I understand you are trying to play a game with me. You are doing a wonderful job making this part obvious. It happens every day - I'm in the kitchen, and you are in the living room. The baby gate seperates us. You bring your ball and toss it over the gate to me in your clumsy baby way, big grin on your face. You start chattering instructions to me. I desperately wish I could understand these instructions! Oh if I could just respond in the way you are looking for I would, dear son. I am not trying to cause you to be angry with me.
I have tried everything I can think of to continue your game. I've rolled the ball under the gate to you. I've brought it over and placed it back in your tiny hand. I've tossed it back in the same manner you did. I've even tried just leaving the ball where it is, thinking that perhaps this ball has offended you in some way and what I perceived as a game was merely you punishing the ball with exile. Every time I am met with your shrill voice ringing in my ears - your pre-English protests.
Little boy, I know you think great things of your Mommy, but I am only human, and I don't understand your toddler speak. I am trying, and you are getting better at speaking my language, but we are just not in sync yet verbally. You are going to have to help me out more with this one. Perhaps you could get your sister to translate for us, as she always claims to know your every thought.
Until then, I guess I will just continue with rolling the ball under the gate to you, as this is my preference, and if it can't be about you, it might as well be about me.