Parenting
At the age of two, our daughter has become quite the chatterbox, especially when we’re at home. She can go on for a full two minutes, stringing together a delightful mix of thoughts that are often a jumble. However, I can catch enough key words to grasp the essence of her musings and respond appropriately.
“Oh, really?”
“Is that so?”
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
My husband and I are slowly realizing just how much of a sponge she is, absorbing every word and mimicking our phrases like a cheerful, featherless parrot. With this in mind, I’ve been diligently practicing my alternative curse words for some time now. Silly expressions like “Aw, shucks” and “shoot” have largely taken the place of my previous, less ladylike exclamations. My daughter’s favorite? The one that gets a hearty laugh: “Mother of PEARL!”
A few nights ago, we were gathered at the dinner table when my husband excitedly recounted his success with metal recycling. “Remember how much you teased me about saving all those cans in the garage?” he asked.
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” I replied, while serving Brussels sprouts, only to be interrupted by our daughter’s loud protest: “Noooo bussel spouts!” I recalled those cans piled up in our already cluttered garage. Sure, it was messy, but I still wasn’t fond of seeing them in her beloved wooden wagon.
“I made fourteen dollars from those two bags, plus seven bucks for the old radiator,” he continued.
“Seven bucks, seven bucks!” our toddler cheered, now incorporating “four times” and other seemingly random phrases into her daily chatter, creating a language only she fully understands.
Reflecting on my childhood, my Italian grandmother taught my sister and me to say the most peculiar phrases in her melodic dialect, such as “I’m single with two kids” or even more outrageous ones. My mother would chuckle and say, “Great, now you’ll have to explain it to them!” I can still recall how to express some of those phrases in Sicilian slang, which often ended up being quite funny.
My husband, who hails from a distinguished English background and has generations of genteel Texans in his family, is horrified when I share these memories. The thought of discussing such phrases with our daughter seems unfathomable to him. I’ll save those stories for when she’s older and can truly appreciate the humor, just like I did with my grandmother.
Recently, during a Facetime call with my sister and her three daughters, she excitedly mentioned the new color of her front door: Black Fox. My daughter promptly echoed “black fox,” but it came out sounding a bit too close to a certain four-letter word.
Go ahead, say it out loud. Now, say “fox” with a British accent.
My sister and I erupted into laughter, especially when our little one leaned in close to the camera to repeat it. My husband reminded me that what’s amusing now won’t be as funny later, and I can’t deny that’s probably true. Just like I’m not supposed to laugh when she burps or passes gas—yet, here we are, giggling while he shoots me a disapproving look. We’ll leave the corrections up to her kindergarten teacher down the line.
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In summary, our daughter is absorbing language like a sponge, and it’s both amusing and a little concerning. While we navigate her hilarious mispronunciations and unexpected phrases, we also reflect on the lessons passed down through generations—balancing humor with the realities of parenting.