Yesterday the kids’ school had a parent seminar about Language in the Home; about developing language skills and how we can help guide them. It was interesting and I love that the school makes time to offer advice about our kids.

B&B are pretty on-track with their language abilities. They are probably still a little hard to understand for people who don’t know them well. Our landlords, when we see them in the stairwell, are always looking to me to translate the B&B-speak. I’ve always been a little worried about their language skills, but that is probably because all of their cousins who are about the same age (or younger) speak like they are about to orate from a podium to a room of English professors. Whereas our kids sound like George Bush. When all the cousins are together, I think of the movie Parenthood. Remember Rick Moranis’ daughter? Reading off french flash cards (or whatever it was)? — Our nieces and nephews. Remember Steve Martin’s son? Wearing the helmet and walking into walls? — Our kids.

Not that it isn’t entertaining. Over the summer, while taking a break from cornhole at our friends’ house, the twins stood opposite each other across the yard, one of them yelled, “On your mark, get set, GO!” and they ran full speed ahead right into each other and fell back on the ground, laughing hysterically. Then got up and did it again and again while the rest of us watched. One of our friends said, laughing, “Oh my God, I feel like we should stop them,” while our other friend said, “It’s like watching the beginnings of Mensa.”

I think we’re raising little Spicolis. Or Bill and Teds. Or Harry and Lloyds.

Okay, I kid. They are really pretty f’ing smart. And also fully entertaining.

I think Beloved once asked if they really speak the way I write. And they do — I really try and write verbatim — but I’m sure it wouldn’t be as easy to understand for someone who isn’t around them all the time.

This was our conversation this morning on the way to school:

Buddy: “Mom, there’s a lot of traffic today.”
Me: “Hmmm… actually, traffic isn’t too bad today.”
Buddy: “Well I think it is. I think the traffic is really bad today.”
Me: “Really? It seems okay to me.”
Buddy, “Well I think it’s bad… Um, but Mom? What does traffic mean?”

Love love love… love being a witness to them trying to figure out the world.

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Jenn has asked me twice now how Bean and Buddy originated… And I’m not sure if she is asking because she thinks Bean and Buddy are their real names or she does realize that they are, in fact, their stage names…? Not sure. Jenn, I apologize if I misunderstand.

Bean came about because she was so small when she was little. Even though they both weighed in at the same size (6 lbs 2 oz each), she seemed so tiny next to Buddy. Maybe also because she stayed in the ICU for the first three weeks and seemed fragile to us first-time parents (even though she was strong and determined since Day One, pushing up on her hands and growling when the nurses were demonstrating to the new parents how to give a sponge bath). To us though, she was always a bean. So we called her [Real name] Bean. (She thinks her middle name is Bean, which it’s not.)

Buddy came about because we would go in his room in the morning or after naps and say, “Hey Buddy, what’s going on?” I needed a moniker for him for this blog so I used the alternaname we used most often with him.

I love when B&B use these nicknames with each other. Sometimes I’ll hear Buddy call for Bean, “[Real name] Bean! Where are you?” Or I’ll hear Bean affectionately say to Buddy, “Aww Buddy, are you all right?”

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Bean has been getting up super early lately. And skipping naps at school. So recently, G got up with them, got them dressed, and sat them down on the couch to have a talk. He lectured to them the importance of sleep and that if we all get up too early, everyone is cranky and we argue with each other and we don’t want to do that. So everyone needs to try and sleep more, blah blah blah. He finished off with, “Now, make sure you sleep late tomorrow — until 6:15, ok? Then I won’t be so grumpy. Ok, guys, let’s go get some breakfast now.”

Buddy got off the couch and said, “Dad, that was a REALLY loooooong story.”

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Lastly (to end this REALLY loooooong post with no point), thanks for chiming in on the hand-holding mom. There were some differing opinions on developmental delays and being able to dribble the ball with ease and also, autism. I don’t know much about autism at all, but feel horrible if that is the case. I’ll see if they show up this week and see what happens. I have a hard time with openers sporting any decorum and would probably put my foot in my mouth by approaching the mom and asking if her child is autistic. If he isn’t and she is just the overprotective mom, I can see how this might offend. So I’ll wing it and if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll try and find out.

However. I will say that I wish she would have let his hand go for just a little while. She could have stood nearby. She was constantly the first one to reach for his hand, not vice-versa. I think what made me curious was the fact that she didn’t try to take even five steps from him. I can understand if he started throwing a tantrum, but she didn’t give him an opportunity to do so. Autism or not, shouldn’t a child be given a chance at independence and confidence if the opportunity is there AND you are there to witness/control it? I would not have judged if she had let go and he had thrown a tantrum but sadly, maybe she feels judged if or when this does happen.