The twins talk constantly.
Well, 7 of 8 talks constantly. And then tells 8 of 8 what to say. He complies. Usually.
We've been working on 8 of 8's language. We've got him in with a speech pathologist and an occupational therapist, giving him some strategies for a broader language base and for interacting with others more clearly through spoken communication.
Some people collect antiques or movies or china. I seem to collect therapy co-pays.
We're raising the bar on our language expectations for 8 of 8, which is a good thing. A necessary thing. An incredibly important thing for him to be able to interact with his peers appropriately. Which means we need to weed some of the baby out of his talk.
But here's the thing.
I pretty much love a lot of the baby in his talk.
For example: unTerwear~~the garments you wear unTer your clothes.
And "Who's drawing this?" as he watches me type on the computer, asking with the appearance of each letter who is the responsible party drawing the letter inside the screen.
And "Can we go to Chicken Leg?" when he wants to go to Chick Fil A.
I love it. I love how he butchers pronoun position and verb tenses and sprinkles all his communication with these rather genius gems of grammatical creativity.
But then I find that I often have to act as his interpreter. If 7 of 8 is otherwise engaged. Because she is the primary interpreter of 8 of 8glese.
So it's verbal coaching time all the time around here. Correcting his phrases. Catching his dangling participles.
And enjoying the last vestiges of the baby in his talk as the baby of the family.