He Gets What He Wants

D. has two teachers. One is our good friend, Morah S. Her assisstant is Morah A. Morah S. takes D. to school every morning, and we spend a lot of time with her outside of school because her husband and Mr. WG are as close to BFF as boys can be. So Morah S. makes the effort to understand D's words, and she knows him well and constantly tells me how well he does in school.

The other day, I asked Morah A., "Do you understand D. when he talks?"

"Well, he just points at what he wants, so I get it for him."

Not quite the answer I was hoping for. But it is true. If D. can't make you understand his words, he will find an alternate way to communicate what he wants. To wit: he'll come into our bedroom in the morning babbling. I admit that when it is still pitch black outside, I don't put much effort into understanding. I put more effort into ignoring and trying to go back to sleep. So D. leaves, and I think, "Ha! SUCKER."

But that's not at all accurate, because a minute later, there he is, back in my bedroom, with the gallon jug of milk in one hand and the dripping container of chocolate sryup in the other. And then he stands there next to me, lovingly dripping chocolate syrup into my hair, and it's perfectly clear what he's saying: Chakya meek.

It's one of those moments where you don't know if you cheer, "Yay D! Nice asking!" or if you just stick the kid in permanent time out and put a padlock on the fridge.