This morning I asked Maria if she could say something in French and she thought for a while and then said, 'bonjour.'

Not much to show for eleven months I thought.

"How would you say 'I'm going to the kitchen'?"

And she rattled it off, although she may have said canteen rather than kitchen.

"What about 'I've got a sore foot'?"

And she rattled it off.

"Tell Carlo to put up his arm."

And she did. And he did.

Yesterday on the phone to her uncle to sing him happy birthday, she chose the tongue of her new home.

Soon those two will be having conversations where their ignorant immigrant parents will understand not a word.