Tuesday, May 1, 2012

The Flipper, the Thrower and the Wiper

I love toddler's emerging language.  I loved how Wolfie leaned to say his sister Tulip's name when she was born and he was just over two years old.  He called her "Baby", then "Baby Girl", then "Tubik" and finally "Tulip". 

I love the way Tulip would enunciate the word "actually" like this: AT-uwalleeeee

Luna will be 3 in one month and three days.  She will no longer be a toddler.  She will be a pre-schooler and that is a child.  Not a baby any longer, but a child.  (Let's not tell her, okay?)

In the meantime, I am going to enjoy some of her two-year-old idioms.

1.  The Flipper
I have a large, light-weigh solar-powered calculator.  It has big enough buttons that make a subtle "click" sound when pressed.  Luna calls this toy the Flipper.

2.  The Thrower
Somehow, my family has come to acquire an 18-inch diameter Whoopee Cushion.  It's enormous.  One night, we were having a dance party.  The kids were taking turns dancing and when it was Luna's turn, she incorporated the Whoopee Cushion in her routine.  It was deflated, and she sort of twirled it around like a lasso while she ran in a circle.  Sure, two-year-olds call this dancing.  Who am I to argue?  But ever since that dance, she has referred to the Whoopee Cushion as her Thrower.

3.  The Wiper
Right now, as in this week and very much so this minute, Luna has a snotty nose.  It's just running like a faucet.  Gabe and I are armed with handkerchiefs in our pockets and there is at least one handkerchief stashed strategically in each room of the house.  Two nights ago I gave Luna a little handkerchief to keep next to her pillow so she could wipe her own nose.  She thought this was awesome.  I guess, as a two-year-old it is a rite of passage to be awarded your own personal handkerchief, or Nose Wiper.

As I write this, Luna approaches me and I notice a wet streak under her nose.  I tell her to come close so I can wipe her nose and I reach for my back pocket.  She says, matter-of-factly, and with the slightest air of annoyance, "Mama, I have a Nose Wiper in my bed.  I have a Nose Wiper in my bed all day."

How soon to three?  Too soon.

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