it’s not about you

Because I’m procrastinating working on my novel:

Judah’s Aunt Lacey gave her a little gift when she was here in August. It’s a educational item, sort of like flash cards, but not really. It’s called something like “BrainSmart” or “I’m Smarter Than You” or “This Is To Get Me Ahead Of All The Other Kids In My Grade” or something like that. It’s a set of two flip-chart type sets of cards with a thinking activity on each side. The answers are on the following cards. It’s picture-based and Judah loves it and is pretty good at the whole thing. My dad would say it’s because she’s his granddaughter, but I’m so taking credit for this one.

Anyway, one of them shows several tools - a hammer, a screwdriver, a wrench, combination table/miter/crosscut saw, that kind of thing - and one “answer,” like a nail. It’s her job to figure out which is the right tool for the job. The set also encourages you to use the cards for other things, like asking her to name each tool.

So I did. I pointed to the picture of the hammer, and said, “Judah, what’s that called?”

“It’s called a knocking-fings.”

I tried another tactic. “What is it used for?”

“It’s for knocking fings.”

Of course.

Another card has a picture of a shoe without any shoelaces. I asked her, “What is this shoe missing, Judah?”

“The other shoe,” she replied.

Technically, she’s correct. You can’t pull one over on my child, I tell ya. She’s gonna tell you how the cow eats the cabbage.

In addition to “mama,” “dada,” “bubba,” and “uh-oh,” we can now introduce:

“na-na” (banana, but Nana was on to something when she picked her name. I’m just sayin’) and “dude”

And my personal favorite, the stand-in for all future words:

“unnhh?”

The pitch gets higher toward the end.

If I ask him, “Killian, do you want to nurse?” he gets all excited, starts wiggling around like a puppy dog and tearing at my clothes, and opens his mouth and lets his tongue hang out.

He signs “more” ALL THE TIME, BECAUSE THE CHILD IS A BOTTOMLESS PIT, and can sign “milk” and “all done.”

He can scream at a high enough pitch to call dogs, set off car alarms, and send his mother reaching for the liquor cabinet.

Now if I can just get him to say “abomination,” we’ll be set.

That would be my son. Throwing my Vans in the toilet.