My nephew came round to my house for the first time yesterday, and here is what he taught me: everything in the world is called 'gar'.

The dogs were called 'gar' (both of them - the demon dog was hiding in our bedroom, probably plotting the end of humankind in payment for making her suffer through a small person being in the house) the keys in the door were called 'gar', the floor was called 'gar', the glass roof in the orangery was called 'gar'.  I'm pretty sure that if he had noticed I existed for more than three seconds together, I would also have been called 'gar'.

This is a far cry from my mum's insistence that the kid is starting to speak, though I am willing to accept it is as much because I am not familiar enough with him to be tuned into his words.  (Which are all 'gar' - just making sure we don't lost that point amongst the complex linguistic discussion going on here), as it is that he is actually not speaking yet.  (As a side note, I have just reaslied that I am making up different rules for using and punctuating within brackets - I am not being consistent.  Bad me.)

The poor little thing looked most put out when we all, (my brother, my sister-in-law, my husband and I) stared back and him and answered with variations on 'Yes, that's right' and 'Yes, that's a [insert whatever object we each had decided he was probably pointing at].'  About the only thing it could not have been was what he was saying, as I am under the impression that I do not own a 'gar'.

I imagine it must have been most vexing, trying desperately to get his point across and us all failing to get it.  To his credit, he kept trying, kept pointing and 'gar'ing and then, for some reason, running around in a circle.  I can only imagine he was resorting to interpretive dance as a means of communication.  Not that it helped - I only really know 'jazz hands' in that dialect, and he didn't use 'jazz hands'.

If nothing else, it was an object lesson in not giving up, and not giving in.  When he did not get through to us, he flung himself at his dad, repeatedly bashing into the side of the settee (which my brother dearest had claimed all to himself) until he got hauled up and could laugh at us from the cushions.  I'm pretty sure that is not what he had started off trying to convey, a desire to be on the settee, not with the pointing in a totally different direction, but at least he seemed happy to have achieved something.

Maybe we should all try out this sort of toddler attitude again.  Just keep bleating on until something happens and then be happy with the result.  Giggle, run around, fall over a bit and then choose a random between laughing and screaming.  It seems like much more of a live-in-the-moment mentality than we have as adults, though I think dogs still have the edge in that one, and also combines the element of going after a goal which can get us further in life.  Most admirable.

As long as the goal is 'gar'.