Language Arts

It wasn't that many posts ago that I admitted that I couldn't understand most of what my Hurricane said to me. There were a few very clear words: cookie, juice, no, stinky. Simple, basic words needed to get through your average day. Everything else seemed to be a different language. Something spoken only in those jungle tribes featured on the Discovery Channel.
Recently a new child has taken the place of that foreigner I pretended to understand. Someone who says things like "mommy wake up" and "open ta gate peas" and "no mommy no. no boccli, no rice. I want pop-tar."
Someone who speaks complete sentences. Someone I can understand.
Most of the time.
There is still the matter of the "Nahg a dopito don don ok?"

I have not one clue as to what he is referring to but I know it's important because even if I'm in the middle of explaining to the cashier that she can't put my milk on top of my bread, he will grab my face and pull me into him, his head tilted into mine so that he is peering down at me for a change. We are eye to eye as he very sternly tells me, "Nahg a dopito don don ok?"
But the part that kills me is that he leans back and pats my cheek as if to say "that's my girl."

I'm not sure what it is I'm supposed to do but I'm clearly not doing it if his disappointed sigh and head shaking is any indication.
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Despite her many objections, Bre is getting the new vaccine Gardisil.
We went back and forth for all of 5 seconds on whether or not we should. I don't know if our insurance will cover it or not and quite frankly we don't care. It's worth it.

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My husband is dragging me into this century and forcing me to get a cell phone.
Yes, my dirty little secret is that I don't have a cell phone. The 5th grader down the street has one but not me and he thinks that there is something wrong with that.