Language

My daughter and I speak different languages. I speak English, but she speaks Toddler, with a slight lisp. We're working on her pronunciation - she is four, after all, and will start school soon. I don't want her in speech therapy though if I can help it. Her after-school hours are probably going to be taken up with actual therapy. She'll need some time to do dishes.

She ran into the living room, crying her little quiet cry. I asked her what was wrong, and she showed me her left thumb, and said, "I have an owie. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Ooooowwwww!"

"Ok, ok, sweetie, come on, let's rinse it and I have some stuff to dump on it," and I washed it, put witch hazel on it, and she screamed. Witch hazel doesn't usually hurt, and that's one of the reasons I use it. Hmm. I told her it wasn't that bad, and she didn't have to scream. I dried it off, and she was fine. It was dinner time, so I took her and her sister to the kitchen to make a quick dinner for them. The princess tells me that her finger still hurts.

"Honey, your knuckle is just barked, it'll be ok," I tell her.

"No, Mommy, I don't hear it barking," she says. "It hurts, it's not barking!"

I started laughing, "You don't hear it, huh? Well, a barked knuckle, honey, is.... never mind. Eat your Ravioli."

Then she tells me about another owie she had, and I asked her how she got it. She looked at me and told me loudly, "I was holding the kitty at Nana's and Poppa's, and she scratched-ed me."

"Well, pumpkin, why did the kitten 'scratched-ed' you? Did you squeeze her?"

"Nooo, I was just holding her, and she was trying to get down, and she scratched-ed me! Ooowwwww!" because of course, talking about it again made it hurt, I guess. "She hurt-ed me!"

"Well, when the kitten wants down, put her down, then she won't hurt you."

"Well, but I wanted to hold her."

"But sometimes, if you hold a kitten up high, they get scared and scratch. You don't like being up high, and kittens don't like it either."

"But she wasn't up high, she was right here," and pointed to her shoulder. "That's not up high, and she shouldnt've scratched me!"

"But to a kitty honey...Never mind, just be careful picking up the kitties. Let's go put more stuff on that." I'm not really sure how to get this concept across to her. She's afraid of 'up high' and will not go on anyone's shoulders, so I thought that idea would translate, but she's only four, maybe I'll introduce the golden rule next year.

I think she picks up a lot from TV, too.

She walked in to the living room later that night. "I'm afraid of small dark places. They're scary!" she tells me, and actually fake-shudders! Seriously? WTF?

"You are, huh? Interesting." Small dark places. If she was afraid of small dark places, she wouldn't be demolishing my kitchen, and stealing donuts, and getting into my make-up, and... Anyway, it's dark at night. Small dark places my ass! "Who else do you know that's afraid of small dark places?"

"Franklin is afraid of small, dark places, and so am I! Small dark places are scary! Ooohhh!"

"But honey, Franklin is a turtle, right? His turtle shell is small and dark. If he was afraid of small dark places, he would be afraid of his turtle shell!"

"Yes, and he can't go into his turtle shell, 'cause he's afraid of small dark places."

Dammit, I'm the only one who's supposed to give her complexes, not Franklin. Stupid turtle! "Oh, and you're afraid of small dark places too?"

"Yes," she said with conviction.

"Well, I guess we have to get rid of your tent then, because it's small and dark," I say in a sad, forlorn voice.

"Well." Pause. Thought. "But I like my tent. I'm not afraid of my tent."

"Ah, but it's only a matter of time, since it's small and dark and a place."

She thinks about this about a minute. I go back to my book and wait for whatever crazy excuse-slash-reason she comes up with. "But I'm only a little afraid of small dark places, and during morning-time, my tent isn't dark because it's day time!" Sometimes her thought processes are really, really scary. But then, so are mine.

"Sorry pumpkin, as long as you're afraid of small dark places, no tent, because even if it's not dark except at night, it's always small and a place."

"Well," she says after a second or two, "Maybe I'm not afraid of small dark places at all."

"Oh, well, then that's ok then, Why don't you play in your tent."

"Ok," and she goes to play. Maybe we do speak the same language after all.