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Mom Speak
As a child, when I wasn’t being stuffed into lockers for being such a tool geek, or running around endlessly on a circular track trying to chase my teenaged demons, one could usually find me with my nose in a book.
The books I tended to like the most were the ones written in different languages or were about language themselves.
Nothing fascinated me more than learning how people around the world communicated. I sucked it up like a sponge and was delighted to find I had a knack for picking up new languages rather easily.
(Reflecting back on it now, I realize that perhaps it may have been my obvious distain for the peons who struggled in French and German class that contributed to my geek quotient. I may have had a slight superiority complex when it came to watching my peers struggle to decipher the lessons while I was reading Shakespeare in foreign languages that landed my ass in the back end of a dark locker more than a time or two.)
It probably didn’t help that I would cuss out my tormenters in French or Japanese while they tried to fold me in half and lock me up away from the student population.
I was a charming kid. I swear.
When I found myself knocked up with child unexpectedly I remember looking at baby books and envisioning my child as a multi-lingual cosmopolitan globe trotter who would single handedly bring about world peace, end poverty and solve world famine all the while being able to converse fluently with people from all over the globe.
Never mind my child would be born to a farmer and a redneck, my child would pop out of my womb requesting a tit in three different languages and go on to rise above the mediocrity he or she would be born into.
My delusions were shattered fairly quickly when Fric arrived. Turned out I would be happy if she would just stop using my nipple as her personal chew toy while she screamed at me in a language completely foreign to me. The language of baby.
As she grew my expectations slowly sank like a lead balloon. My once lofty goals of raising a bilingual child suddenly morphed into the more realistic expectations of simply getting her to tell me she had to use the potty in English instead of peeing on the carpet. Turns out, the parenting gig was a lot harder than I had imagined it.
I went from hoping my daughter would pick up a new language to hoping she would just stop picking her nose.
Fric didn’t talk right away. She waited until she was past three before she started to string words together. Her brother Frac, a year younger, was hot on her tail and almost her equal in the speech department. I began to worry I was doing something wrong. How the hell was she supposed to talk with people from all corners of the world if I couldn’t get her to tell me if she wanted a cup of juice?
Just when Boo and I were started to seriously consider banging our heads against the wall in frustration, the gates of language development burst open and all of a sudden I had not one but two toddlers who learned to speak at the exact. same. time.
God can be cruel.
Our suddenly quiet home now had a chorus of “I want, I want..” generally shouted at me in tandem, while my loving demon spawn would back me into the corner while poking at me with sharp sticks and demanding peanut butter sandwiches and sippy cups of grape juice.
I rued the day I ever worried they would learn to speak. Suddenly I couldn’t shut them up.
The bright side of this was their eagerness to learn new words. I could say anything and they would parrot it back to me. I took great pleasure in teaching them to tell everyone who walked into the door that “pwe-marital-sex is bad.”
Or their father’s favorite “Fow-ni-kay-shon is fun.”
It wasn’t until they started cussing like little sailors that I realized that I may be abusing my parental powers.
Thankfully, we survived language development relatively intact and unharmed and I was continually delighted to hear my children have sweet conversations with one another while I hid in my pantry looking for a moment of peace.
It is one of my saddest regrets to this day that I never heard my sweet Bug tell me he “wuved me” or call me Mommy.
Fric and Frac try to make up for this by talking non-stop. Even when I threaten to duct tape their mouths shut politely ask them to be quiet.
Fric has developed my love of languages as well. She is currently learning Spanish and French and takes pride in tormenting her brother with her talent at Pig-Latin. He, in turn, has picked up some cute Russian cuss words from some of the kids he goes to school with and takes great glee at hurling them at her with a sneer.
I feel so proud. It may not be the multi-lingual conversations I had envisioned while I was gestating the little suckers, but I’ll take it.
Last night, after a particularly grueling and long soccer practice with Fric and her team mates (read: I stood around and froze my arse off until I thought I was going to turn into a popsicle) I was eager to come home, put the kids to bed and zone out in front of the computer while wrapped in a soft blanket.
The kids, they had different ideas. Stupid me for raising them to be independent thinkers. This’ll learn me.
After repeatedly asking them to put their soccer gear away, get their pajamas on, brush their teeth and get into bed, my requests fell onto deaf ears. They ran around doing everything except what I had asked of them and I could feel my temper start to rise.
