Remember the days before they could talk?

It seems to me, sometimes, that we long for those non-talking days, no? I think that thought flashes through all parents' minds at times - like when your child is throwing a category 10 temper tantrum in the middle of Target. Of course, you take the wonderful with the challenging. That's part of our job.

There's the Fort Knox-like way they keep secrets:

*CL and Henry driving home from pre-school*

"Mommy, you going to like it. Oh! I was not supposed to say anything."

"What, Honey?"

"I was not even supposed to say that."

"Is it a secret?" *CatholicLibrarian pictures adorably constructed Mother's Day gift, and smiles lovingly*

"YES. I not supposed to say anything... Want me to tell you?"

"No, Honey. I want it to be a surprise. I can't wait to see what you made."

"It's a tea pot."

Or, the interrogator-like questioning style that they develop rather quickly:

*at BJ's, ordering tires for my car*

"Mommy. Who's that guy?"

"That's the Michelin Man, Sweetheart."

"Who is he?"

"He's...huh. Well, I guess he's a mascot. For tires."

"Is he real?"

"Well, he's a mascot, Honey, so he's not really real."

"Is he a guy in a costume?"

"Yes, Honey."

"Who's inside the costume?"

"I don't know, Honey."

"You have to tell me."

"I'm not holding out on you, Sweetheart, I just really don't know."

"Is it Peter Parker?"

"No, Honey, the Michelin Man isn't a super hero, he's just a tire guy."

And suddenly, the thing that I dreaded from infanthood has come to pass:

"Hi Sweetheart, Mommy's home! Come give me a kiss!"

"No."

"What do you mean, no? Mommy needs a kiss." *eyes narrow*

*Hank backs away, slowly*

*I grab him and kiss his cheeks relentlessly*

Perhaps this is the reason for the reluctance.