08 October 2007

Oh, shoot.

Language acquisition is in full swing around here. Maybe the finger accident bumped something loose, but I swear the child learns a new word every fifteen minutes lately. Even better, though, are her intonations. Her favorite phrase, overall, is "Oh, shoot." It fits everything: when something's not quite right, she'll say it. At the end of a long, hearty laugh, Oh shoot. If she's just a little overwhelmed with happiness, like one day in the toy aisle at Target? Oh shoot.

Last night, we were driving back home from Grandma's, and we got behind a beet truck going about 40mph. Normally this would tick me off, but it was dark, and V wasn't fussy, so I just stayed back a bit (to avoid falling beets) and started talking to our verbose child.

"That's a beet truck," I said. "It's going to take the beets to be made into sugar."


"Yep. Your Grandpa Dewey used to drive a beet truck when Mommy was a little girl."


"He was married to Grandma. Sometimes she rode with him, and sometimes I did, and sometimes Auntie Jess did. It was fun"


"Uh-huh. Beet harvest happens every fall. It makes me miss Grandpa Dewey."

"Oh," she says, with lots of what I perceive to be sadness, which makes me start to cry.

"He would've loved you so much, sweetie. Oh! He would've played with you and sung to you and thought you were the best thing ever."


"Yes, like Grandma does."

"Oh." She nods, knowingly

"Grandpa Dewey was my Daddy, and that's why I miss him."

"Daddy Shaun?" She's just realized that her Daddy has another name, and sometimes uses it, often to hilarious effect.

"Yes. Shaun is your daddy, and Dewey was my daddy, which would make him your grandpa. And Grandpa Dewey died, and I wish you could've met him, and I miss him very much." And I stop, because I just realized I've brought up death for the first time ever to my two year old, and I'm pretty sure I didn't mean to.

She's quiet for about five seconds, and then says, "Oh, shoot."

Which pretty much sums up the whole thing.

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