Another Language

As you may have noticed from these tales, our five year old has a gift for getting into trouble. Sometimes it’s his fault and sometimes it’s not – but if kids are getting in trouble, he’s usually in the middle of it.

The other day, I was sitting at the kitchen table when he and his momma came storming in. He had driven her to absolute distraction with some crime or other, and she was informing him – in no uncertain terms – that he would not ever perpetrate that particular crime again. He stood in the kitchen, shoulders slumped, listening to his momma.

She was mad. No, she was wagging-her-finger mad. It doesn’t happen often, but when momma wags her finger, we all quiet down.

I stayed at the table, quietly watching the spectacle. Having been on both sides of that particular scene, I knew better than to interfere.

Suddenly, our three year old walked quietly out of his bedroom and right into the middle of the conflaguration. “Excuse me,” he said.

Neither his brother or his mom noticed. “EXCUSE ME!” He shouted.

They both turned to look at him. “Could you keep it down, momma?” he asked, looking up at her with his big brown eyes. “Could you keep it down?”

His momma and brother stared at him, open-mouthed, looking very much as though he had spoken another language.

I couldn’t help myself. I started to giggle.

That set off the others and soon we were all laughing.

In retrospect, I do believe that he had, in fact, spoken another language.

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