Los Peterson

We have a slight problem.

Gunnar has a small picture of Jesus in his bedroom, and so I've been trying to teach him who Jesus is. Everyday, after book time and before bed, I take the picture from off his little shelf and bring it close to him, so he can get a really good look. Then I point at it with one finger and slowly say, "Geeeeeeeeesuuuuuuus, that's Geeesuuus, Gunnar." I'll take his little hand and place it on the picture and then say again, "Geeeeeeeeeesuuuuuuuuuuuuus. He loves you." I've been doing this for a few weeks now and Gunnar usually smiles and gives the picture a good head butt, or a few wet kisses and then looses interest.



And then it happened.

One day, during this routine, to my infinite joy and surprise, Gunnar pointed at the picture and deliberately and succinctly uttered the word, "Cheeeecheeeeshhh." That's right, he said cheeeecheesh. Chris didn't believe me at first, but it was true. Gunnar's first word, besides 'hiedad' (hi Dad), and 'bahbah' (bottle) and 'pickopickopicko' (...who knows), was cheecheesh (Jesus).

The second time he did it, I rushed the picture into the bedroom and held it out for Gunnar to see and perform his new found, spiritual trick for his father (because no trick is real until it is A.) documented or B.) witnessed by at least 2 parties.) "Jesus," I said to Gunnar, pointing at the picture again, expectantly awaiting his performance. There was a slight hesitation but then his finger shot forward, pointing as he repeated, "cheecheesh." I beamed and Chris was amazed. Our child is gifted, I told him.

And then it started.

I don't know where I went wrong. I mean, I know that when babies first learn to speak it's sometimes hard for them to know what you're actually trying to teach them. Like teaching the word truck, for example. When you point and say truck, a baby probably wonders, "is 'truck' the color? Is it the size or shape? Does 'truck' mean to point? Am I going to get a cookie?" You can see how a new little mind could get confused.

Also, we happen to have a whole lot of family pictures up all over our apartment. I mean a lot. Chris went crazy with genealogy and our scanner for a few months and we ended up with about 130 family pictures on the walls. We have pictures of relatives from the 1800's alongside pictures of Chris's mother modeling and my little brother getting his face shoved in a cake. There are aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, parents, grandparents, great, great, great grandparents and pretty much everyone we're related to on quite a few of the walls in our home . . . we like pictures.

Anyway, somewhere along the way, Gunnar became confused. ANYTHING in a frame, is now cheecheesh. The picture of my Dad in Vietnam is cheecheesh. The picture of Chris drumming, cheecheesh. My grandparents on a motorcycle, Chris's aunt in sombrero, the painting of the Asian woman in our dining room: cheecheesh, cheecheesh, all cheecheesh! And it's getting worse. This morning he called his yogurt cheecheesh.



Not really sure what to do about this one...