Many, many moons ago, I took classes in high school to teach me the Spanish language. Several moons later, I went on a mission trip to Mexico and realized I remembered NOTHING from high school.

While cleaning up from an activity, I needed to find the trash can. After many puzzling looks from the natives, I finally found a translator and learned how to communicate my desperate need for a garbage.

“¿Dónde está la basura?”

“¿Dónde está la basura?”

“¿Dónde está la basura?”

“¿Dónde está la basura?”

I said that phrase at least a dozen times. Possibly two dozen. Or three.

And then I continued to say that phrase over the course of the trip.

I was so thrilled with myself. I loved the way I sounded. I sounded smart. I like to sound smart.

Many more moons passed.

I am now the mother of a toddler. A toddler learning to talk.

“Bird in the tree?”

“Bird in the tree?”

“Bird in the tree?”

“Bird in the tree?”

“Moon in the sky?”

“Moon in the sky?”

“Moon in the sky?”

“Moon in the sky?”

“Pancakes for lunch?”

“Pancakes for lunch?”

“Pancakes for lunch?”

“Pancakes for lunch?”

I know how she feels…