"Oh man, that's crazy."
and
"What the heck?"
She's started saying "Oh, darn pants!" She says it's from the Lego movie. I like it.
She also has a new joke:
"What did the flying squirrel say to the draco lizard? Wanna play GLIDE and seek?" (thank you, Wild Kratts)
There have been a few occasions where she's made a point of correcting her pronunciation of "th." "THHHirteen. Did you hear that? I said THirteen, not Firteen." When I asked her if someone told her she was saying it wrong, she said, "No. I just knew."
Fiona asked me if she could have a pegasus or unicorn. I suggested that maybe they were pretend. She said she knew, but perhaps Santa could give her one. When I asked how Santa could give her something that isn't real, she retorted, "Santa is magic! So he can make me one." She went on: "When I asked for a puppy, he gave me one. It wasn't a real one because I didn't say I wanted a real one, I just said I wanted a puppy." So the plan is: ask Santa for a *real* unicorn or pegasus and voila! We have a new pet. I asked where we'd keep it. "Dada builds things. He could build a stable." Me: "I don't think the town would let us build a stable." Grumble grumble grumble. So for Christmas, I'm hoping Fiona forgets to specify that she wants a *real* unicorn or pegasus and, in the meantime, I am on the lookout for stuffed animals. Note: rainbow mane and tail required. Naturally.
First of all, he's chosen to wear Crocs that, as it turns out, slip off his left foot regularly, prompting mournful cries of "Shoe! Shoe!" (which sounds more like "thyoo" and is even harder to decipher against the sound of passing cars, all of which he will stop to point out, announcing "car!" ["dah"]). He puts all of his weight on the foot that needs shoe assistance, not understanding that it would be much more helpful if he were to lift that foot. Periodically, I remind him that our mission is to pick up Fiona from her friend's house a mere block away, knowing that the prize of seeing Fifi will propel him on. But then an ambulance, a truck, a van, the town jitney, pretty much any automobile drives by and he stops once more to point and ogle and tell me about it. Then there are the airplanes flying overhead, the gas lamps along the way. We must stop to admire them. All of them. Rowan shuffles along at his 2-year-old gait, made more pronounced by the Crocs and the uneven sidewalk, as well as by the apple he's snacking on that amazingly has yet to hit the ground. Whoa -- are those flowers? Rowan stops, crouches, points, pokes a flower or two. Yep, he literally stops and smells the roses (ok, they're mums at this time of year). Such is the languorous nature of this toddler, simultaneously charming and exasperating.