When I picked up Zeke from school, his teachers said, “Yeah, he’s been like that all day. What’s he doing?”

“You know,” I stammered, “this is new, so I’ll have to decipher it, analyze it and get back to you on that.”

“Hey, Zekey…whatcha doin’, Buddy?”

“Mommy I’m not an elf!”

“OK, Buddy…you’re not an elf. Can you tell me who you are?”

“MOMMY!!! STOP CALLING ME BUDDY, I’M NOT AN ELF!!!”

“OK, Zeke.” My mind does a fast Mommy-kid translation:  Buddy + elf = Will Farrell’s character’s name in the movie “ELF”. Wow! I’m getting good at this.

Taking a different approach to the landing pad, “Zekey, are you playing?”

“NO! I’m fighting!”

“Oh, I can see that. Who are you fighting?”

“No one Mommy…I’m just playing.”

Who’s on first?” I say to the imaginary camera I talk to because I live in a sitcom.

“What’s on second and I don’t know’s on third, Mommy!!!”

“What the…? Nevermind that. Zeke, do you need help putting your shirt on?”

“No thank you.”

“Do you need help taking your shirt off?”

“No thank you, Mommy. I need help making my shirt longer to cover my belly.”

“Of course you do.”

In the mean time, we pick up Nate from his class. He walks out, looks at Zeke and without hesitation says, “Hey, Zane! Wanna join up with the other Ninjas and train with Sensei Wu?”

(sigh) Little-Boy-Speak is a foreign language to me. I hope to be proficient in it before they leave for college.

Now, if you’ll excuse me…I have to sew some fabric onto the bottom of my son’s t-shirt.

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