lost in translation

While I am recovering from surgery, Lola2Amara is staying at the Yellow House to help Dad2Amara with household chores and to keep Amara in check.

But there was one point last night that I wished my mom was not staying at our house. She actually caused me pain. Physical, excruciating pain.

It's no secret that I want Amara to learn Tagalog.

My family tries to sprinkle our conversations with her with my parents' native tongue so she can pick up a phrase or two.

Lola2Amara wanted to teach Amara yesterday "mother" and "father."

Nanay -- the Filipino word for "mother" -- was a cinch for Amara.

Tatay -- the word for "father" -- was not as simple.

For those that do not know, the word is pronounced {tah-tie}.

So at first Amara was saying Popeye. As in the sailor man. As in the spinach lover. As in the husband of Olive Oyl.

I had visions of Dad2Amara with a pipe, anchor tattoos, and bulging biceps.

And I couldn't stop laughing.

So Lola2Amara tried to correct Amara. But she still didn't get it.

She ended up calling Dad2Amara patay -- the Tagalog adjective for "dead."

I was laughing so hard, I had tears in my eyes from the pain it brought. And that only made me laugh harder.

Hopefully today Lola2Amara will take a break from her Tagalog lessons.

There seems to be something lost in translation...

Cross posted on being Mom2Amara