A post!

[alpharaposa]

I haven't been posting lately. Part of this is a lack of time at a computer without the werecub making it impossible to type. Part of this is that many of the things I might post about are grumpy observations about politics, and I don't want to fill up my journal with that stuff. Once in a while, okay, but not all the time.

One of the things I fret about (being a mom, one of my jobs is to worry a lot) is that the werecub is not much of a talker. We know he can talk, and he understands us just fine, but he seems to not feel any need to actually say much.

But we try to encourage him. We ask him about the sound dragons make. We, of course, say "RAaaar!" to demonstrate. The werecub?

*whispers*"rar, rar"

I speculated to the hubby that perhaps all the dragons the cub knows are ninjas, which is why they're so quiet. He was quite alarmed at the idea.

So, ninja dragons, quietly rarring before delivering their deadly strikes?

Comments

[xaq.livejournal.com]

Just imagine...you go out for groceries one sunny afternoon, but just after you leave the house, you remember you forgot your wallet, so you turn around...and see the whole place has been reduced to a smoldering pile of ash. The only hint of what had just unfolded being the light "fwoosh" you heard a moment earlier.


Still, I can't say the idea is that alarming. We've all been to the Un'Goro Crater, after all.

[haikujaguar.livejournal.com]

It is entirely possible!

[jocelmeow.livejournal.com]

Michael's brother Flynn was one of that type. Didn't talk and didn't talk, until some point several years in when he started speaking in complete, complex sentences. Sort of like this old joke which I've copied from _The Guardian_:

An English couple have a child. After the birth, medical tests reveal that the child is normal, apart from the fact that it is German. This, however, should not be a problem. There is nothing to worry about. As the child grows older, it dresses in lederhosen and has a pudding bowl haircut, but all its basic functions develop normally. It can walk, eat, sleep, read and so on, but for some reason the German child never speaks. The concerned parents take it to the doctor, who reassures them that as the German child is perfectly developed in all other areas, there is nothing to worry about and that he is sure the speech faculty will eventually blossom. Years pass. The German child enters its teens, and still it is not speaking, though in all other respects it is fully functional. The German child's mother is especially distressed by this, but attempts to conceal her sadness. One day she makes the German child, who is now 17 years old and still silent, a bowl of tomato soup, and takes it through to him in the parlour where he is listening to a wind-up gramophone record player. Soon, the German child appears in the kitchen and suddenly declares, "Mother. This soup is a little tepid." The German child's mother is astonished. "All these years," she exclaims, "we assumed you could not speak. And yet all along it appears you could. Why? Why did you never say anything before?" "Because, mother," answers the German child, "up until now, everything has been satisfactory."