Stop, Drop and Blog

I’m a stickler for pronouncing words properly. Speaking properly is important. Right now we’re working with BigBrother on the proper way to conjugate the be verb, something that people both in this area and back home in Western Pennsylvania tend to struggle with in their speaking. I think he’s getting that we don’t say “we was” because it makes Mommy twitch. Instead, we say “we were.” To use it in a sentence, he would say, “We were making Mommy twitch when we said we was.” Indeed.

BigBrother struggles with L’s right now. Every now and then, when I slowly and patiently show him how to properly place his tongue, he can pronounce the word in question with the proper sound. Most of the time, however, L’s come out as W’s. His new friend’s name is, therefore, Wiwy instead of Lily. According to this chart of sound development, he’s advanced with some letters (j, z, sh, and he occasionally gets v right). L’s apparently develop anywhere from three to when they turn six. As he’s advanced with other letters, I am not quite sure that speech therapy is warranted for one letter sound. We work on it at home and, occasionally, he really does get it. But Wiwy is usually the result as of right now.

I’m not all that worried.

Plus, some mispronunciations can be cute. Currently, fire trucks are tire tucks according to LittleBrother. Like BigBrother did, he also calls hot dogs by their much cuter name of dog-dogs. Applesauce, for both of the children, is affectionately referred to as appletoss by just about everyone in the family. LittleBrother, however, doesn’t make up words as much as BigBrother once did. Unable to say peanut butter at one point, BigBrother began calling it BO, pronounced phonetically as bee-oh. We had bee-oh sandwiches for quite a long time before the letters came together and peanut butter replaced our much loved bee-oh. Maybe it’s because BigBrother does have such a big vocabulary that LittleBrother rarely mispronounces things or makes up words. He already calls peanut butter, simply, butter. I cling to his cute alterations when they do make their way into our collective conscious. Soon enough, the cuteness of such things will go the way of cribs and diapers and memories of baby fat rolls.

They still exist, of course, as more and more words enter their vocabularies. The other day, I was laughing as BigBrother tried to climb over his ride-on tractor instead of walking around the tractor, slide and sandbox to get to the playhouse. I told him the yard was an obstacle course. He looked at me, the wheels obviously spinning in his head. Apparently, I had not said this pair of words to him in the past and he was trying to make sense of what they mean and how to say them back to me. Eventually, he came back with, “Popsicle Corcus?” Yes. That’s exactly what I said. Please repeat it with great frequency.

I’ll be a sad, sad Mommy when my boys, stripped down for evening bath time, don’t run into the hall and announce, “Wook at me! I’m MAKED!” With an M, not an N. That’s a BigBrother creation, obviously, as a whole sentence is constructed with the word. Following behind, little pale legs running after his brother, comes a LittleBrother, proudly announcing, “MAKED!” Just a singular word, a non-word, that makes me smile and chase them into the bathroom, exclaiming, “Get your cute little maked butts into the tub or I’ll get you!”

Because, someday, I won’t be chasing their cute little maked butts to the tub. So, for now, maked it is. Reawwy.