I can speak Sam

Image from here.


Not much of a talker, our Sammy. He's just hit two, so of course, it's on our mind quite a bit. Over the past week or so, we've started to see the emergence of some language, at least an attempt. Am trying not to worry just yet, but bearing in mind the work we had to put in with Xander to get him verbal.

But it's amazing how much Samuel is able to convey. In just one word.

A "conversation" had with Samuel just this morning. I'll translate for those in the cheap seats, Mkay?


Samuel sees the biscuit barrel. Feels quite strongly that he would like one of thost biscuits. Probably that one there. The third one from the bottom.

"Ta!". Had outstretched, hopeful eyes, little smile.
Translate " Ooh. A biscuit! I'll have one of those, thank you!"

After a gentle "no" from his cow of a mother, a crease appears at his brow. His eyebrows furrow, just for a moment,before he decides that for now, we'll stick with polite..


"Ta!" Translate "It's cool. Maybe you just didn't understand me. I'd like that biscuit there please".

"No Sam".

"TA!". Somehow, he enunciates this word, like I"m just an idiot. Apparently, the polite portion of our festivities has passed.

"TA". Some urgency in the voice - the outstretched palm shoved up close to my face.
Translate "I'm really not sure what part of 'ta' you're struggling with. But I'd really.really. like that biscuit. Now!"

Again, an offer of something else. Banana? Milk? Wheet Bix?
Head shakes for all of these other options. I'd swear there was an actual eye roll.

Time for another tactic. Clearly mama's a cold hearted bitch.

"taaaaaa-aaaah". More syllabals than letters here. Translate "This is going to get loud in a minute. Honestly, my patience with you is running very thin mother, and I'm not happy with you right now. It's 4am right now. How strongly do you feel about the rest of the family being able to sleep?".

A quivering bottom lip, a tear appears at one eye, summoned from the depths of his inner Drama Queen. (No idea where that comes from).

He takes my hand. Clearly, Mama is a dumb ass who must be shown the way.
He walks me to the bench with the biscuit barrel (and speaking of dumbasses, who the hell left that out????).

He raises my hand as high as he can, getting it closer to the benchtop.
A smile. Sparkly eyes. He bounces up and down, clapping his little hands. A squeal. "Ta!"

Translate: I know she thinks this bouncing and clapping stuff is cute. If I act excited, maybe she'll forget we've already had this arguement.

No Sammy. No biscuits at his hour of the day.

I start to walk away, I just need my coffee. Two hands wrap around my leg. Hard. I'm talking hard enough to turn me back around.

Blue sparkly eyes are now steely, determined, and not at all impressed. There is a glare. "TA!!!!!". It is loud. Loud enough that I know it has woken Joel.

No Samuel, we're not having a biscuit. Translate: You think I was kidding? Seriously woman. I don't know why we're even still having this conversation! Do you see what I have to put up with here, people?
A 2 year old bottom hits the floor. There is crying. There is screaming. There is kicking. There is a likelihood that the 6 year old will wake up any second.

There is a bad mother. Who hands the child the freaking biscuit to shut him up.
"Oooh. Ta!" as though the past 5 minutes never happened. 2 year old walks away, done with me now.

Translate - "Sucker".


Sigh. I have him a biscuit from the top. Not the third from the bottom. No siree.




Got to show him who's boss, right?