Fact: both my children are, at the moment, very interested in cars and trucks.
Fact: both of them have avoided pronouncing "truck" as "fuck," but that doesn't mean they have the correct pronunciation. They vary between "guck" and . . . well, not guck.
Fact: my neighbor has a gleaming black pickup.
Fact: a not-quite-two-year-old's voice can carry for at least three miles in clear weather.
Fact: For some reason, Mommy has a tendency to facepalm when my darling little girl announces "IS A BIG BWACK COCK!"
So if I have to flee the country and change my name from embarrassment, I just want y'all to know what's going on.
What apparently went through my baby boy's head today, just before naptime:
All right, time to keep myself occupied while Mama gets my sister to sleep. Still don't know why I can't ram the bedroom door with my toy car or make it play "Yankee Doodle Dandy" fifty-seven times. Grownups are just weird. Ah, here we are—pokey things!
Right, I've seen Dada use these pokey things before. This one points, and *press press press press press press* ah hah! The screen thingy comes on! Sort of boring, though, just a little sign bouncing around saying "No Signal." Well, I can fix that with the other pokey thing. *poke poke poke poke wiggle wiggle wiggle poke*
Hah! Now everything's purple! And there are boxes! *wiggle wiggle wiggle* No, I don't want to play Mama and Dada's squareness game. They keep yelling at someone called a "creeper," and I don't think I'd like him. No, I think I want . . . Internet! That sounds cool. I'll get an internet. *poke poke*
Hey! Pictures! Pictures are good! Little boxes with words are boring. Go away, little box. *poke* Why are there more little boxes? Wha—HEY! Mama, why are you taking away my pokey things? Why are you turning off the screen thingy? What do you mean, "You can't buy stuff on Amazon?!" Put me down, I have rights!
So . . . yeah. Despite a vocabulary of less than twelve words, my son is smart enough to use the Playstation.
Mark my words, in five years, he'll be running this joint. And by "this joint," I suspect I mean "Earth."
Just a few examples of toddler help:
Shoe Help. Step 1: Fill Mommy's right shoe with all baby shoes. Step 2: Fill Mommy's left shoe with balls. Step 3: Drag shoes to opposite ends of the house.
Phone Help. Wait until Mommy is on the phone with someone who doesn't know you, such as the insurance rep. Help with the conversation. Like so:
Me: Okay, my subscriber ID is 123—
Baby Boy: BYE-BYE!
Me: Sorry, one of my toddlers really—
Baby Boy: BYE-BYE!
Me: Really likes phones, and he knows what you say to them is—
Baby Boy: BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE!!!!
Me: Shhh, it's not bye-bye time yet!
Baby Boy (delighted that I took his suggestion and said the thing): BYE-BYE-BYE-BYE-BYE-BYE-BYE!!!
Me (after a distinctly longer-than-usual phone conversation): Yeah, that's everything. Thanks for being so understanding.
Rep: No problem. Have a nice day!
Baby Boy: . . . Hewwo?
Bathroom Help. Notice that Mommy is in the bathroom. Ascertain, through vigorous and possibly head-first testing, that she has firmly closed the door. Sit outside with sibling and sing/shout, loudly, in two-part cacophony, about bottoms (DODDUMMMM, DODDUMMMM, DODDUM) as if you think that Mommy's bottom is in dire straits (DODDUM DODDUM DODDUM DODDUM) and can only be saved by some sort of epic theme-music power-up (DODDUM!!! DODDUUUUUUUM!!!!) which will enable it to . . . you know, I don't think I want to pursue that sentence any further.
I wonder how I ever lasted this long without toddler help?
I recently had a conversation with my son.
Me: Why would you chew on a sock! It's a sock! Sock, ugh blech blech blech yuchhhh!
Baby Boy: Tock! Um num num num nmmmmm! *cheekiest grin in the history of cheek*