A few days after we returned, I noticed some miscommunication between Georgie and I. It started with stamping feet and whiny noises. Hm. Then there was the time he thought it would be funny to spit in my face. There are the sudden bursts of energy that end with a jump into a knee-high deep puddle while we are walking side by side and climbs on the kitchen counters, oblivious to the glass bottle of olive oil resting tensely on the edge. Also, the day he decided to leisurely stroll out a cafe where we were sitting and turn right. Out of sight. On a busy road. Oh and the peculiar requests in the middle of the night.
