Non- Verbal Communication-- In Other Words, Passive Resistance

The holidays have come and gone. They were fun and happy and joyful and I'm so glad they're over. The Beans and Biscuit thoroughly enjoyed everything-- the food, the festivities, the company, and of course, the new toys and blinking-lights shoes.

Along with the new year comes a lot of new developments for Biscuit and the not-so-little-anymore Beans. Biscuit is doing admirably well in endeavors of his own and we're very pleased and proud. And Ghandi wold be so proud of the Beans and the new manner of passive resistance they've learned to employ.

Language is a funny thing. It enables us to build institutions like marriage (what were early humans thinking?!?!) and declare George W. Bush the President of the United States (what were present-day humans thinking?!?!). But language does a lot more than just that. I'm not talking about just the words we say-- I'm also referring to the language our faces and bodies use to get a point across, particularly when we can't speak yet.

The Beans have quite a few signs in their vocabularies. Little Pipsi Christmas, obsessed with the Christmas tree signs both "tree" and "lights" incessantly from the moment she wakes up. Both Beans say "shoes", "Dada", "Mama", "Gary", "ball", "Katie", "Grandma", "block", "baba", "uh-oh", "more", "tree", "shower", "bath" and a few others I can't think of right this second. Some are clearer than others but they're getting pretty good at getting the point across. Both Beans are terrible flirts and SparkiParki is particularly adept at looking up at someone from under her long, gorgeous eyelashes-- and both she and Pipsi getting good at another form of body language.

The Beans are daredevils and either one is never more so than when her sister has me occupied with a diaper change. Lots of toys end up in time-out as a result of this and I go to bed more nights than not with three big tension knots in my back from the stress of keeping them alive all day, saying phrases like, "On your bottom, Bean! Sit on your bottom," uttered with one eye on the Bean climbing on the ride-on toy or the sing-along chair that's currently a makeshift ladder pushed up against her crib, looking back over her shoulder at me with a self-satisfied grin on her face while one leg's working its way up the crib slats, and my other eye is on the mound of poop I'm desperately trying to clean off the other Bean while simultaneously trying not to smear any on myself to be found at a later, inopportune moment when someone asks, "What smells like poop?" and then gradually her eyes follow her nose and come to rest on yours truly.

It's the little grin I get, sometimes accompanied by a little chuckle, when they're in open defiance of the "sit on your bottom, now" bit that gets me. It's like looking into the mirror a few years ago, or like the photos of a semi-smirky Hubby from his childhood. It's the echo of a word they have yet to utter yet it oozes from their very essences:

"No."

The most extreme example of this came the other night. It was a first for the Beans and me: our first time for me to give the two of them a bath together, unassisted by either Hubby or any of those handy-wandy bathing gizmos that cost a fortune and end up moldy and disgusting and looking like nothing you'd want your child coming into contact with, especially in the endeavor of getting them clean. The little Beans were in heaven. Just like the younger Biscuit and any other little kid, Bathtime is the most fun ever and they were having a blast. The only glitch was that Bathtime was coming at the end of the day-- a single-Happy-Nappy-day, and they were becoming a bit oncooperative toward the end. Pipsi was in front of me on her bottom and I was rinsing her off when quick little Parki scooted over toward the faucet and stood up with her hand on the spout. I repeated the phrase I'd already said about a billion times that day, "Parki, sit on your bottom, NOW. That isn't safe,"

Parki, standing with her back to me, turned her head halfway so that she could just see me out of the corner of her eye, turned her face back toward the faucet, and ripped a short but very loud fart. Immediately she whipped around to face me with a huge smile on her face and Pipsi burst out in a big belly laugh and started pounding the surface of the bath, splashing water and raucous laughter everywhere.

While the words may be coming slowly, the Beans obviously still find ways of communicating, even things as complex as open defiance. It's frustrating for all of us sometimes, hilarious at others and occasionally it's a little bit of both, but the most encouraging thing I find in it is the emergence of a great sense of humor in each one of them. And we're all going to need that because Parki is not the only person in the house willing to employ the Fart of Defiance. I'll just leave it at that today.