Foreign Language Master

I often regret not paying more attention in Spanish class during high school and college.  I even regret more that I didn't speak Spanish more often than English while I was actually in Spain.  I understand the language when someone is speaking it, well when they speak it slowly.  I can read it better than I can speak it or interpret it.  So where does that leave me?  

I find myself starring in awe at people who have mastered foreign languages not excluding sign language.  I marvel at their abilities to dissect pretenses and transpose verbs.  I love watching people interpret hands moving and their ability to converse with each other.  

Then today it hit me... I speak a foreign language besides the limited Spanish I thought.  I speak the language of Motherhood.  It's a lesser known language, but a legitimate one none the less.  Ethan, my four year old; spits out words like "troken omote" and I actually know what he is talking about.  He is explaining to me that when he is old enough to drive, he will have several race cars that all operate on his special "remote control".  And when Lydia says "oooohhhhhh piiiiittttty" she's actually telling me, "Mother, that is the most beautiful thing I've seen in the last 20 seconds".  And even my eight year old gets a little tongue-tied with "Moody Theater", but I don't mind I actually know what he means.  Evan is a whole different story.  Glen and I often think he is from another country with his very adorable accent.  He sometimes throws me for a loop... his words and I often hit the language barrier, but in time I eventually figure them out as well.

So all this time I have been full of regret, not retaining all that I learned in college.  I have felt bad that my dad paid good hard earned money for my education.  But then I remember that I know what "troken omote" means and my regret turns to anticipation of the next big challenge one of my children will send my way.