Beckett is a Jumper.
Like her father.
I can tell you tales of all the glorious jumps I've jumped - from 6 inches to 15,000 feet; but that would be a digression.
She jumps on mattresses, on the carpet, on the floor, on the kitchen platform, on me, from the stool, in the bathtub, in the park, in the bouncy castle, in the pool, from the table, from the window pane, from the chair, from the jungle gym. I can go on.
Everything else she does like her mother.
But jumps she like me.
The jumper, also suddenly, like the turning of a switch, started speaking English, a month and a week into pre-school. While we were relieved at first, because this meant she was no longer going to have to be silent in class, this week we've realized that english is quickly becoming her preferred language and that has left both Missus and me confused and alarmed.
Pre-school has had its fair share of challenges for all three of us. Finding one, paying for it, and getting acclimatized to a strange new daily routine initially took its toll. But I have much to be grateful for. It is close enough for us to be able to walk to, frees up significant time and bandwidth for Missus, but more importantly, Beckett learns different things from different folks. Already I see her saying Thank You, Please, and Sorry as an intrinsic part of her vocabulary.
Okay, got to go! The jumper is calling me for a pre-sleep jump session.