They took note and decided to see just how far they could push me before I snapped like a twig and went bat shit crazy.
It didn’t take long. I finally lost my temper (shocking I know) and bellowed at them. They jumped at my raised voice and then proceeded to roll their eyeballs at me and continued to ignore me.
I momentarily thought of beating them, but let’s face it. The adoption peeps frown on that and more importantly, my kids are almost as big as me. With my luck they would hog-tie me and leave me in the laundry room while they celebrated their mutiny.
Frustrated with them and myself, and really wishing my darling Boo was home (because he just has to whisper and they take heed, immediately running to obey his every command. Not that I’m bitter or anything.) I decided to change tactics. Yelling was getting me nowhere.
I walked into Frac’s bedroom where my two belligerent minions were joking and asked them if there was a problem.
“Why aren’t you listening to me? You are being rude, it’s past your bedtime and you need to do as your told.”
Because reasoning always works with preteen children.
They looked at me trying to calculate just long it would be until I went medieval on their arses while weighing the pros and cons of being obedient.
They must have decided I looked pathetic enough to grant me a reprieve so they immediately apologized and started getting ready for bed.
Satisfied, I went to the kitchen to get a bowl of ice cream (don’t judge me, I earned it) when before long they were farting around again.
I snapped. My spoon clattered into the empty bowl and I abandoned the pint of ice cream on the counter as I went to go knock some heads together. They want mean mommy, by golly, they’ll get her, I thought to myself.
“What is going on in here? Are you having trouble understanding me?” I yelled.
They stopped, stunned into silence.
“Fric, you speak French and Spanish as well as English. Would it help if I used one of those languages or perhaps tried pig-latin?”
She sheepishly shrugged and got busy examining the dirty socks on the floor.
“Frac, are you hard of hearing or are you just not understanding what I asked you to do?”
He stood there, looking miserable and took great interest in his fingernails.
“I mean, really you guys, what language do I need to use to get you to do what you are told?” At this point, I was ready to run away from home.
Continued silence as they both tried not to awaken the hidden dragon locked beneath the exterior they call Mom.
“Are you so busy learning new cuss words on the playground that you have forgotten how to understand the English language? Just what language is it that you think I’m speaking that you think you can ignore?” I persisted.
Frac looks up and I could see the impish look in his eye.
“I guess it’s the language of MOM. We just don’t hear it,” he explained.
That stopped me short. I stood there for a second, stunned by his brave show of insolence and quick thinking and then snarled, “Well I suggest you get fluent in it rather quickly.”
“Yes, Mom,” they nodded and finally got into bed.
Hmm. The language of Mom. Looks like I’ve picked up another language with out even being aware of it.
Now, does anyone have any suggestions on how to teach it to two know-it-all children who have a penchant for tormenting their mother?
May 2nd, 2008 at 10:31 am
And another example of why I heart you so much.
You freaking rock. This was such a fun read and so brilliantly written, as is all of your stuff.
I wanna be like you someday, please
I snorted Diet Coke at
“pwe-mawital-sex..” and “fow-ni-ka-shun”
Y’all slay me.
Love it!
May 2nd, 2008 at 10:35 am
Let me know if you figure out a solution.
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:06 am
HAHAHAHAHAHA oh and aw, shit. But mostly HAHAHAAA…my younger two have spent the last year becoming increasingly verbal (meaning that the two-year-old now has the vocabulary of a five-year-old and the three-year-old gets furiously pissed-off at the language-lapping going on and calls the two-year-old “UN-NECESS-EWY!” Because that is my go-to not-the-Eff-word word when someone has done something truly heinous in this house, possibly something involving poo. They think it’s the worst word in the WORLD) and OH GOD IT SUCKS because in the past few months they’ve discovered the joys of VERBALLY poking each other with sticks and tag-teaming me, pushing and squabbling and lisping and pulling at me with those little starfish hands, and…they’re really lucky they’re so cute.
REALLY lucky.
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:13 am
I suggest lengthy sessions alone in their bedrooms stripped of every gadget or thing they love. Maybe then they will become fluent and understand who is boss.
For the record, I speak Mean Mom.
