Two days ago, I was putting some towels away and passed my daughter Alyson's closed bedroom. As I was heading back down the stair, she called me into her room. "Mama, come," she said.
"How'd you know it was me?"
"I waited for your happy grunt."
Huh? I have a happy grunt?
She said that when I finish a task successfully -- in this case, putting away towels -- I make this distinctive little grunt. She listens for it if she wants something, because my happy grunt means I'm not busy for a minute and I'm in an okay mood.
The next day, I was telling the story to Beaux. Did you know I have a happy grunt?
Jeni, in the back seat, started smiling. "Oh yeah. The happy grunt. I listen for it."
So I started listening, too, and guess what? I have a happy grunt. It's a tiny, understated little thing that sounds like I'm clicking my tongue and clearing my throat at the same time.
It appears, though, that it's not a solo act. This morning Jen told me she likes my happy grunt, but not my growly grunt.
Huh? I've got a growly grunt?
That, she and Aly agreed, is the noise I make when I'm vexed. It's part growl, part throat clear, and it's the preamble to "knock it off, you two."
I found it today when I paid attention, as well.
The girls were delighted they knew something about me that I didn't know, so on our way to the grocery tonight, they introduced me to two more grunts. I have a sad, I'm-disappointed-in-you grunt and a long-suffering (but still short) frustrated grunt.
Huh? Those, too? Yikes.
So I started listening and, blast it, I found them. They're real. I'm a veritable mood ring of sound.
Wonder what other secrets I'm keeping from myself.
6 years ago