Every family has a its own language, a private little dialect.
No exception over here.
We are trilingual. I speak Tapperish, the Artist speaks Computerish and the girls speak Gibberish.
You know I love words. I use them a lot. I rotate through them so I don't leave the obscure ones out too often. They get lonely.
And it is rubbing off.
Sometimes I walk into a room and the Dancer is twirling in circles saying something akin to: "blah blah mommy go forest triangle. Oh no! Actually she is okay. La la la..."
The Artist looks at me with grave concern and incredulity. "What is she doing?"
"Just hitting her word quota for the day, Love. Do you feel like chicken?"
Then other times the Dancer finds that communications are down.
"Mommy, I, um, will you, (huff, huff, sigh) where, um, mommy, do we, I (big breath. Regroup)When you, can I, Ohhh! (growl)." Give up. Exit Stage Left. Kicks chair as she leaves.
Or the Cowgirl pulls out her favorite big words and just throws them around indiscriminately as willy-nilly as she chucks a frisbee.
"No, Sissy, that Barbie is not real. She is eventually just a movie." Or
"My friend was really distracted to him."
Sometimes we can translate, but often we just let their little speech experiments die a dignified death.
But I need to take a little blame because I've been trying to listen to myself lately. I put a few doosies out there.
"Please don't irk me."
"I am unavailable. I am immersed in my writing."
"This whining is insupportable!"
"You ought not run in the store."
And just for flavor let me just share a line of the Cowgirls latest school essay.
Hold on. I have to laugh before I write this down. It kills me!
Bill Pickett was the best cowboy that ever lived. He'd wave to the outher cowboys riding on the dust dirt road. At 14 Bill left his ranch and left his kin behind. Bill was in many shows and waved to his new friends and cowboys he met. Soon bill Pickett was famus.
Way to shake up my obscure English with some home-grown hillbilly! don't know what yer kin would do without ya, Cowgirl!