My daughter and I speak our own language. Not all the time,  mind you, but third graders like nonsense as much as silly grownups. Sometimes I’ll just say “Da bee domp, dima shima la,” and she’ll reply “Da bee doopa, dima!” And it goes from there. Sometimes we sing songs from Frozen in this language. It’s all in the emphasis and nonverbal cues. It’s actually not a bad exercise for a kid who has a tendency to be quiet and shy.

After dinner this evening, the kid and I were “talking,” my husband joined in with a “Gabi goo goo.” (We don’t normally team up against him, although once when he was being a goof as only a Daddy can be a goof, I asked “Where did we find this guy?” The kid replied “Alaska.”) Tonight I just I said, “I can’t understand his accent.” The kid replied “Dooma deema ladida French.”

I do love my family.