This is what conversations have been like in my house recently.
Chance: "Hey MOM!" Super loud, in my ear.
Me: "Ow. Stop yelling! What?"
Chance: "Mutter mutter mumble mutter."
Me: "What??"
Or the other version…
Chance: "Moooooooom! Whine whine whine whimper whine."
I swear to God I cannot understand a thing he's saying lately. It's indecipherable because of the muttering or whining. Sometimes I catch the odd phrase of, "Pokemon! Ninjago! Star Wars!" but that's pretty much it. God forbid he gets bit by a snake or other emergency because I imagine the conversation would go something like this…
Chance: "Mooooom!!! Whine WHINE WHINE!!"
Me: "What?! What is it?"
Chance: "Mutter mumble MUTTER mutter! Whine."
Me: "What?"
Chance: "MOM! Mutter! Whimper! Mutter!"
Me: "Can you say that in a regular voice so I can understand you?"
Chance: "WHINE!"
Me: "Did something happen?"
Chance: "Mumblewhine!"
Me: "Did Timmie fall down a well?"
Chance: "WAIL!"
Me: "How many words? How many syllables?"
Chance: "MUTTER MUTTER MOM!"
Me: "Um… How about a popsicle?"
Chance: big shaky breath, "Whimper OK."
Me: "Here you go. Wait, is that a bite mark?"
And I just know the emergency room would give me grief about that.
You could teach him sign language, but he might already know the common everyday ones.
My son does this, too. I feel like such an aging curmudgeon. “Eh? What’s that, sonny? Speak up, kid!” I know he’s muttering, but I still feel like I’m somehow contributing to the failed communication. It doesn’t help that he then repeats himself with a lot of attitude, either huffy or sarcastic: “What I said was…” (reviewing this honestly, he gets this from me). Thankfully, he doesn’t roll his eyes at us yet. Even worse, though, he’s started doing mocking impressions of his mother and I, making what I call the “Beaker mouth” (as in the Muppets character, not a Pyrex test tube) and flapping it in an insulting impersonation whenever he’s annoyed with us, like when we talk to him about consequences.
None of us have very polished practice when communicating, though: half the time his mom has her headphones on, so she doesn’t hear normal speaking voices, or “doesn’t realize” that someone is talking to her. All of us yell at each other from other rooms rather than take the extra time to walk to speak in the same room. My daughter assumes that everyone can understand her when she’s getting her breathing treatment. For example:
DAUGHTER: WHIRRRRRRRR WHOCKWHOCKWHOCK DAD?
ME: What? What did you say?
DAUGHTER: DAD, WHOCKWHOCKWHOCK WHIRRRRRRR?
ME: …
DAUGHTER looks at me expectantly.
ME: Uh, sure, OK.
I’ve probably agreed to buy her a gila monster and a Camaro.
For myself, I’ve realized that I’ve gotten worse and worse with eye contact over the years. It’s hard for me to maintain eye contact when speaking, as I get more and more animated, gesturing and doing impressions, looking all over the place in only the general direction of my audience. It’s at the point where it unnerves me when someone speaks to me with uninterrupted eye contact, like they’re slightly off-kilter cultists or something. No, Harold, they’re not Moonies, they’re just better communicators than you are….