Language Is a Virus, Part 3

I saw this guy on the train
And he seemed to gave gotten stuck
In one of those abstract trances.
And he was going: "Oo-ah...Oo-ah...Oo-ah..."

These lyrics, particularly the bit about the man on a train in a trance spouting gobbley gook, remind me of young Master Bertram and his current obsession: Curious George. I’ve already noted that mimicry is one of young Master B’s specialties. Mimicry serves Bertram well when he imitates the way in which my fellow Parental Unit and I read books aloud. For instance, when we read Beatrix Potter’s Tale of Tom Thumb, does Hunca Munca merely squeak with joy upon seeing the doll’s food laid out upon the table? Oh no, she squeeeaks with joy! So delighted is Bertram at this pronunciation that he repeats it to us as, “Mommy squeeeks with joy! Daddy squeeeks with joy!”

Where this toddler mimicry becomes a problem is when Bertram decides to imitate that cartoon monkey George. So instead of words, I get to hear, “oooh, ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, oooh aaah.” That’s right, young Master B speaks monkey. When I remind Bert to use words, he takes that as a cue to repeat his monkey declarations, only louder and with stomping and jumping for extra emphasis. Thank you, PBS Kids.

What I want to understand is why so many kids'shows feature shouting unintelligible creatures like George or characters like Sesame Street’s Baby Bear, who speaks with a lisp. Many of young Master B’s contemporaries seem similarly drawn to mimicking, so I have to wonder what the thought process is for the child education experts (supposedly working for these shows) who create these characters with speech impediments—yes, I am looking at you Elmo: Parental Unit One wants to introduce you to her new paper shredder.

Getting Serious for February

In honor of the short month of February, I’ve issued a post-a-day challenge to Adrian’s mom over at Apparently. To show that I am 100-percent committed, I have posted a serious picture of young Miss Vivian.

As predicted, the dental storm has arrived. Young Miss Vivi now sports two bottom teeth—perfect for treats such as super-ripe and peeled pear on a fork or the rice cereal puffs that Bertram calls “squishy flowers.” With her new chompers in place, Vivi seems to believe that food is for the taking, be it your food or her brother’s food. You truly do not want to be the poor parental sod who decides to take away the food before young Miss Vivi is done. For then, you will awaken Vivian the Bad who will scream and shake her sticky fists at you. And that is not good.

I Want Tick, Tick

The Frenz Experiment, indeed. One day we were baking cupcakes--again!--and I put on a play list that featured the tunes of my youth. I don't know if it's the ticking sound made by the drumsticks or the resounding English accent in the chorus of "Vic-tor-ee-ah!," but young Master Bertram listened to this song 14 times in row when he first heard it. I couldn't help but indulge him because I had never seen him respond to a song so strongly. Now, he requests the song often, asking for "tick-tick" or "Victoria!"

Top Chef

It begins the way it always begins, young Master B drags a wood dining chair across the kitchen floor to a small patch of uncluttered counter next to the stove and climbs on top of the chair—his toes dangle off the edge. This act breaks all kinds of no-nos: climbing on the furniture, being next to the stove, access to unsavory items past the “no-reach” zone that include glass baby food jars and scissors.

I know what comes next. From the moment that rickety chair starts its journey across the linoleum: Bertram wants to bake.

“Bake! Bake! I want to bake!” exclaims the little chef.

Is this the result of my major weakness for watching Food Network shows while he was in uteuro? Did he pick up precision tips from Alton Brown and semi-homemade shortcuts from Sandra Lee?

Generally, toddlers are not known for their ability to focus. While baking, young Master B will exhibit his most stellar behavior and self-control. An hour can easily pass while Bertram measures each ingredient, mixes, folds, pours, or pounds. Wanting to cultivate his enthusiasm, I just let him do whatever interests him stir, run the beater, break eggs and pour milk into a cup. Indeed, the hardest part of the process is the part where the baker lets the oven do the work. I worry more about him burning himself than any other part of the baking, and I forbid him any access to the oven. I know that I should be MORE concerned about him the potential hazards of whirring electric beaters, tottering on an uneven chair, or stirring over a pot of hot water to make seven-minute frosting. I should be, but strangely I am not.