More Parroting

Katie, as I’ve mentioned before, is in the “parrot” stage, a walking, giggling, pooping echo on legs. This affords me no little entertainment. Yes, I take the opportunity to shape her pronounciation a little, but why stop there?

Just as I was about to settle the children at the table, I note that Katie is less than fragrant.

“Phew, Katie. I think you have a poo in there.”

“Poo!”

“I think you do! Come, let’s get you a fresh diaper before we eat.”

“Dipah! Eat!”

“Because you are a stinky girl.”

“Tinky giwl!”

“Yes, you certainly are odiferous.” This for my own amusement. There’s only so much entertainment value with the subject matter at hand, after all. Moreover, short, simple words do get to be just the teeniest bit boring after, oh two or three steady years of it. Seems Katie feels that way, too, because after a short pause for due processing, out comes…

“Oh-da-fuss!” Hey! She said “odiferous”!!

“Lie down, relax and recline,” I offer, and I wait. Will she? Will she?

“Ee-kine!” (Of course she will! This game has potential.)

“We’ll clean you with this wipe. It’s lovely and soothing.”

“Wipey. Soofing.” (”Soothing!” She said soothing.)

“And now some cream. Emollient cream.” I smile down at her. Can she grab that one?

“C’eem!”

“Emollient cream.” I try again, rolling the syllables out in all their luxuriance.

“Amawen.” Not bad, not bad at all.

There is a sudden crash from the dining room, where one of the three-year-olds has thrown a ball onto the table. Thankfully the place settings, on the table and ready for lunch, are all plastic, because several are bouncing all over the floor, while a multi-coloured plastic ball floats in the pot of soup. My response is muted but sincere.

“Oh, shit.”

Oops.

Please make it stop…

No, George is not throttling Arthur: they are riding a motorcycle. George, however, is the brains behind this game, while poor Arthur is unconvinced and unwilling. “Maybe if I just go limp, he’ll think I’m dead and go away.”