I absolutely love the Irish language.
She’s beautiful, haunting, full of blessings (and curses), and chalk full of crazy-ape rules. Crazy-ape exceptions to the rules are what’s really maddening.
After spending a total of nearly five years learning this language I can say that she has found her way into my heart, and become a part of me in a way I can’t fathom any other language doing.
I love the that there’s no direct way to say anything. There’s no yes or no.
(Hubs will attest to the fact that this language and I fit like a hand and glove.)
An example of this phenomenon is the way you say unique. There is no word for unique. You must say what translates to, “There’s not the likes of it to be found anywhere.”
One of my absolute favorites is a way they say “laughing really hard” in Irish.
Laghta ag gáire.
Pronounced LAHG-kee EGG GAH-dee, it means
Weak with laughing.
I love the poetic, vivid imagery in that.
Our son’s name means laughter. Among the many reasons we chose the name we did was because it is our prayer that he would be a person of joy, full of laughter.
Boy is he turning out to live up to that interpretation!
He takes immense pleasure and enjoyment from so many seemingly simple or mundane objects, tasks and sounds. I’m sure the fact that he’s a nineteen month old boy has nothing to do with it, either. Ha.
Just yesterday he spent nearly an hour on my lap weak with laughing because he would touch my head with a plastic ball and I would cross my eyes.
The day before, I rolled a plastic ball round and round and round and round a plastic disc. I wish I could have gotten a picture of my little munchkin as he arched his back, threw his head back and cackled and then collapsed forward, hands on his knees, face as red as a tomato, drool forming at his mouth, struggling to catch his breath he was laughing so hard.
Weak with laughing.
I worry about a lot of things.
Our kids go to a school where very little of our beliefs are shared by others. We are half a world away from family and friends.
This mom’s heart is constantly and consistently mulling and fretting and pleading and wringing proverbial hands making sure we are teaching our kids the most important things. And mourning the fact that we so very often screw it up beyond recognition.
We talk about the serious things. Making right choices. Being honest. Being kind.
Serious comes easy to me. Deep thinking, right and wrong, black and white. That’s my niche.
Laughter? Not so much. Let alone being weak with laughing.
His Still Small Voice spoke to my heart during that crazy hour full of laughter, tears of laughter, sore bellies from laughter.
I am Free. I am Loved. I am Rescued.
I want to get out of my own way more often and take time to enjoy the world, the things, the people around me so much that it makes me weak with laughing.