Colin has started talking. He says some full words, but he also says a few word bits that only my husband and I understand, such as “bee” for puppy, “oof oof” for choo choo train, and “vroom vroom” for car.
I think that as Colin’s vocabulary increases, my conversational abilities degenerate. When we’re out, Colin will shout, “Bee! Bee! Bee!” with increasing insistence. It continues until I acknowledge that he has correctly identified a puppy, and then we both have to follow it up with a round of woof woofs. I’ve become one of those weird people who cries out, “Puppy! Woof woof!” with unnatural excitement whenever anyone with a full grown dog crosses my path.
Colin can also say “truck”—except he can’t say the “tr” sound, so he replaces it with “f.” He says it loudly. And repeatedly. Sometimes when there’s no truck in sight. It’s a little uncomfortable around other mothers and their children.
Colin also selects his literature based on whether a puppy, car, or train factors into the plot. I’ve read some of these train books more than five times in one day. I’m not totally against that, except that I find these books a little lacking. Specifically, they lack a plot, coherent sentences, and pleasing pictures. I’ve tried to explain this to Colin after the seventh reading of the day, to which he stubbornly responds, “Oof oof.”
One of these frequent reads is about a demolition team that takes down a dilapidated gas station. It uses five syllable words—and it’s a board book. It’s mostly propaganda. The plot centers on praising a demolition team for saving the public by taking down a gas station. It’s not clear how the gas station threatened the well-being of the general public, but Colin is entranced. Later, a park is erected in place of the gas station to further underline the demolition team’s shining contribution. I hate to ruin the story for Colin, but there’s no mention of the carcinogenic fumes latent in the ground where the little kiddies naively play. No thick board pages about the committees of parents that form to protest the toxins leaking into their neighborhood. Not even a few pictures of the lawyers who come to sue the people responsible for this decision. But I don’t tell Colin all of that. I just join him in chanting, “Vroom vroom.”
Now when we pass construction sites, Colin gives manly Tim the Tool Man Taylor grunts. Apparently propaganda works on one-year-olds.
Colin is excited when Andy’s latest copy of Car and Driver arrives in the mail. Although we haven’t yet moved away from the board books because of his destructive urges, Colin will sit by himself with Car and Driver, gingerly flipping through the delicate pages, pausing after each flip to declare, “Vroom vroom.”
I don’t mean to be picky. I’m glad he shows interest in books and magazines. But, really? Cars? That’s very Team Daddy. On that note, I was recently explaining to my husband that Colin won’t necessarily love robots when he grows up, and Colin swiveled in his high chair and began excitedly pointing to his Lego robot. He knew the word “robot.” Why does he know that word? Probably because there is too much robot conversation in our household (but not robotic conversation, which would be an entirely different thing). Where is my influence on our son? It isn’t really fair. Cars and robots do seem cool to little kids. Tea and Jane Austen are a harder sell.
But I can wait. Summer will end, and Andy will be sent back to work full time. Then I can eliminate Andy’s car and robot influence, and the boring demolition team book will disappear. Colin will be saying “Fitzwilliam Darcy” in no time.
I think that as Colin’s vocabulary increases, my conversational abilities degenerate. When we’re out, Colin will shout, “Bee! Bee! Bee!” with increasing insistence. It continues until I acknowledge that he has correctly identified a puppy, and then we both have to follow it up with a round of woof woofs. I’ve become one of those weird people who cries out, “Puppy! Woof woof!” with unnatural excitement whenever anyone with a full grown dog crosses my path.
Colin can also say “truck”—except he can’t say the “tr” sound, so he replaces it with “f.” He says it loudly. And repeatedly. Sometimes when there’s no truck in sight. It’s a little uncomfortable around other mothers and their children.
Colin also selects his literature based on whether a puppy, car, or train factors into the plot. I’ve read some of these train books more than five times in one day. I’m not totally against that, except that I find these books a little lacking. Specifically, they lack a plot, coherent sentences, and pleasing pictures. I’ve tried to explain this to Colin after the seventh reading of the day, to which he stubbornly responds, “Oof oof.”
One of these frequent reads is about a demolition team that takes down a dilapidated gas station. It uses five syllable words—and it’s a board book. It’s mostly propaganda. The plot centers on praising a demolition team for saving the public by taking down a gas station. It’s not clear how the gas station threatened the well-being of the general public, but Colin is entranced. Later, a park is erected in place of the gas station to further underline the demolition team’s shining contribution. I hate to ruin the story for Colin, but there’s no mention of the carcinogenic fumes latent in the ground where the little kiddies naively play. No thick board pages about the committees of parents that form to protest the toxins leaking into their neighborhood. Not even a few pictures of the lawyers who come to sue the people responsible for this decision. But I don’t tell Colin all of that. I just join him in chanting, “Vroom vroom.”
Now when we pass construction sites, Colin gives manly Tim the Tool Man Taylor grunts. Apparently propaganda works on one-year-olds.
Colin is excited when Andy’s latest copy of Car and Driver arrives in the mail. Although we haven’t yet moved away from the board books because of his destructive urges, Colin will sit by himself with Car and Driver, gingerly flipping through the delicate pages, pausing after each flip to declare, “Vroom vroom.”
I don’t mean to be picky. I’m glad he shows interest in books and magazines. But, really? Cars? That’s very Team Daddy. On that note, I was recently explaining to my husband that Colin won’t necessarily love robots when he grows up, and Colin swiveled in his high chair and began excitedly pointing to his Lego robot. He knew the word “robot.” Why does he know that word? Probably because there is too much robot conversation in our household (but not robotic conversation, which would be an entirely different thing). Where is my influence on our son? It isn’t really fair. Cars and robots do seem cool to little kids. Tea and Jane Austen are a harder sell.
But I can wait. Summer will end, and Andy will be sent back to work full time. Then I can eliminate Andy’s car and robot influence, and the boring demolition team book will disappear. Colin will be saying “Fitzwilliam Darcy” in no time.
