Do you speak my speak?

Last night, I had an epiphany I almost wrote about. I'm glad I didn't.. because I'd feel even more foolish today. Yet I will share.

I have noticed lately as Liam is gaining more and more language skills that we communicate the way people who have a similar base language do. For instance, my husband says in Kazakhstan they speak sort of Russian... they can kind of understand a little Russian, but Kazakh is totally different. I suppose it's like the way we speak English and the way the British speak English. And then of course the way the Canadians speak English (haha, just kidding my Canadian friends and family.. just kidding (not)).

So I realized that when I am saying "No, Liam, No!" frantically, emphatically, desperately - he hears an enthusiastic "I dare you to, Liam. I dare you to do it."

My new tactic is Jedi mind tricks, as the ways of the Jedi seem to get through to Liam. "You want to eat the apple, Liam, not throw it in the garbage. You want to bite the apple." I'll keep you posted on the progress with that one.

Today, however, the force was not with me. I forgot my new found idea to use Jedi mind tricks. For a laundry list of reasons, the double sink was full to the brim of dishes after lunch today. After some very trying time with a temper-tantrum-throwing 3 year old who finally succumbed to sleep I took a deep breath and started addressing the sink.

I'm unloading the dishwasher, a spatula in one hand, stainless steel whisk in the other, I turn to see Liam... sitting on the table... legs bent, feet against my large, decorative, ceramic bowl.. slowly... pushing. This is when Jedi mind tricks would have been good to use. But I quickly dash and yell, "No! Liam! No!"

Our communication/language barrier causes him to hear "I dare you to, Liam! I dare you!" and with a quick finish, the bowl tumbles off the table and shatters on the floor.

I. was. sad.

And I stood there. Ready to bake a cake, spatula and whisk in hand. Little wide eyed boy sitting on the table waiting for the response. I look at him as tears start to trickle down my cheeks. The other children look on in horror. I know they think "Why did you dare him to do it, mom? Why would you do that?" Because they still interpret baby and speak fluently to him as well as are picking up grown up speak more and more.

While cleaning up the bowl, darling husband calls. He knows instantly there is something wrong. While I'm sweeping and telling my woes to him, I turn again. To see Liam. Egg shell in hand, garbage lid shutting.

Oh gross I think. As I approach, I realize it is worse than I initially thought. There are already other egg shells from the garbage crunched on the carpet in the living room. I drop the phone, quickly grab the shells from his hand "No Liam!" that was my first mistake. Second was trying to quickly grab the shells off the floor instead of first taking care of the perpetrator. Because upon saying "I dare you" to the baby, he grabs half an egg off the floor and smashes it against my head. Gooey egg white leftovers and all.

I sigh. Pick up the phone and tell darling husband "I have to call you back."

Wash my hands. Wash the phone. Wash the baby. Change his diaper and put him down for a nap. He looked up so angelically and said "Night night, Mommy. Kiss duckie?" and held his stuffed animal for me to kiss.

I came out. Cleaned the eggs. Cleaned up the broken bowl. Took a shower.

Baby Shiloh was awake to eat. Fed her. And by then... it was almost 2 hours from when I first stared down my kitchen sink. And I wonder... "Why can't I keep up with the housework??"