parentingthewayweseeit:

One word I hate Lizzie using

Dead. It’s just so mean coming out of a four year olds mouth. Also Hate. I really don’t use that word but tv does. AND she uses it properly. :( But since it’s an emotion, hate, I don’t think I should really tell her to not use it.

I second that emotion. Double entendre intended.

My boys aren’t using the word “dead,” but they have used the word “hate.” And I know they got it from me. Because I hate a lot of shit and I’m vocal about it.

The other night, Wyatt was prosting his bedtime and when I put him in the crib, he said, “I hate this.” I knelt down and calmly told him that it wasn’t a necessarily bad word, but it shouldn’t be thrown around lightly because it’s a strong word. I told him it could hurt people and I asked him to try not to use it. I promised I would try, too. So far, he hasn’t said it.

One word I can’t get them to stop saying, however, is “balls.” And I mean the testicle kind.

On the topic of language from last week, Wyatt and Boone understand each other very well, but to me their language sometimes needs some deciphering. What sounds to me like a string of random syllables, when subjected to multiple repeated pronunciations, is actually a very elaborate statement or question.

But yesterday, Wyatt and Boone were running circles around their little art table. (Wyatt had a train, Boone had a Lego Buzz Lightyear.) Wyatt, who is fond of issuing commands, said something to Boone. Boone stopped in his tracks, turned to Wyatt with a confused look and said, “What?!”

A reader who goes by the handle “Alyssa is cool” reposted on a forum my piece from yesterday about how my boys speak with proper grammar and asked for comments. (Alyssa, what’s your site url? I’ll link it.) Most of the comments said my rationale for my boys’ gift for speech was bullshit. Yeah, maybe… Okay, probably.

One commenter noted all kids reach different milestones at different times. True. And I believe that might be a huge contributing factor for my boys — they likely hit that milestone sooner than most. But, here’s another factor my wife mentioned to me last night that may serve as the actual reason my boys speak so well: There are two of them.

She pointed out that — all day, every day —Wyatt and Boone have the benefit of each other with whom they can rehearse communicating. When they’re not trying to clobber each other with wooden trains, they’ll often sit together with a toy or puzzle or book and talk about it. The conversation usually goes something like this…

Boone: What are you doing, Wyatt?
Wyatt: I’m playing with a puzzle.
Boone: Oh. You’re playing with a puzzle?
Wyatt: Yes. Do you want to put the blue piece right there, Boone?
Boone: Okay. I’ll put the blue piece right there.

Sure, they’re not exploring the duality of man or the existence of God, but it is a full conversation. It’s also clearly practice. When Boone sits down next to Wyatt, he knows exactly what Wyatt’s doing. But, they go through the motions of the exchange using complete sentences in an effort to perfect the skill.

Now, if I could get them to “practice” brushing their teeth, we’d be set.

I don’t mean to brag, but I once got my mom’s Acura up on two wheels. (Just kidding. I was totally bragging about that.) Okay. Here’s a thing about which I actually don’t mean to brag: My boys speak better than pretty much every other kid their age and some that are even older.

Now, most toddlers understand complex grammar before they can say it, but my guys speak it, too. They have for quite some time. And I mean complete sentences with correct verb conjugations, gerund forms when necessary, proper pronouns and even the occasional compound preposition.

I don’t think this is because they are extremely intelligent (although, they totally are), but rather because my wife and I never spoke baby talk to them, not even when they were newborns. We never cooed or babbled or made goo-goo noises. From the moment they were born, we spoke to them like they were adults — little, screaming, poopy adults.

When they started communicating and made a grunting noise while pointing at something they wanted, we would say, “I can’t understand you. Please use a word.” When they would ask for a “ba-ba,” we would say, “Okay. Here’s your bottle.” And we never hesitated to explain to them proper use of grammar. When they would say something like, “Me jump,” we would reply, “You are jumping.”

This is something both my wife and picked up from the newspaper where we worked. The rule of the newsroom was “Don’t write down to your audience.” The executive editor encouraged reporters, editors and freelancers to write as complex as they liked. If it meant the reader had to pick up a dictionary, so be it.

Applying the same assumption of intelligence to our boys has paid off. Their meltdowns are not as frequent because they can articulate what’s bothering them. When we went to the new Dinosaur Hall at the L.A. Natural History Museum recently, Boone was scared of the T-Rex skeleton. Later, he sat with me and clearly explained why it scared him.

For the record, we also used this technique to raise our dog. He’s currently a sophomore at MIT.

I graduated college with a B.A. in English Lit, my concentration was Shakespeare. Trust me, this is not a brag. Go to CareerBuilder and tell me how many ads you see that read:

“Wanted - Shakespeare scholar to expound the virtues of the Bard’s lesser known works. Crippling insecurity a plus!”

However, I bring it up because something odd happened today. There’s a little brown bunny that hops around our cul-de-sac. It looks like a pet bunny that got loose and is now living a carefree life like a furry Jimmy Buffet.

This morning, the bunny was hanging out in front of our house, so we brought the boys out to see it. Every time we see a new animal, we ask the boys what we should call it, mostly just to see what insane name they come up with. (Need I remind you of Phyllis the lizard?) So, my wife said to Boone, “What should we name the bunny?”

He said, “Tybalt.”

Boone’s never heard or seen any Shakespeare and yet he very clearly suggested one of the most roguish antagonists in Shakespeare’s repertory. I can only assume this means my knowledge passed onto my children via my genes.

You’re welcome, boys. Still, you may want to pursue a more lucrative major, like basket weaving.

One of the ways toddlers perfect their speech is by repetition. And I don’t mean the parents repeating a word or phrase, although that does help. You’ll often hear your toddler say a phrase, then immediately repeat it. For example, when Boone wants more food, he’ll say, “I want more, please. I want more.”

This repetition helps them practice their annunciation and also has the bonus effect of making them sound like Jimmy “Two Times” from Goodfellas.