While getting dressed myself this morning I overheard Hawkeye talking to the Mister while getting dressed in his own room with daddy’s help:
“I’m now a lion wobot.”
“You mean, you’re a robot.”
“Lion rwobot,” Hawkeye sounded out more carefully.
Ever mindful of my failure as a bilingual parent to pass on a second language to my son, I shout out to my husband through the open doors. “We need to teach him to roll his ‘r’s!”
“You can teach him to roll his ‘r’s.” The Mister retorts. Now, my husband might consider himself to be solidly monolingual, but I’ve heard him purr at me so I was pretty confident that he could fake it well enough even if he couldn’t put it in a linguistic context.
“What?” I teased him. “You mean you can’t roll you ‘r’s at all?”
The response was swift and precise, and pitched perfectly to sound like he was muttering it under his breath while still projecting it clearly all the way into the other room.
“Maybe down a hill, I can.”
The Feathered Rose 