Tyler-isms

Tyler is a quiet little guy. Well, he’s quiet verbally, that is. He’s a heartily rambunctuous little guy mostly, crashing around, laughing loudly, making noises — car-noises, animal-noises, BIG-CRASH noises — all of which makes him a 100% standard two-year-old.

Where he deviates from standard is his spoken voice, which is very soft. You have to listen to hear Tyler, but when you do, you get gems, I tell you. Absolute gems.

“I’m making a recipe for mummy-daddy,” he says, looking up from the playdough. (“Mummy-daddy” is often a unit in conversation around here. I could teach them “my parents”, I know, but “mummy-daddy” is just so damned adorable.) “I’m making a recipe!”

“Do you know what a recipe is?”

“Yes!” Ha. I doubt it.

“What is it?” I call his bluff, genuinely curious. There is a pause, before his face brightens.

“…DINNER!”

Hee.
—–
Or how about this one?

I’d handed them all their sippy cups, but Tyler’s lid had not been properly screwed on, and had drizzled liberally down his shirt. Oops. After cleaning him up and replacing the lid, he takes a tentative sip, looks down at his clean, dry shirt, and says,

“No my cup is bleeding anymore.”

Mwah-ha.
—–
Emma, observing the tots in some form of lunacy or other, chortles at Tyler.

“You’re weird, you know that?”

Tyler beams — and dimples. In case sturdy body, thick blond hair and enormous blue eyes aren’t cute enough, the boy has dimples. Ooooh, my lordy. I grin at Emma. “He’s going to take that as a compliment.”

Tyler’s glance shoots to the green bin on the kitchen counter.

“Take dat to a compost-man?”
—–

The boy’s a darling, I tell you. Just a darling.