"Dad, I had a nightmare the other night. You know, the night before the day when I woke up, that was the night when I had the nightmare. There was a party. Not my last birthday party, but another one, and there was macaroni and cheese, but there was only one serving left. There was this daddy, not you, but another daddy from another kid. Well, he took the last serving of macaroni and cheese but it was on fire so he went under the ground because it was on fire. And when he came back up, this part of his face [points to and grabs chin] was a skeleton and there were strings coming from off of his hands and his fingers were dynami--- were on fire... and the party was RUINED. So that's why it was a nightmare."
Come to think of it... I don't think she breathed through that whole rendition.
The other day S and C had an argument which left both of them incapable of speaking english through all of the sobbing. I was forced to ask M what had happened.
15 minutes later, I got the gist of it [though she was still talking] and both boys were laughing hysterically at the depth to which she thought it necessary to explain this, that it was no longer an issue.
I used to have this harebrained theory that you only have a certain amount of words you are allowed to speak in your life and then you keel over. Boy do I hope I was wrong, for her sake.