I’ve never fully pegged how Little Thing processes language and puts words together, but it’s definitely Little Thing particular.
Often her adages render me into hysterical laughter, head-scratching, or wonderment.
For example, she could verbally and correctly name green, blue, and red before she ever said mama.
She also said “port-a-potty” and “teletubby” before she ever said mama.
It felt like she voiced every word in the Oxford dictionary before she quipped “mama.”
Now it’s her favorite word.
When she was two, she asked for “a big tower and a real ghost” for Christmas. The following year, she asked for “two spiders and a box of dolphins.” Both times when I prompted her to expound further on her Christmas wishes, I received a quizzical stare from her. She knew what she meant; however, I was in the dark. (I mean, a box of dolphins? Really?)
The same thing happened when she told me she wanted to be a kitty cat ghost for Halloween when she was three.
Often at five, her mind works more quickly than her mouth and the words she tries to mold into a sentence tumble out jumbled and backwards.
But five minutes later, she’ll utter a beautiful sentence where she uses “duplicate” as a noun correctly.
I’m baffled by her.
Then, like any little thing I’m sure, she has her favorite things to say, and I hear them ad nauseam. These sayings are full of nuances and hidden meaning. I’ll act as translator as I share them.
Little Thing: I have to poo poo a lot.
Actual meaning: There’s a negative five chance that I have to poop but a 100 percent probability that I have to tinkle. I’ll sit on the potty, watch YouTube Kids on my iPad, and ghost poop for fifteen minutes. Three times a day.
Little Thing: I’m full.
Actual meaning: Over the course of an hour, I’ve eaten precisely seven noodles and all of my strawberries. I’ve shredded my string cheese into a mozzarella mountain and given my broccoli the stink eye. I’m ready for a chocolate ice cream cone and my iPad.
Little Thing (spoken without prompt): My legs are tired, and my arms are tired.
Actual meaning: I’m quite warm and snuggly here in my fuzzy pink blanket cocoon watching YouTube Kids on my iPad, but I’m terribly thirsty after eating my Belvita breakfast snack. Get me some water, handmaid! NOT THE ELSA CUP. YOU IMBECILE. THE YELLOW CUP WITH THE SMILEY FACE ON IT.
Little Thing (spoken in response to me telling her it’s time to turn off her iPad and play): My legs are tired, and my arms are tired.
Actual meaning: Playing is for babies who don’t know they can watch videos of people playing with toys on Youtube Kids. Duh. **stands up, places a hand on her cocked hip, and mean mugs** At the wizened age of five, I have transcended over your medieval mommying notions of playing.
Little Thing: I want to do yoga, too.
Actual meaning: I’ll crawl like a stray cat back and forth underneath you while you hold downward facing dog and meow incessantly. I’ll narrowly avoid becoming cat splat while you vinyasa into baby cobra. Then, because I need comfort from my near death experience, I’ll unfurl the other yoga mat, lay down perpendicular to it, and roll myself into a kitty cat/yoga mat burrito. I’ll resume meowing until you banish me to the living room with Daddy. Where my iPad is. Where I can watch funny cat videos on YouTube Kids.
Little Thing: I can’t hear da news!
Actual meaning: I’m not allowed to have my iPad right now. Silence terrifies me. Please turn the TV on. Anything that isn’t a TV show for little things is da news. Now, crank the volume so I can listen to something while I play or fall asleep. THAT’S NOT LOUD ENOUGH!!! ONLY EARSPLITTING WILL SUFFICE.
As you can see, nearly all her catch phrases are merely kindergarten ruses to watch her iPad.
Maybe I’ve pegged her language loopholes after all.
Disclaimer: Ghost poop is pure Little Thing aphorism.
What are some interesting things your little things say that have hidden meaning?