At the age of two, our son has become quite the conversationalist, especially within the comforting walls of our home. He often rambles for a couple of minutes, stringing together various thoughts that sometimes leave me chuckling. I manage to catch enough key phrases to engage with him in a meaningful way.
“Oh, really?”
“Is that so?”
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
It’s becoming increasingly evident to my husband and me just how much our little one absorbs, echoing our words like an oversized, unfeathered parrot. As a preventive measure, I’ve been substituting my usual expletives with more family-friendly alternatives. Silly phrases such as “Aw, shucks” and “shoot” have largely replaced some of the more colorful language from my past. My son, however, finds particular delight in my favorite substitute: “Mother of PEARL,” which never fails to elicit a giggle from him.
Just the other night, while we were gathered at the dinner table, my husband shared his success with metal recycling.
“Remember how much you teased me about saving those cans in the garage?” he asked.
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” I replied, dishing out Brussels sprouts. Our son immediately protested, “Nooo, bussel spouts!” I recalled the heaps of aluminum cluttering our previously pristine garage. Regardless of the mess, I still wasn’t fond of those cans overflowing in my son’s Radio Flyer wagon.
“I made fourteen dollars from those two bags, plus seven bucks for the old car radiator,” my husband continued.
“Seven bucks, seven bucks!” our toddler chimed in joyfully. These days, his speech often includes the repeated phrase “seven bucks” along with the curious “four times,” and other cryptic expressions only he comprehends.
Reflecting on my childhood, I remember my full-blooded Italian grandmother teaching my sister and me amusing phrases in her melodic dialect. I learned how to say everything from “I’m single with two kids” to “You have an ugly face.” My mother would chuckle and point out that we would eventually have to explain these phrases to others. I can still recite certain Sicilian slang, like a colorful phrase for “large male anatomy,” which always sent my grandmother into fits of laughter. I even found knowledge of how to say “I’ll break your face” quite handy, as it has that classic mafia flair.
My husband, with his refined English heritage and generations of genteel Texans behind him, is often aghast when I reminisce about these linguistic antics. He struggles to comprehend the notion of discussing such subjects with our child, but I know I’ll share these stories with him when he’s older. We’ll all have a good laugh, much like I did with my grandmother.
A few weeks ago, during a FaceTime chat with my sister and her three daughters, she mentioned the color of her new front door: Black Fox. Our toddler dutifully repeated “black fox,” but it sounded suspiciously like a certain four-letter word. Go on, try saying it out loud while emphasizing the “fox” with a British accent. The distance between us faded as my sister and I erupted into laughter, especially when our son leaned in close to the camera to repeat it. My husband warns that what is humorous now may not be so amusing later, and I suspect he’s right. Just like how I’m supposed to keep a straight face when our son burps or passes gas; he and I exchange giggles while my husband shoots me an exasperated look. We’ll leave the task of correcting that behavior to his kindergarten teacher.
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In summary, parenting a young child is filled with delightful surprises and learning opportunities. As they absorb language and mimic our speech, we must be mindful of our word choices, all while cherishing the laughter and connection that comes with these moments.
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