Gideon woke up in my arms and looked at me with a lopsided smile. “Poo Pahs,” he mumbled.
I blinked at him in surprise, “I’m sorry, what?”
“Poo Pahs!” he said again, louder this time, suddenly fully awake.
“Gideon, why are you saying that?”
He wiggled off my lap and tilted his head to one side as if trying to figure out whether or not I was joking. “You don’t know that word?”
“Huh,” he shrugged. “It Fench.”
“Yes, it Fench. It mean Push-Pops.”
“Like, the ice cream?”
“Yes, Push-Pops! That how you say them in Fench.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to go tell mom now.”
“Hey, wait!” I called after him, “I have so many questions,” but he was already gone.
At the top of the stairs, I heard him go through the same routine with his mother who was equally confused. I watched him bow in conclusion and start pumping his arms back down the stairs.
“Wait,” his mother yelled, “how do you know how to say Push-Pops in French?”
“Oh, it easy,” he sang over his shoulder, “Sometimes God whispers to me in Fench!”
So, anyway, that is how we learned that our little boy is insane.