Monsters in the Closet

My youngest daughter talks all. the. time.  

But she doesn't use words.  She's eighteen months old and is most likely the best communicator in the family.  My husband and three year old son are men of few words.  My oldest daughter and I talk a lot but usually say very little.  

My youngest daughter can tell me that she wants milk, that she likes candy, and that scary monsters creep out of her closet at night and have dances on the ceiling in the glow of the nightlight when I've left the room and closed the door and she doesn't really like it, but she knows that it's okay because her mommy or daddy will come fight them off if they get too close, so she can go ahead and go to sleep and save the worry for another day.  

Seriously.

It took a lot of grunts, squeals and finger-pointing to get the monster-in-the-closet story across, but she didn't give up until we understood.

I wonder if I never gave up communicating with my husband, my family, my friends until they understood... how different of a person would I be?  

I'd be less snarky for one thing.  "Didn't I tell you about that last week?  Didn't I?  I hate to say I told you so, but honestly..."

Less sarcastic, less abrasive, less sporadic.

I might even come across as more loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind... wait.  There's a list with those terms in it somewhere.  What was it?  Oh yes.  Galatians.  The fruits of the Spirit.

So next time the monsters come waltzing out of any closets in my house, I'm going to remember this little pep talk.  And I'll go make some quality communication time with my family.