I remember years ago, long before the book ‘The five languages of love’ came out, my brother in law was trying to explain to a group of us about love.
‘It doesn’t matter how beautiful, exotic or nice smelling the flowers are, it doesn’t matter how long she took to choose them or how expensive they were, I would not be impressed if my wife gave me a bunch of flowers. If however she cooked me a nice meal…….ah ha! now we are talking! I would know she loves me.’ He went on to say that his wife, on the other hand, would be very happy with a bunch of roses even if they were a last minute thought from the corner shop. We now have the book ‘The five languages of love’ by Gary Chapman which explains in detail that people have different languages of love and there is no point speaking to someone in a language they don’t understand.
I was in the sitting room the other day rounding the children up for bed.
‘Come on, bedtime’ I said to my five year old.
‘Ok, penalty shoot out quick’ my twelve year old said to him.
‘Excuse me! Did you not hear me just send him to bed!!!!’ I asked clearly irritated.
‘Yeah mum, he’s going. A penalty shoot out is like my hug goodnight to him’
‘Yes yes mum’ my five year old agreed, ‘he’s just hugging me’.
Talk about speaking a language of love. Well officially football isn’t one of the five languages but it’s certainly a language my boys speak fluently.
100% human. 100% clever. Likes to be loved the way he likes to be loved!