This morning at breakfast we were talking, about what I'm not so sure at this point, when hubby and I caught each other's eye and said, in unison, "What?" Each boy had something important to say. So important that it couldn't wait until their mouth full of cereal was not only swallowed, but chewed. We asked O to repeat what he was trying to say. It sounded something like this, "Whurta ourfta prtujhumctug." We asked him three times to repeat what he was saying and it didn't change any time. Until finally he said, in exasperation, making sure to annunciate each syllable, "What are we doing today?" Got it!
We asked H to repeat what he was saying too. He repeated two times, "Rscpis ma hy." After repeating his phrase two times and hubby and I still not getting it, O carefully explained to us that H was saying, "Rice Krispies make me happy." So glad we have a live-in translator!
And then it dawned on me and I shared my epiphany out loud because it affected us all, "We're speaking different languages." And it's not just the boys that are misunderstood. Somehow when I say, 'Time to pick up the cars,' play continues without not so much as a glance in my direction. Or when I find myself yelling the directions after saying them kindly four other times. No wonder. I get it now. It was then that I had another realization - all of the grandkids on my side of the family are fluent in another language. Not us. I shared that with hubby to which he replied, "Don't worry. We speak Iowan!" Breakfast continued with me giving directions in fluent Iowan (no offense to anyone who is from Iowa - this was purely for fun). "Oink, oink, snort, squeal, corn, soybean, snort, oink." The boys got a kick out of this and belly laughed throughout it all.
Laughter we understand. It's a good thing we do it often!
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