Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Yes. I thought it. And I’d say it out loud too.
I knocked on the classroom door as I stepped in, my eyes moving from the teacher behind her desk to Rose sitting at a little one in the corner. The classroom was set up for the play-to-learn style the Scots favored. Much of the classroom had different play areas for learning and just a few desks in one corner for more concentrated work.
My daughter’s eyes lit up at the sight of me. “Daddy.”
Daddy.
It got me every time.
Sarah was forever reminding me that we’d ruin Rose if we let her have her way all the time. I agreed. However, it was tiresome to constantly remind myself every time she said Daddy because the urge to do as she wished was very, very real.
“Hullo, turtle dove.” I’d nicknamed her after the pretty little bird because she pecked at her food (we often had to coax her to eat more because she had such a wee appetite) and, like the turtle dove, she was rare. To me, she was a rare, precious little being who had to be protected at all costs.
On that note, I turned my attention to her teacher.
Ms. Carson was young and extremely nervous around me. It didn’t stop me from glowering at her.
She stood from her desk and twisted her hands together, giving me a strained smile. “Mr. Cavendish, thank you for coming in.”
“What’s it all about?”
She winced at my cool tone. “Well, while Rose is usually very well-behaved, lately we’ve had some issues with her making up words.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rose is speaking gibberish in class, and when asked to stop, she insists she’s not making up gibberish. I had to send her to see Mr. Adams this morning because she got very frustrated and angry.” The teacher’s tone was gentle and placating. “So I thought we should all have a wee chat and see if we can sort this out.”
“Daddy, I’m not making up words.”
“I know, turtle dove.”
Ms. Carson’s expression tightened. “Mr. Cavendish, I know it can be difficult to—”
“What words do you think she was making up?” I interrupted impatiently.
“We were talking about doggies and cats,” Rose spoke up. “I said I was a canophile.”
I nodded and turned back to the teacher. “And?”
The teacher frowned. “It’s a made-up word and it sounds like … well, it doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It is not a made-up word,” I gritted out. “It means a person who loves dogs.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Google it if you don’t believe me.”
The woman pulled out her phone and bloody googled it. “Oh.”
“What other words do you believe my daughter is making up?”
“Mathesis,” Rose grumbled, uncharacteristically put out. “Ms. Carson says it’s maths, but I’m not saying maths.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I muttered under my breath. “Mathesis is not a made-up word. It means learning the sciences, especially mathematics.”
“Oh.”
Hearing my wife’s voice in my head, pleading with me to be nice to the young teacher, I gritted my teeth around the word Apologies and cleared my throat, aiming for politeness, “For any confusion. You see, my wife and I play a word game that we now play with Rose. Who can come up with the most unusual word. We’ve taught Rose some words that most adults are unaware of, let alone six-year-olds.”
“Well, oh. Right.” Ms. Carson nodded, visibly embarrassed. “Rose does have a remarkable vocabulary for her age and is very articulate. I’m sorry, Rose.”
Rose nodded and sweetly forgave, just like her mother (not like her father). “Apology accepted.”
Theo, you know what to say. Sarah Cavendish. My bloody conscience as well as my wife. “If Rose was a tad unruly in her frustration, she would like to apologize also. Wouldn’t you, turtle dove?”
She flushed a little, a blusher like her mother. “I’m sorry if I was rude, Ms. Carson.”
“Apology accepted, Rose.” She turned to me. “Perhaps it would be best if the word games stayed at home and not in the classroom. Some of the words … they sound like other less innocent words.”
My lips twitched, but I fought back my amusement. “Very well. Come on, turtle dove.”
Rose skipped into the house ahead of me, already explaining to Sarah exactly what had happened.
“Oh dear. Well, let’s just keep our big words at home for now until you get a wee bit older,” Sarah suggested to our daughter as I strolled into the kitchen.
“And give into the fascists?” I grumbled under my breath as I pulled a mug out of the cupboard.
“Rose, go change, sweetheart. I’ll make you a snack.”
Our daughter left the room and I braced.
“You better have been kind to Ms. Carson, Theodore Cavendish.”
I was the picture of absolute innocence. “Who me? I’m never anything else.”
“Theo.”
Switching on the coffee machine, I huffed, “I was very polite, even though they sent our daughter to the principal because they have the vocabulary of Neanderthals.”