(Background: My nieces, codenames: Phoenix and Isis, are approaching 2 ½ years old.)
Someone discovers an enormous quantity of water inside one of the low kitchen cabinets where the girls have just been playing together.
Me: Isis, did you pour the water from your cup into the cabinet?
Me: Phoenix, did you pour the water from your cup into the cabinet?
Me: You didn’t?
Phoenix: No, but I poured my water into Isis’s cup.
Sometimes it’s difficult to maintain the appropriate stern expression.
Isis, Phoenix, and I are lying on the floor together, hanging out, talking. Each girl is holding a bottle she found in the kitchen.
Isis (holding out her bottle to me): Will you read it and tell me what they is?
Me (reading the labels): Yes. This one is coconut oil and the other one is balsamic vinegar.
Isis: No, they are peepee and poopy!
This joke rocks Phoenix’s world. She tries to repeat it, the way one does when one enjoys a joke, but she’s laughing so hard that she can’t even get the words out. “They are peepee and poopy,” she finally manages, bright red and gasping, then collapses into giggles again.
Phoenix: Daddy, do Santa bring presents to bad girls too?
Codename: Joe: Yes, Santa is very nice. He brings something to everyone, even bad girls.
Phoenix: But Santa can be bad too.
Joe: What do you mean, Santa can be bad?
Phoenix: Santa run over Grandmommy with his reindeer.
Joe (understanding): Did you hear that in a song?
Joe: But Phoenix, that song isn’t real. That song is only a joke.
Phoenix (actually sounding quite relieved): Oh! That song is a JOKE! (giggles)
Codename: Cordelia and I are driving with the girls to a festival called the Winter Wonderland. We hear giggling in the backseat and listen in.
Isis: It’s the Winter Peepeeland!
Phoenix: It’s the Winter Poopyland!
Isis (very upset): NO! IT’S GLOOT! IT’S GLOOT!
Phoenix (very upset): NO! IT’S FLOOP! IT’S FLOOP!
(This is an argument over the pronunciation of the word “flute.”)
Cordelia and Joe are whispering to each other about what a good job the girls did sharing that morning. They’re whispering in the girls’ hearing on purpose, so that the girls will overhear the praise. Isis indicates to me that she has a secret to tell me, too.
I lean toward her.
Isis (whispering): Poopy!
(Were you expecting something else?)