Our conversations reflect small new changes lately, simply from the odd little pronunciations and word-stringings of the child who graces our lives and house so often, and whose own vocabulary is astonishing. And like several other little memorables from my own children’s childhoods, they’ve become a part of the family speech patterns.
When she’s hungry, “My Tummy’s Ringing!”
She usually sits on her feet at the table, or kneels in her chair, and once in a restaurant, she shifted her position and got a surprised little grimace on her face. “My feet are sprinkling!” she said, as we rubbed the pins and needles away. She's harking back too her Daddy at that age. He took a drink of a new soft drink and said, "This Ginger Ale tastes like your foot's asleep!"
She and her dog spent the night with us last night, and this morning, the two of them were sitting on Caro’s bed. GrandDog has taken quite a shine to Caro, and tries to sit beside or ON her at every opportunity, squeezing out even the little girl she’s guarded tooth and nail since her birth.
Caro had explained that Matt was territorial, and when I arrived upstairs, Caro said, "Tell Ganjin what Matt is.” Knowing her breed already, and getting all her facts together, Sweetpea exclaimed, “She’s a Rat Territorier!”
As she and Chris left for a breakfast date, she gave me a hug and whispered her new in-the-ear phrase. I have no idea what it IS, or if someone told it to her, if it’s Fairy Language or a concoction from her own clickety brain, so eerily like my own.
She’ll say, “I need to tell you something,”
You bend low, and she’ll tell you, barely uttering the sounds, as you strain to make sense of the words.
And in the smallest, crispest whisper between those tiny white teeth, she breathes, “Swede, Butter-Bead.”
So, whatever it means, whatever import it holds, I’ll wish a Swede Butter-Bead day to everybody, with no foot sprinkles, and something delicious when your tummy rings.