I love the phase Gabie’s in right now. He’s six and reading and keenly aware of language but still doesn’t appreciate how random it all really is. He thinks once you learn the basics of grammar, you can predict how it will always work. If only this were true. But being Gabie, he just charges ahead undaunted. If the English language doesn’t make sense, you just invent your own, more logical, more Gabified version.
A few recent examples...
Mom, why do they call it cider? Cause I think there’s nothing it goes on the side of.
Gabie: Is this paper terrible?
Mom: What?
Gabie: You know, is this terrible paper?
Mom: Honey, I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.
Gabie: Is this the kind of paper you can tear?
Mom: Oh! You mean is it tear-able?
Gabie: Isn’t that what I just said?
That was so funny. You laughed the heck out of me.
(After a trip to the dentist this week...) Mom, how much did it cost for him to look at my tooth? I don’t think we should pay the dentist, I think the dentist should pay us. Because he’s the one that makes the kids suffer hurtiness.
(This one’s my favorite, but it might take a minute—like it took me—to figure out Gabie’s thought process). Mom, my favorite pants are dirty. Can you please wash them? Don’t worry, it won’t waste much energy if you wash just one cloh.
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7 comments:
"You laughed the heck out of me" I loved that!
And yes, it did take a minute but I got the "cloh"
There is nothing better than listening to children learn how to talk. It's fascinating watching their minds working to put it all together.
I got it right away. I feel so clever.
He's such a smart, darling boy, isn't he?
I miss that Gabie! I'm so glad you document these things.
Gonna be the geek of the group and admit I don't get it.
Ok, oK, I just got it. Because Clothes is plural. Yeah, I'm dense.
These are the kinds of things that I crave hearing. I CANNOT WAIT FOR MY KIDS TO TALK. I promise (hand over heart, no fingers crossed) that I will remember how much I wanted them to talk when they are teens and won't shut up.
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