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:16 am
As a prospective parent, you had me laughing… a lot… albeit a trifle nervously!
It sounds to me like they take after you when you were their age more closely than you think, they just rebel against you instead of their peers.
Cheers
BC
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:16 am
I explained Fall-a-she-o to my toddler, once. Her father was a little miffed that I could do that but not explain where the sun went at night.
As for what to do with kids who don’t understand MOM?
I guess you get a vacation: no food, no rides, no ice cream.
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:42 am
You get them hooked on cigarettes and then refuse to buy them any if they don’t listen when you speak.
That’ll get’em in line.
Like the British making addicts out of the Chinese leaders in Hong Kong.
May 2nd, 2008 at 12:25 pm
If you figure this out, let me know. I think they get fluent right as their kid pops out into the fresh air! I have an 18 year old and he still isn’t fluent, my 22 year old is out of the house and could care less if he ever hears it again and my darling 8 year old, well, let’s just say, she isn’t fluent in mom but she is picking up a few words I would rather she didn’t use.
May 2nd, 2008 at 12:49 pm
Hmmmm. I don’t think they have the capability. I think the understanding of the mom language happens in the process of changing the first diaper. As well as the mom “look of death.”
May 2nd, 2008 at 1:00 pm
DAMN. Well at least SOMEONE figured it out. I was thinking my three year old had a hole in his head.
May 2nd, 2008 at 1:04 pm
I keep finding new reasons to love you. I feel like I missed my calling as a linguist. The last time I went to the library, the librarian was a bit befuddled by my urgent need and insistence for him to find me the copy of the just-released memoir of a creole linguist. It was in the computer, but apparently not shelved yet.
I also see into my future when I read you sometimes. I have the same fight with my 3yo daughter EVERY NIGHT when we come home. And I tell her to take off her shoes and put them where they belong. That’s ALL I ask her to do, and yet…she just doesn’t hear me, I swear. I was thinking she’d grow out of it, but it seems that I’m probably destined for at least another decade or two. Erg.
May 2nd, 2008 at 2:13 pm
I find it interesting that in a lot of cases it takes repetition and yelling by moms to get the kids to do whatever it is they need to do and often it takes nothing more than a look from dad. Weird.
May 2nd, 2008 at 5:33 pm
Ah, so that’s my problem. I’m speaking MOM. Silly me. And here I thought my kids just had selective hearing, like the dogs. Blah, blah, blah, WALK, blah, blah, blah, FOOD, blah, blah, blah.
May 2nd, 2008 at 6:02 pm
I was bad. When my two (who are now adults) were at each other and when they were procrastinating I would get all puppy-dog-eyes and tell them I was so upset that I felt like crying. It worked EVERY TIME. Nobody wanted to make Mama cry!
May 2nd, 2008 at 8:59 pm
I hear ya, mine drive me bat shit crazy with this. And now they are too big to try and duct tape to the wall or threaten to sell off to the gypsies. Clever bastards know that no one will take ‘em.
May 2nd, 2008 at 9:17 pm
Around here it doesn’t stop until my head explodes.
May 2nd, 2008 at 11:43 pm
Are they related to my 11-year-old?
Seriously.
And I don’t remember acing Mom Language 101, but apparently I am fluent.
May 3rd, 2008 at 6:01 am
Hmm - no advice, darling. I am known as Mean Auntie everywhere I go because I take no crap, but I also have the luxury of only being around for a few days…
May 3rd, 2008 at 10:44 am
No suggestions, but if you figure it out, please do share.
Oh, and Bug…he loved you more than you will ever know.
May 3rd, 2008 at 10:51 am
I don’t know why it is that kids listen to dad immediately and mom after 20 tries. Even now, in his 40th year, my husband manages to ignore his mom until she looks apoplectic. Sigh. And here I thought sending my kids to French school was going to be the difficulty!
May 3rd, 2008 at 11:34 am
at age 3 and 1 - they are already talking back to me, even the 1 year old who can not talk - some how talks back to me …
May 3rd, 2008 at 1:14 pm
I love the humor this mommy has for a very frustrating situation. Many moms and dads suffer from this problem. My daughter tells me she has a hard time with our youngest grandson Noah age five…I do not…I’m the 61 year old grandmother..and all my grandchildren ages 5 to 27 love to come here..however, they know the rules. And when I go to their home they know the rules. You have to begin early, and remain consistent. I remind them of the promises they’ve made to me, teaching them to pick up after each event. I reward them when they are good. I cook and bake their favorite meals, always reminding them as to how good they are. Most of the discipline is done with kindness, although sometimes there are time outs or I will walk away and wait until they are over the attempted temper tantrum. They are very rare and I explain the rules each time they are coming to our home.
