one of her teachers while I waited for her to finish her class when I picked her up.
"Her vocabulary is much larger than what she can actually articulate," he said, "So I find myself having to ask her to repeat herself three or four times until I understand what she's trying to say."
It's true. This morning she didn't really say "Quick, quick! Before they learn something!" She actually said, "Fwick, fwick! A'fore they learn sumpin'!" Her articulation is getting better everyday, though I loathe it. My favourite words are currently "forgot" and "tomato," which she pronounces as "buh-dot" and "puh-may-do" respectively.
She rushed out of her classroom clutching a pink bus she had made--still shiny and dripping with wet paint--it's pink because "not all school buses are yellow, know that? Like, in Egypt some school buses are red, so my bus can be pink because I don't like red as much as pink."
It's true. The CAC school buses in Cairo were a maroony colour, which Rachel always said was red. We passed those buses everyday on our way to tutoring and Rachel was convinced she was going to go to that school when she grew up.
Rachel also told me that while she was painting she told her teacher that she had never used a hammer before but once she "painted with the prophet in the desert." She was referring, I guess, to the time we helped paint some benches at the Leprosaurium. President McCallister, the branch president of our congregation in Cairo, was there and he spent quite a lot of time helping Rachel paint. Rachel sometimes mistakes him for the prophet of our church, President Monson. The funny thing is that, although most of our neighbours here in Utah are Mormons, Rachel's teachers are not. And while I'm glad that she feels she can speak freely about her religion I wonder what her teachers thought of her tales of Egypt, red school buses, and painting with the prophet in the desert.
I think they know that we recently moved here from Egypt but I'm not sure about that. Maybe I should warn them, quick! Before they assume something!