British Madeleine

Madeleine's got this thing about using a British accent. Like, all the time.

"Mum," she says to me the other day, "Don't you rawther think tawlking like this is moooch more beauteeeful?"

Last night, in honor of the blizzard, we decided to have a major book night and finish up The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. After it ended Superdad took the little ones up to bed while Madeleine and I turned out all the lights in the living room and snuggled under the pile of blankets we'd gathered for the major book night.

British Madeleine: I know, let's do pretend we are trapped in an abandoned house, aulright, Mum?

Me, half-asleep, in a half-hearted attempt at a British accent: Aulright, let's.

British Madeleine: Oh, that wind sounds auuuuwful, doesn't it, Mum? It's rawther frightening!

Me: Umm, humm. Very scary. Oh! I mean vuuury frightening.

British Madeleine: Oh, the roof upstairs is leaking, I do hope we are able to stay DRY down here. Don't you hope that, Mum?

Me: Of course! But, I do think we must try and get some sleep, otherwise me could die.

American Madeleine, popping straight up in a sitting position,rolling her eyes and fixing me with a disapproving glare: Mom, people don't die from not getting enough sleep. You know, you're not very good at this.

Superdad walks down the stairs.

British Madeleine, ignoring me and looking at Superdad: Oh, Daad, don't you think we ought to have a spot of tea?

Superdad: Sure, Madeleine, we can have some tea.

American Madeleine, with a look of disdain: I don't really want to play our game anymore. I'm going to have some tea. With Daddy. Oh, Daad (British Madeleine is back, and she's scampering into the kitchen with Superdad), don't you think you really ought to perFECT your Bristish accent?