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I’m in the kitchen, cleaning up and prepping dinner for tonight. Ethan is quietly playing in the other room, and Henry and Miranda are playing together — quite nicely, thank goodness — in the kitchen/playroom. I’m giggling at their conversation, and thankful that at least some of the things we try to teach them are sticking.

Henry: You give me da ball, ‘Anda?

Miranda: No! I hide it.

Henry: ‘Anda! Where da ball go? You give me it?

Miranda: No, Henwee. It my ball.

Henry: (getting agitated) ‘Anda! Give Henwee ball!

Miranda: Maybe you aks nice, Henwee?

Henry: Peese, ‘Anda? You play ball me, peese?

Miranda: Dats better, Henwee. You can have da ball now.

Henry: Tank you, ‘Anda! Tank you! Tank you!

Miranda: Welcome!

Manners weren’t just a nice thing to have in my house growing up, they were a requirement. There was never a reason to not have good manners, and when Mom wasn’t home, it almost felt like the copy of Miss Manners on the bookshelf kept us on track.

Sometimes, I think, turning into your mother isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

One Comment

  1. Pobba says:

    Don’t you know a sound engineer who could record these conversations?