And, for the most part, I don’t like it.
But it isn’t all bad, either.
For instance, Quinn now points to his nose while saying “no” (his version of “nose” of course). For some reason he seems to think this is the sign for “give me a chocolate chip.” I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve been bribing him to point to his nose by giving him chocolate chips when he does it, or anything . . .
He also is now saying “mo” when he does the sign for “more,” which he actually seems to think means, “Food woman! I want food!” The other day I dumped some stale, dry cereal into the dog bowl and he toddled over, looked longingly down at it all, and started signing and saying “mo, mo, mo”.
Quinn has also learned the sign for “all done,” or “all gone.” We use the same sign for both. I don’t know if you’re supposed to do that? But whatever. And, as he does the sign he babbles a two syllable utterance that is supposed to be “all done.”
He has also started saying dog, though it is uncannily similar to the way he says dad, so the only way to differentiate is to follow his gaze and see if he is looking at his dad or at a dog. It is so weird because, just like Laura said about Mattix the other day, Quinn will say something clear as a bell, but then never repeat it (I’m thinking specifically of the famous “Amen” incident at church, and the lesser known, “There you go,” incident in the truck). Though, actually, he does say amen all the time now, but with nowhere near the same clarity as the first time.
Anyway, the things he does say, he doesn’t enunciate all that clearly. Ma ma and amen and more all sound very, very similar. We can tell the difference only because when he says more he also signs it, and when he says amen we have either just finished saying a prayer or are getting ready to say a prayer (either way, he is squinting his eyes opened and closed purposefully and rapidly when he means amen — oh, and smiling with great pride at what he is doing and the attention it is getting him).
*I just had some Kirby vacuum sales guys try to wheedle their way into my house! One minute one guy is talking about some new store that will be opening nearby (as if there is anything actually nearby), similar to a Sam’s club, and then his cohort runs off and comes back with a Kirby. What the . . .???? *
Where was I? Oh, yes, changes. The little bean is talking, though not perfectly clearly. I’ve had some concerns about his receptive language development (mostly over the whole not pointing to his nose thing, but I know that’s what Dr.’s look for. They don’t ask if he recognizes and responds to the words to Patty Cake or knows how to take a lint roller to the dog-hair covered furniture. No, they will ask him to point to his nose and see if he responds).
So, anyway, I don’t think I’m as worried as I was, but it’s been a while since I read all the adoption books. What is the standard? How long after a child is home before it is estimated they will have adapted to the new language and understand most of what is being said? I know it varies with age, but as far as toddlers go?
Also, another question, totally random: when I was a little kid my brother and I loved this book . . . I think it was about a witch and a wizard who were having some kind of spell duel. It was a kids’ book, not a novel. At one point one of them cursed the other with “Ha ha ha! Hee hee hee! Athlete’s foot I give to thee!” Does anyone know what book I’m talking about? Because I sure don’t, and I think my kids would like it.
How’s that for dis-jointed randomness? Really, it’s been a struggle to get this much accomplished on the blog today what with all the noise and interruptions by kids and dogs and vacuum cleaner salespeople. I could soooooo use a diet Dr. Pepper right about now — but I’ve been caffeine free for about three days now. Go me! Just slowly. And grumpily.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the Newt says hello.