Dear Marshall,
You are quite the talker, but you don’t speak English. You speak Martian. It is a difficult language, and though I’ve been working hard to learn it, I have only translated a few words so far. Here they are, in no particular order.
eon = lion
boombee = bumblebee
bye = butterfly
bebra = zebra
wa’oo = water
gok = milk
Nino = Mojo
doy = door
noy = snow
noyn = snowing
a’oo = cat food
o’ee = coffee
gooey = green
blah = blue
yee’oo = yellow
dooey = three
barah = giraffe
gockey = monkey
beu-beu = booboo
po’ee = potty
dindow = window
dat = cat
You are so certain Martian is a superior language, you argue with me about the names of things. When I say “milk,” you reply “gok” so definitively that I begin to think I must be wrong. Maybe I am wrong. Maybe I didn’t drink enough gok when I was your age and I’m just not as smart as you are.
Wa’oo, by the way, is not just a substance, but also a place. There is a drainage pipe the lets out near one of the turns of our driveway. Sometimes the water runs in a torrent, sometimes a trickle, but at most times, like now, it’s a steady, burbling stream. You love to go down the driveway to see it. It’s the first thing you think about when you go outside. You say, “Wa’oo! Wa’oo!” If we don’t take you to it, you throw a fit.
You’ve been throwing a lot of fits lately. We’re not entirely sure why, but we suspect that it’s partly because you’re frustrated with your inability to communicate exactly what you want. These tantrums are no fun for any of us, so I tell you what—I’ll try even harder to learn Martian and you keep on trying to learn English. I’m sure we’ll understand each other in no time, and then we’ll clue in your dad.
😉
Love,
Mom