As you are either knowing or not knowing, we hope our post-graduation travels will take us to Montreal, Quebec. (Ie, the part of Canada that exists.) And since just today I finished making a poster of Josh’s final schedule of undergraduate courses – having Friday enrolled – it is all the more time to move on to the next big thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been daydreaming and casually obsesssing for some time now (it’s impossible not to when living in a city you’ve been in for going on six years), but now the real considerations become permissibly time-consuming. Such as Ezra’s schooling.
Aside from the sadness at the thought of my son being legally required to go to school starting next September, there is more. It appears that for our circumstance, it would be unlikely for Ezra to be exempt from attending the French language schools. Which is simultaneously what I want and about which I am concerned. Of course, I want him to go to the French school and there’s no time like this age to do it. He only barely remembers the counting I taught him so long ago (and says ‘hello’ and ‘red’ and ‘green’, etc, in Spanish when I ask him – thanks Dora) so I can’t wait. Fluency is the whole reason I’m moving to a francophone. (That and the necessity of living outside of one’s home country.) But. What I don’t want is for him to have an extraordinary reaction to it, getting behind when we’ve tried relatively hard to prepare him to excel. This is the best age to immerse him, I’m sure, but it’s also not a situation where Josh and I will learn as quickly as he, I’m sure. So how do we help him when he doesn’t understand, if he can’t explain to us in English what the problem is? Is this a realistic concern? I have no idea. Also, I have no idea how crippled my own French skills will have become. It’s like when you read something and you go, duh. And then you look up from what you’re reading and your tongue has cut itself off and hopped out of your mouth? Yeah, like that.
In other news, I have fallen in love with a place on the Canadian MLS. Holy lord. Probably not a good idea. I die.
And things. Other things. Large, looming things. Like waiting to hear.
That is all.
Fine, I’ll tell you. It’s about my writing. There.