Mrs. Gore’s School of Incorrection

{First shared at Mrs. Gore’s Diary on March 25, 2012}

I sometimes wonder if I’m really and truly cut out to be the schoolteacher of my own children. Not because I’m a dummy…I did graduate from college, you know. (Aaaand I managed to snag the nicest guy in at least the middle portion of the state…).

I worry because I am a procrastinator.

And not in the “oh, we’ll get around to that ol’ alphabet next week” way, but in the “I wish my children could remain children forever” way. Meaning that, “rod of discipline” aside, I rarely correct them.

Thus, rather than correct Gideon’s way of saying some statements, the entire family had adopted them as not only cute and noteworthy, but as the correct way of saying them.

Which has resulted in our own sort of language around here, nonsensical and hard to crack. So just in case you ever come over for snacks, I thought I would provide a Gore family dictionary to help you know what in the world we’re talking about:

Go peep v. To hop on over to the closest bathroom and take a #1.

Hot sauchez n. A delicious dip made of cheese, known in most households as “cheese dip”.

The bateeno with the buhwahva n. A vent in the earth’s crust with molten rock erupting from its fiery lair, pronounced by most of the country as “the volcano with the lava”. (You wouldn’t think this phrase would be used often enough in our home to make it to this list, but you’d be wrong).

Buhfrise n. surprise! an unexpected gift

Buhweeseman n. The local hero in the blue uniform who drives the white and black car and keeps us from driving too fast.

Show (rhymes with cow) Wash n. the most fascinating and terrifying location in the world where we cover our ears or scream at the top of our lungs while our car is being smacked around by giant soapy instruments of cleaning. We love/hate that place.

Uncle McDonald’s n. the place that gives us a toy to eat the most delicious french fries on the planet. We love/love that place.

Hanguber n. what Miss Sunday asks for at Uncle McDonald’s, but never eats.

Janamas (pronouced juh-nah-muhs) n. What Miss Sunday – and now all of us – wears to bed, also generally known as “pajamas”.

Captain America n. the bottled drink that Granddaddy shares with Gideon and Rebekah after work, perhaps better known as “Diet Pepsi” or “Diet 7 Up”. (long story…)

“This is my deal.” Miss Sunday’s explanation for everything, most likely in response to her Mama frequently asking (in exasperation) “What is your deal?!”

“Last morning” a phrase alluding to what took place yesterday or the day before. Or the week before, or two years ago. The only thing “last morning” is not is the present. (which can be confusing when Gideon wants to listen to the song he heard “last morning”…does he mean the one we listened to yesterday or the one we listened to on his birthday in 2008? We never know).

~ Other notes of interest ~ 

Rebekah has taken this “School of Incorrection” to a new level, inspiring us to use poor grammar, as well. She has been stringing sentences together for some time now and was just born with the gift of gab, but she makes this one mistake that I adore and therefore refuse to correct, ever: instead of using “her” or “his” or “our” as a possessive pronoun, she (and now all of us) says “she’s” or “he’s” or “we’s”.

As in “I wike she’s hat” or “He wants he’s mommy.” But my favorite is “Are we driving we’s car?” (Please, God, pleasssssee, let her talk like this just a little longer, but not so long that she is unable to function properly in society – I’ll leave that timing up to You. I completely trust You to fix she’s poor grammar).

Oh, and the “Captain America” thing started when my Dad’s Diet 7 Up bottles were promoting the superhero’s new movie this past year. “Are you drinking Captain America?” Rebekah asked with wonder. “Yep.” said my Dad. So now, the minute she walks in to my parent’s house, she immediately says “Hey, you got some Captain America?”

And one more thing. Its a good thing that Gideon somehow figured out that he was spelling our names backwards on his papers, because I was more than content to be “Amam” forever.

Mr. Gore was, of course, “Apap”.


And now a test:

So did you hear about the little boy (still wearing he’s janamas, no less) who got lost last morning? He’s Amam and Apap called on the local buhweeseman to help find him. “What if he walked to the batino with the buhwava?!” they cried. But buhfries! They found him at the show wash. “This is my deal.” he explained. “I needed to go peep.” They celebrated by going to Uncle McDonald’s and having chips and hot sauchez and hangubers and little cups of Captain America. “Now let’s go back to we’s house.” Amam said. “Good idea.” said Apap. The end.

If you understood the above, you get an A+ from the Incompetent Schoolmarm of the School of Incorrection. Congratulations…and welcome to we’s world.

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