MP was a signing baby, with a vocabulary of close to 100 words before she could talk. By far, I’d say that teaching her to sign was one of the best parenting decisions I’ve made. (If I do say so myself. Pat, pat.) Because she was able to effectively communicate, there was very little frustration … on both our parts. It made things SO easy.
Although she doesn’t actually remember signing, every once in awhile, I’ll catch a little glimpse of the past. Like when she subconsciously makes the “milk” sign when she’s sleepy and needs comforting. *sigh* It’s these sweet little remnants that tug at my heartstrings.
Now, she’s learning sign language all over again at preschool. (Excuse me. preKINDERGARTEN.) She shows me the sign for “shorts.” She shows me the sign for “awake” which is too cute for words. I’m terribly impressed. I can’t just let it go, so I grab hold of this teaching moment.
Me: “Do you know why we use sign language?”
Me: “Some kids can’t hear, so we use sign language to talk with each other. If we don’t use sign language, they can’t understand what we’re saying.”
MP: “Well, sometimes I don’t understand what you’re saying …”
On that note, I thought I’d post the American Sign Language alphabet. ‘Cause I think it’s really cool. And a little education each day is a good thing, don’t you think?
I can’t remember if we learned it in school or girl scouts or what, but once upon a time, I knew this by heart. Instead of passing notes in class, my middle school friends and I would surreptitiously spell out and send secret messages across the room. At the time, it was pretty cool.
I found some other signs in my Google search. Like this.
Oh HELL no.
I don’t care what those crazy Germans say, you won’t catch ME sitting on a public toilet seat. Especially with that whole pee fountain thing goin’ on.
This got me thinking about travel. I remembered the summer of ’87, a road trip to Minnesota, and this.
I had a thing for signs back then too. And shrunken sweatpants.
I think we’re all in agreement.
Clearly, I was a dork.
And now, in the spirit of open and honest communication, and to try and wrap up this somewhat disjointed little stream of consciousness, I ask you to consider the following …
You say sixty-nine.
I say sniffin’ butts.