Words and Kidspeak with a Dash of Bushwa

Words are magnificent creators.  (Not creatures. That's different.)  I love words.  Words, words, words.  They mean something, every single one.  I wrote my college entrance essay on the power of words.  That's all it was about, words.  Not a joke.

One of the best things about words is how our kids mispronounce some of them.  I do my best not to correct them, because I don't want to nag and I just love it when they do it.  I merely continue to repeat the correct word in my own speech and know that they'll eventually--and all too soon--start using the correct one.

When Levi was very little, he used to call school buses "stookle buses."  I still call them that, even though he started saying it the right way several years ago (so, so sad, because "stookle bus" is obviously better).

I already mentioned in my post about his baptism that he thinks he got "bathtized," and so he did!  Washed clean.  At six, his verbal skills are great, so I relish these little mispronounced jewels of childhood.  He still says "gantar" (guitar), "ganputer" (computer), and "thake" (fake).  "Thake" always makes me want to squeeze him and kiss his face off.

Adelaide melts my heart with some typical three-year-old-isms like "lellow" (yellow) and "wackanoni" (macaroni).  My most favorite of hers, though, that will stick with us till the very end is "shmarpillow" (marshmallow), because--yes!--they are like little, delicious pillows.  And just today she had me laughing again.  At today's first class in ballet camp, she was introduced to her teacher Miss Chloe.  During lunch, she told us about all the things "Miss Cloudy" taught her.  Miss Cloudy sounds like the type of person who'd love to sit and eat shmarpillows.

(Please note: Roxie takes this decidedly downhill.)

If you're opposed to the explicit, you will want to skip Roxie's 18-month-old and unintentional faux pas.  (But if you do proceed, there is redemption at the end!)  She is constantly saying "What's THAT?" with emphasis on "that" and sort of slurring them together and not really saying the "wh" at the beginning.  It's more like "uhs-AT" and ends up sounding exactly like "asshat," which is inappropriate and therefore hilarious. 

Speaking of inappropriate, here's a Public Service Announcement for all you young lads and lassies from your dear Auntie Jen.  Seriously, be careful little minds what you think and ears what you hear and mouths what you speak.  I went through what I'll just call "a phase" in my college years and, to be blunt, cussed like a sailor.  (Sorry, all you sailors of high report, who cannot be justly categorized in such a way but are nevertheless constantly subjected to unrelenting prejudice.)  It was a hard habit to break, and by "was," I mean "has been" or rather "is."  It is crass and mostly unladylike (and ungentlemanly, to be fair to both sexes) and can send the wrong message. 

Because it became such a habitual part of my outer and therefore inner dialect (I was not so careful with my mind/ears/mouth), such language still punctuates my thoughts, albeit less than it used to do, even if it doesn't come out of my mouth.  And every so often, in unreserved moments, it might escape.  Some very few occasions seem to lack their full expressive potential unless such language is utilized; some punchlines just don't punch the way they ought without it.  For instance, I have struggled (and remained victorious!) against the urge to post something public on the Internet that has something to do with Obama and the refuse that a cow produces from its hind end.  But I don't want to go there.  I am personally not hugely offended by off-color language, most of the time--most likely desensitized to it by my past--but I know others are.  I happen to know that one such word of offense had its beginnings on ships (you sailors again!) when certain cargo was labelled Store High In Transit.  But they used the abbreviation.  Somehow it has evolved, and since our culture deems it unsavory, so it is. 

But I now have a remedy for my need to reference cow dung without "going there."  It came via gift left in my inbox by my Word of the Day e-mail from dictionary.com.  I am so excited about it, which reveals something, I know, but I have a new favorite word.  Ready?

Bushwa.

:)

It means rubbishy nonsense; baloney; bull.  And it's just perfect.

Now I have the crowning artillery in my arsenal to satisfactorily communicate what has long pounded with passion in my innermost being about a lot of things, but mostly:

OBAMA IS FULL OF BUSHWA.

Ah!  Sweet, sweet release!!!!!!  Thank you, dictionary.com. 

