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. :)
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