Noah roars to say hello. To strangers. To family. To all small children he sees. Many are taken aback by this, or think he is trying to scare them or maybe he is mad. He is just communicating as any lion . . . or tiger . . . or t-rex would. Because that is what he "is" most of the time. I had this conversation with him a few months ago. Luckily I jotted it down on a piece of paper right after he walked away so I could remember it
Noah: Where's my tail?
Me: I don't know. Where is your tail? (I was in the kitchen and working on something and apparently tried to participate in this conversation without really listening.)
Noah: In my bum.
Me: (I am now paying attention because he says "bum" so cute.) No. Little boys don't have tails.
Noah: How come?
Noah: Where's my tiger tail? (Little boys may not have tails, but little boys who are actually tigers might.)
Me: You don't have a tail. (Totally trying not to bust out laughing at this point. This is a very serious conversation.)
Noah: Where's my jaguar tail?
Me: You don't have a tail.
Noah: Oh. (And walks away.)
But for the record, he didn't agree with that answer for long. He often talks about his tail. And he will get down on his hands and feet, with his bum up in the air and swing his bum around, hitting anyone near with his tail.
Last Sunday, Darren had taken Davis out of Sacrament Meeting to use the bathroom and I was sitting next to Noah on the end of the bench. He was wired and moving around all over the place. As he stood up on the bench and leaned out over the side into the isle, I grabbed the back of his shirt to keep him from falling.
He turned around and said, very indignantly, "Hey! Let go of my tail!" Apparently, I was wrong, and he was right - he does have a tail.