At the age of two, our little one has become quite the chatterbox, especially in the comfort of our home. He often rambles on for what feels like an eternity, stringing together random thoughts. I manage to catch snippets of what he’s saying and respond with genuine curiosity.
“Oh, really?”
“Is that so?”
“Mmmm-hmmm.”
My husband and I are slowly coming to grips with how much our son absorbs from us—he’s like a giant, featherless parrot, echoing everything we say. To prepare for this, I’ve been practicing some alternative expressions for when I’m feeling a bit colorful. Out go the spicy phrases I might have used in the past, replaced by silly ones like “Aw, shucks” and “shoot.” My son’s favorite? “Mother of PEARL,” which never fails to make him giggle when I say it with enthusiasm.
Just the other night, we were gathered around the dinner table, and my husband began recounting his recent success in metal recycling.
“Remember all the teasing about those cans I saved in the garage?” he asked.
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” I replied, serving up Brussels sprouts, only to be met with my son’s loud protest: “Noooo bussel spouts!”
I recalled the heaps of aluminum cluttering our once pristine garage. Sure, it was already a bit chaotic, but those cans in my son’s Radio Flyer wagon weren’t my favorite sight.
“I made fourteen dollars from those two bags, plus seven bucks for the old radiator,” he continued.
“Seven bucks, seven bucks!” our toddler echoed, and now his monologues come with a catchy refrain of “seven bucks” and the mysterious “four times,” alongside other phrases only he seems to grasp.
Growing up, my Italian grandmother taught my sister and me how to say the most random phrases in her melodious language. It was hilarious to learn phrases like “I’m single with two kids” or “you have an ugly face.” My mom would chuckle and say, “Great, now you’ll have to explain it.” I can still recall how to say certain Sicilian slang words, which would have my grandmother in stitches.
My husband, with his refined English roots and six generations of genteel Texans behind him, is mortified by my ability to discuss such things. He simply can’t fathom talking about those random phrases I grew up with. I plan to share some of these delightful tidbits with our little parrot when he’s older, and we’ll have a good laugh just like I did with my grandmother.
A few weeks ago, we were on Facetime with my sister and her three daughters when she mentioned the color of her new front door: Black Fox. My toddler dutifully repeated “black fox,” which, when said with a British accent, humorously resembles a certain four-letter word. Go ahead, try it yourself!
Separated by miles but connected through technology, my sister and I burst into laughter as our son leaned closer to the camera to repeat it. My husband warns that what’s funny now might not be later, and I know he’s right. Just like how we’re not supposed to giggle when he burps or passes gas; my son and I share a chuckle while my husband shoots me a disapproving glance. We’ll leave it to his kindergarten teacher to correct those little quirks down the line.
This article originally appeared on March 8, 2010.
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In summary, parenting a talkative toddler can be a delightful adventure filled with humor and unexpected moments. As our little one absorbs language and mimics our words, we find ourselves balancing the need to correct and the joy of laughter. It’s a wild ride, but one we wouldn’t trade for anything.