One thing that didn’t occur to me when I decided to move permanently to Sweden and thus raise my children as Swedes is just how irritating I would find it to listen to them butchering my beloved mother tongue day after day.   Some of the “Swenglish” I find cute–endearing, even–but most of it bugs me to no end.  I know I sound like a nit-picky bitch, but I have to say that it really grates on my nerves to hear Tage say, “Here coming I!” over and over, no matter how many times I gently remind him that it’s “Here I come.”  And I want to tear my hair out when Lydia asks me (as she so often does, being a spiller from way back), “Does this work to take away?”  instead of “Does this stain?”  Petra’s still so little and not speaking much Swedish, so she hasn’t yet become an egregious offender, but I’m sure the day’s not far off.  Sigh … it’s not easy being a word snob.