There is a power to our words, my children teach me this every day.
I love words. I love mixing and matching, making up new ones and discovering the old, forgotten ones. Language is a big pot of stone soup. We are all bringing and taking away.
When I am feeling lazy, dispossessed of my negotiating facilities or in a raggedy rotten mood I fall back on our cultural pop psycho babble that is fun to play with but says little. A teen is different from a 10 year old is different from a 4 year old with a capacity for understanding among other things, what we are talking about. And my language discrepancies are highlighted by the looks I receive back. That is the hardest part for me of having many ages of children.
Inspired by an incident with my eldest.
He: Can I sit in the front seat of the van?
Me: No, I need the head space.
He: But your head doesn’t sit next to you.