“Do you want to take your shower now?” I asked the sprog.
“No,” he said. If there is one word he can be said to have mastered, it is that one. No. Also, more, though I don’t give him credit for that one because he skips the latter half of the word and more or less ends up chanting, “Mo’? Mo’? Mo’?” like a drunk trying to get the attention of a hostile bartender at the neighborhood pub.
“C’mon,” I said, coaxingly. He was busy scribbling away on a piece of paper with some crayons, and it was already 8:00 PM. “Shower?”
“No mo’,” he said firmly, his attention still on the paper. Scribble scribble.
“I really think it’s time for your shower,” I told him.
“No mo’, no mo’, no mo’, no mo’,” he said.
I’ve noticed this tendency in the child that when he thinks his point isn’t being made, or if we don’t understand what he is saying — because after all, how much can you really convey with a combination of vowel sounds and the word, “Mo’?” unless you’re French, let’s just say for the sake of argument — he’ll simply repeat the same phrase again and again, louder. It seems to be the penultimate toddler reaction to communication barriers. “Just like meeting someone who doesn’t speak your language,” I told the Guy. “You know, how some people just … automatically talk slower and louder, like that’s going to make a difference?”
“So it’s a human instinct?” he asked.
“I think it’s just British,” I said.
Back in the present day, I demonstrated my qualifications as a parent by saying in a firm and decisive tone, “It’s time for your shower, Hobbes. Let’s put your toys away.”
Hobbes stopped scribbling to regard me thoughtfully.
Then he tried to stab me in the face with the crayons. Yellow and indigo, I believe they were.
It’s awful, the things I find hilarious nowadays. I would have told him to use his words, but he already had. I suppose acts of violence are the natural next step in establishing a solid communication line.
Good boy.
