The regrets I have with announcing my occupation come from the stigma attached to virtually all English teachers that we live and breathe and eat and sleep grammar. This is simply untrue. At least for me it is. Admittedly, I am, by nature, guilty of cringing when I see a misplaced "your" or "too". For example, a sentence that reads "Your just to kind" could send me into a grammatical tizzy wherein I might fly around the room screaming out choice participle phrases and infinitive clauses. As an English teacher, this is merely part of my vocational genetic code. It's like an accountant fainting with joy upon seeing a well-created Excel spreadsheet. Or a restaurant manager panicking at the sight of empty water glasses at a four top full of mystery shoppers.
Though I am what might be called "grammatically aware", I am nothing if not philanthropic when it comes to my grammatical prowess. I do not laugh at those who do not practice good grammar. I do not point my finger in frustration at the conjugationally impaired...I really couldn't care less (kind of) if you choose not to make your verb tenses agree, or if you tell someone he/she did "really good" instead of "really well". Unless you are one of my students, I try my best to let things slide and just go with the flow. After all, I would expect people to do the same for me if I happen to misrepresent any of the eight parts of speech or haphazardly splice a comma. We all make mistakes. It's about grace, people. Grammar Grace.
Since having a baby, any regard for good grammar has essentially gone out the window, particularly when conversing with my baby. This coming from the person who had a strong ethical conflict over shopping at Babies R Us, a nationwide children's mega-store that has managed to compose an absolute grammatical nightmare in just nine unimaginative letters...I can feel the bile rising in my throat just thinking about it. It's Babies R We! Babies R We! Oy.
I'm not proud of these seemingly-arrogant ramblings. I know it makes me seem like the most giantest (happy now?) snooty snoot that ever walked the planet. I blame my nine trillion dollar higher education. Thank you, OU, UCO, OBU, et. al. You have effectively turned me into a beast, a literary nightmare for those poor souls who don't know any better or who, frankly, just don't care.
I've said all of this to say - no - to PROUDLY ADMIT that the best times I have had with my daughter have been when I am talking to her in a high-pitched voice with the silliest words a person could possibly say. I don't even kick myself when I hear the following come out of my mouth:
"Hers is so pwetty. Hers doesn't even know it."
"Does hers wuv her mama?"
"Who's de bestest baby in all da world?"
"Hers is mamas favoritest wittle wuv."
In fact, I love my newfound grammatical inhibitions. It makes me feel all CRAYYYYYZY inside! And, by the looks of things, my sweet wittle angel doesn't mind it either. Oh no hers doesn't.
