Brody, Logan, and I are sitting at the kitchen table. The boys are eating lunch and I'm searching for apple butter recipes on the computer. Brody's been especially short tempered this morning and snapping or getting frustrated quite a bit. I whispered *pssst... Brody.* He whispered back, *what?* I whispered *I love you.*, looking for an "I love you too" response. He whispered back *I know.* At least he knows.
A few moments later, Logan starts throwing his rice and putting his spoon into his cup of milk, so I take them away. All of a sudden he bursts out in what I can only explain as an angry cajun voice. I sigh and ignore his gibberish. Brody says quietly, "He said he wants his milk." Sure enough, when I replay the gibberish in my head it does have the right syllables to be "i. want. my. milk." I guess they have their own language.
No comments:
Post a Comment