We now return to our regularly scheduled programming with a report on the curious language spoken by D1.
She refers to bandaids as "rubber bands."
Her ride-on Radio Flyer, which she received for her birthday, is known as a "mike." So is the piece of equipment Papa rides on for exercise. We don't know why she doesn't call it a bike, as she can certainly say /b/. D2 tries to keep up, although he hasn't figured out how to get on yet.
When one of we parental folk suspects that a visit to the ladies' room might be in order for her, we ask, "Do you think she needs a T-R-Y?"
So last night when she said, "D1 have T-R-I!" we dutifully took her to the ladies' room, whereupon by her protests she indicated that that was not what she meant. And she came back out asking, "D1 have T-R-I?" So we're still not sure what she thinks that means, but we're pretty sure she can't actually spell. Yet.
Mozart has nothing on D2.
We need a larger pool.