Again, it takes consistency and loosing before you win. There were times when I wondered if I’d be able to make it to the end with them. If they don’t clean up I’ll say, wow you started a great job, you probably missed this come help gram so we can go on to the next things you were looking forward to. Part of it is psychological and again getting there is testy and often aggravating. However, if you and your family are consistent you’ll see little changes for the good. Most of the time the kids know and respect my rules. If they are over the edge, and for me its rare..I have resorted to harsher methods. Time outs and harsher words.
My grandchildren will tell you they know what to expect, even Noah, and they love and cherish our times the same. Sherry will sometimes threaten to call gram if they are misbehaving and they hate that. We put all our feelings on the table and say we are a team and this is what to expect. It works..good luck..and remember it takes several times to even show any kind of progress.
Dorothy from grammology
remember to call gram
www.grammology.com
May 3rd, 2008 at 1:28 pm
It’s posts like this that make me realize all over again how much I love you, T, even though you never email me back.
May 3rd, 2008 at 3:24 pm
Thank god I am not alone.
Even tho mine are 6 and 10 I would swear they tune me out unless I bellow ice cream or playdate. Little shits. Thank christ I love them
May 3rd, 2008 at 4:57 pm
I hear you baby. Loud and clear. I’ll do whatever you tell me. *wink wink*
We’ll dirty talk in MomSpeak. Oh baby.
May 3rd, 2008 at 6:16 pm
I’m partial to the Tao of Mom myself.
And you can’t reason with a preteen? Christ, you can’t reason with a three year old either. When CAN we reason with them??
May 3rd, 2008 at 8:14 pm
They looked at me trying to calculate just long it would be until I went medieval on their arses while weighing the pros and cons of being obedient.
That is freakin’ hilarious.
Mother deafness is a universal language. My kids are fluent in it.
May 3rd, 2008 at 10:43 pm
Wow, those were the days. I remember being the smart ass kid that ignored & mouthed off. I got my ass whipped. I think we should create our own Mom Dictionary & issue one to each of our little darling heathens. Explain to them to learn every word & if you use any word in the ‘new’ dictionary they need to jump!!! Or there will be consequences. See our first word for the dictionary. CONSEQUENCE.
May 4th, 2008 at 6:51 am
Why is it, when I read posts like this on your blog, I can’t help but think of Lord of the Flies?
(Oh, and you don’t have to tell ME about two toddlers screaming “I Want!”)
May 4th, 2008 at 7:02 pm
As stepmom to two teens, I hear ya.
I speak Mom and they speak … well, I’m not quite sure what it is, but I cannot understand it.
May 4th, 2008 at 8:02 pm
When my girls have those days, about the ONLY thing that scares them into compliance is for me to break out my can of souther whup *ss on em’
May 4th, 2008 at 8:37 pm
Mom is the only language I know anymore. But I’m not bitter or anything.
May 5th, 2008 at 6:22 am
I think Dad speak is the same as Mom speak.
Just with a deeper voice.
May 5th, 2008 at 10:34 am
I was just wondering why we don’t ever see pics of Fric or Frac anymore..?
PS. no im not anyone scary.. just a young woman who’s been reading your blog for a while and was wondering how beautiful and grown up ur kids must be getting
May 5th, 2008 at 11:05 am
OH MY GOD, I am feeling such a sense of sisterhood with you right now - in high school, not only did I take French, but I also took Latin, Ojibway and Greek for FUN.
And then I wondered why boys didn’t like me.
I want to know WHY the kids find my gentle, quiet husband so much scarier than me. I’m SCARY! I’m really SCARY!
May 8th, 2008 at 2:16 am
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May 9th, 2008 at 7:42 am
wishing the coolest mom in Alberta a Happy Mother’s Day from the second coolest mom who also spent way too many hours in high school learning languages that she almost never gets to use