Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Bluhb Bluhb

I interrupt these European adventures to share a conversation my son and I just had in the car.  I love his creativity, even if nonsensical.  His words are in bold, mine in italics.

Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.

Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.

What's that, son?

Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.

Yes, I heard, are those words?

I'm just talking to my arms, Dad.  That's how I talk to my arms.  They understand.

Oh, they understand.  Well I'm not sure I do.  How is it that you talk to your arms?

I just talk to them.  They got married yesterday, when I was a baby.  So they understand.  It's important that I talk to them.

And what do you tell them?

Bluhb bluhb, bluhb bluhb.

Right, that.  And what does that mean, exactly?


Is that another language you made up?


And what does "phlergn" mean?

It means, like, that I'm telling my arms to rest.

Ahh.  Well my arms are tired, can you tell my arms to rest?

No, I'm not connected to your arms.  I can't talk to them.  But Elsie can, she can talk to your arms.  You should ask her to tell them.

Right, thanks.

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