Maybe you love Obama (who actually has little to do with my point), but if that's the case, and if you're anything like myself, I know you will find some other way to put this little gem to use.  See how exciting the right word can be??

Words are the best.  :)

Baptizo {} My Little Pickle

We were excited to baptize a few people in Lake Champlain at our church picnic last weekend, and good thing baptism is about immersion in Christ rather than the body of water into which you're dunked.  'Cause the lake water that day was kinda naaaasty.  Lake Champlain is gorgeous, but it has its days.  I'm glad we got to bring it a little holiness.

Baptism is rich with symbolism, but one cool thing to me is what the original Greek word baptizo means.  It means to be pickled.  How funny!  And sobering.  And appropriate.  It's the perfect description of one thing going into a solution and coming out a new creation, flavored by (and one with) that solution.  Baptism symbolizes the spiritual change we undergo, the complete transformation from what we were to who we are, ones who've been given a second chance, a new start, totally immersed in the goodness of Christ.  Spiritually speaking, we look, smell, taste, behave, move, think, act...like Him.  But not just like Him.  A cucumber doesn't become like a pickle.  It becomes a pickle.  In fact, it can never be a cucumber again, so infused it is with that new solution.  We don't just become like Him.  We become one with Him, godly.  That's some heady stuff, to be pickled into Christ.

At last year's baptism, Levi was really intrigued by it and kept saying he wanted to do it, but would then forget about it and let it go.  He was 5 1/2, and we're not constricted by age boundaries.  As his parents, Jed and I just wanted to see real revelation about it all.  Last year, he seemed to have it, but we had a little check in our spirits that told us to hold off and let it become deeper revelation to him.

This summer, the church picnic and baptisms rolled around again, and Levi was excited again about wanting to get "bathtized."  (He is so verbally precocious that when he does one of these little mispronunciations, I don't want to correct him!)  We had conversations.  We asked questions.  He acknowledged Yahshua as His Lord and Savior, as he's been doing since the beginning.  We asked him if he wanted to willfully make that choice and take that stand on his own.  We asked him what he thought baptism meant.  We were trying to sort through if this was a real proclamation from his heart, or if he thought maybe it was just a cool thing to do.  But we believe children are born spiritually alive.  We have seen spiritual proclivity in our children and the children around us from very early on.  We have done our best to nourish that and not squash it out, to enrich it rather than make them believe they're too young for things of that nature and can't "get it" till later.

In the end, he was ready. 

:)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  *heartnearlyburstingsohappysoproudsomovedsochallenged*  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)  :)

So we lead Levi down to lake's edge, and in those murky waters of New England, a light burst forth from our anointed young son who had a declaration for the world. 

So brave...

Ready to go, with Dad nearby...

"Or don't you know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?  We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death...

...in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. 

For if we have been united with Him in a death like His, we will certainly also be united with Him in a resurrection like His."  Romans 6:3-5

As soon as he emerged, he bobbed excitedly and looked back at Apostle to exclaim, "Did you know I just got pickled??!!"  Boy's been listening.  :)  He got a laugh from his daddy and apostle, who repeated it to the crowd and drew more laughs and cheers.

(And I snuggled Adelaide, watching my son from the shore where I couldn't coach him or hold his hand--for this was his very own personal deal--while trying to manage the giant balloon of emotion expanding to fill all my insides, plus the simultaneous laughing and crying, without spontaneously combusting.)

And Apostle placed his hand on Levi's head and prayed for him, prophesied over him, and blessed him. 

(More emotional mama.)

"If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation: the old things are passed away;

behold, all things are become new!"  II Corinthians 5:17

The immensity of emotion is so rich and deep that my verbosity could take over here, but it's also overwhelming enough to render me nearly speechless (whew, right?!).  I'll indulge my mom-ness and state simply that I'm so proud of my little pickle, as I've been calling him to his secret delight.  He is a joyful spark of light and insight in our family and God's kingdom, and...I'm really proud of him. 

We love you, Mr. Leviticus Maximus!