Kathy Rohloff:
Grandchildren’s Talk
Can Liven Up a Home

My grandsons are a constant source of laughter and delight. I know that some of their expressions are not new; children have made comments such as these through the ages. Mine did when they were small, but they take on a new meaning when they are made by grandchildren. Perhaps it’s because you can take the time to savor them, to examine them, to belly-laugh over them.

My three-year-old grandson, Dominic, began to talk much earlier than his brother Karl. His first word was not "Ouch!", but it could have been. When he was one and a half, he decided that he would answer to the name of Alice. Now, he does not know anyone with this name, nor is it featured in a favorite book. He just thought it was funny to be Alice, and he would smile and look off into the distance whenever he was called anything but Alice. It took some convincing, but he will now say that his name is Dominic Russell Alice. Perhaps in time he will be ready to say his real last name.

He’s quick to mimic and pick up on rhymes. Recently, his mama taught him the little ditty, "This little piggy." He was eager later that night to repeat it.

Smiling he grabbed his big toe and said, "This little piggy went to market." He moved on to the next glancing under his lashes at his mom, "This little piggy stayed home." Then in a rush, "This little piggy had roast beef," and triumphantly, "This little piggy had chicken."

Obviously, he couldn’t abide the thought of a little piggy getting no food.

Both he and his brother’s favorite song is "Ring of Fire" by Johnny Cash. Once while he was eating lunch, the CD with that song began to play. He pushed himself away from the kitchen table saying, "I gotta dance." So he hurled himself into the living room and began to jump and twirl around. Need I say that we all joined in?

This past winter he seemed to get a lot of colds. During one his nose was really stuffed. He complained and whined to his mother, "Mama, I have a bugger in my nose!"

"Do you want me to help you get it out?" "No, your finger is too big."

As I said, he tends to make us smile.

Lastly, both he and his brother love to hear bedtime stories. They don’t want ones that you read from a book; they want real stories, and at various times my husband or myself have been called upon to relate a real story.

Last month when they spent the night, I went up to tuck them in. Domi looked up and said, "Monya, tell me a story about when you were a little boy."

Fighting the urge to laugh out loud, I said, "But, Domi, I was never a little boy."

He looked at me quizzically, and then at his brother. Karl saved the day by saying dogmatically, "She wasn’t a little boy, she was a little dirl." Dominic’s brow cleared and he said, "Tell me a story about when you were a little dirl."

So I did.