Adventures In Babysitting II - Official Toddler Interpreter

It struck me that both of the Hensley Girls were talkers from a very early age: All baby talk, of course, but wonderfully varied, with a complex grammar all its own. To Sharon’s and my great amusement, they could hold up their end of any conversation, never mind that you couldn't understand a word they said, as Jenna Grace demonstrated about a year ago when I was on the road and happened to phone home. The Girls were staying over, and after I spoke to Sharon and Kayla, Jenna Grace climbed up in her lap and made it quite clear in baby pantomime to Mama Sharon that she reeeealy wanted to talk on the phone, her grubby little mitts clenching and unclenching until Sharon handed it to her, after which Jenna and I proceeded to talk for about 15 minutes. I didn’t know it until the end, but as we spoke, JG was apparently embellishing her babble with elaborate hand gestures and facial expressions, which explained the laughter I could hear in the background from Sharon and Kayla as the conversation progressed.

 

Fast forward to present day, and in the past several months, that language has evolved. Recognizable phrases and whole sentences are now the rule, but – not being exposed to Jenna-Speak every day - an interpreter is frequently required. Enter Kayla Zane. Case in point, we all sat down to lunch on Friday, the Girls having a smorgasbord of veggies and hummus, me eating a grilled cheese sandwich (which I had quartered) with a pickle. Jenna looked at me and said something I couldn’t make out. I asked her to repeat it, she did, and I still couldn’t quite make it out. I turned to Kayla and this was our conversation:
- “What did she say?”
- “She wants some of your sandwich”
- “How much does she want?”
- “Just one piece”. Jenna’s head bobbed in agreement.
- “I’ve only got four pieces. Will she trade?”
- “Jenna, will you trade?” Again, she shakes her head.

We do the deal, and I get two pieces of green pepper and a cherry tomato in return. A minute later, Jenna pipes up again. I turn to Kayla. “She wants more of your sandwich” “Is that all?” “No, Papa Pete, I’d like some of your sandwich too.” The exchange rate having already been set, I’m cleared out of the remaining half of my sandwich, and staring down at a measly collection of veggies. Kayla’s are perfectly clean, if few; Jenna’s are disturbing to say the least, having been handled repeatedly, and there’s at least a few that would fail the five second test, her having such a relativistic outlook on which horizontal surfaces are appropriate for food storage. No matter; a deal’s a deal, and at this point it would be fatal to show weakness. Besides, it’s not as if I’m in a position to trot out my killer argument, the one that goes “you know, you could just make yourself a grilled cheese sandwich”. But oh, just you wait Little Missy; Just wait until you’re, like, seven. Then the shoe will be on the other foot.

This is running through my head as I make eye contact with JG and get a big sunny smile in return, her happily holding up the grilled cheese sandwich for my inspection. No need for Kayla to translate this one. In the NFL it’s called Taunting, and it’s a 15 yard penalty assessed on the kickoff.

Kayla’s skills as an interpreter serve us well throughout the weekend, especially when Jenna Grace is excited or upset, at which point in time the language skills break down. And having foolishly committed to a basic exchange rate for food items, I’m going to need KZ to keep from being fleeced at the next meal. I ask Kayla how she can understand her sister and she says “I just can”. I ask her if she can understand other toddlers, and she claims that she can.

I believe her.