Words to remember

Another one of those posts in which I want simply to get down things Edith has said, whether because they're funny or simply because they're firsts, before I forget them. But for those who prefer pictures to wordy posts, I'll include another studio portrait at the end. If only to torture myself with all the great shots we didn't order...

It seems that other children's misfortunes are a particular stimulus to conversation these days. Recently Edith has told us with enthusiasm about occasions when a neighbor child or classmate has done something forbidden. An event that made a particular impression was the night a couple of weeks ago when Liam and Annabeth, the three year olds best buds who are Edith and Harrison's big-kid models, decided to take off down the sidewalk, refusing to turn around even when their parents called to them. Such a scene is hardly a novelty in our neighborhood--Edith herself has often played that game--but something about her vantage point on our balcony that evening, watching the whole mini-drama unfold, made it stick with her. "Liam Annbef run 'way. Not listen Mister Bill. Get in big trouble," she has told us over and over.

This evening it was a much more involved story. Trying to avoid a hair washing, she climbed out of the bathtub the minute I picked up the shampoo, announcing that she was all done. Anticipating that this move would meet with maternal resistance, she tried distraction.

"Hehson climbed," she told me, as she worked to climb up on the toilet seat.

I fell for it, repeating, "Harrison climbed? Climbed where?"

She continued, "Hehson climbed out high chair." She could sense she had me.

"Oh, last Saturday night?" I asked.

Edith nodded (as if she knew perfectly what day of the week she was talking about). "Hehson climbed out high chair. Made big mess yogurt. Edith waited. Miss Campbell said, 'Hehson big trouble!' Like Liam Annbef."

We'll wait for Miss Campbell to confirm the veracity of that account. But true or not, it was quite a story.

***

This afternoon Edith pointed to a spot on my neck.

"It's a freckle," I told her.

"Feckle," she repeated.

"Do you have freckles?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Edith not have feckles. Just nipples."

***

Working out negative constructions has been an ongoing endeavor around here recently. Drawing distinctions like the one above seems to be important to her right now, though she can't quite always figure out the right wording.

"Mommy Edith go barbatoo. Daddy NOT go barbatoo. Daddy go play softball."

"Edith eat yogurt. NOT applesauce."

"Edith wear shoes. NOT Bismarck wear shoes. Bismarck hair all over body. Edith NOT hair over body. Just on head."

And so on. If this is what is meant by the "no" phase at age two, it's an entirely different affair than I'd imagined, quite a fun one to watch unfold.

***

We're beginning to hear some first person pronouns, too. We appeared on the scene first--I suspect because it didn't require any transposition. Tom or I uses the word we, and Edith can then use it in exactly the same way and be correct. But in the last week or so, she's added the occasional I as well. Most often when telling us about something she sees: "I see geese!" or "I see big lawnmower!" You has been heard when she talks to Bismarck: "No, Bismawk. Dis Edith's food. You have food over dere." It will be interesting to watch her extrapolate further, using I and you in ever more contexts.

***

She is very rules-conscious right now (see the first vignette above). It makes her happy to know the rules, and frequently I'm surprised to find that just explaining a rule to her is enough to ward off a protest. Her little, "Oh!" of comprehension and acquiescence is a great sound.

Sometimes, when she's not sure if there's a rule governing a situation, she pauses and asks us if she can do something with a hopeful little "Edith?" or "Do it?" Interestingly, this almost always happens when she is more than welcome to do the thing in question. Yesterday she wanted to know if she could walk up the handicap ramp to a door rather than take the steps, for example. This morning, on a trip to the grocery store, she called out, "S store!" which is what she has called it for months now, based on the first letter she could identify in the sign. "Yes," I said. "The S store. Most other people call it Wegman's." She paused and asked, "Edith?" Surprised, I said that yes, she was welcome to call it that, too. "Wehman's," she repeated happily.

***

She is also trying to figure out the application of sorry. Sometimes she knows it's called for and balks, making an apology the line in the sand. Those often seem to be cases where she's really abashed at what she's done--pulled a plate of food off the dinner table, poked mommy deliberately in the eye--but seems determined not to show it. Other times she offers up a ready "Sorry, mommy" in cases where she seems emotionally unaffected and where, in fact, no apology is needed: when her sleeve brushes the corner of the table, or when she accidentally walks into a bush. Then I feel abashed, as if I've been so strict that my daughter feels she has to apologize for her existence. I think I have to remind myself that this is simply a rule she's still sorting out.

***

Utterly in keeping with the parenting books' description of this age, we're hearing much more "sef," too, as in "Edith do it sef." But again, she's willing to forego the pleasure of doing something herself when she can indulge the alternative pleasure of following a rule. Like this morning, when we got out of the car at the grocery store and I carried her into the store. Knowing the rule that governed the situation, she explained to me,

"Edith not walk sef in parking lot. Hold hands. Maybe tars toming."

***

Perhaps the most wonderful thing recently has been the glimpses into the rich interior life she seems to be developing, so much of it based on books and music. Occasionally we'll overhear snippets of songs or stories she's recalling as she walks around the house or sits in the carseat. Other times, she provides us with explicit literary references.

Last night thunder rumbled. "Like chidren," she said to me. I was blank for a minute, until she clarified, "Like chidren scehhed in 'ria black radio." Then I could confirm that yes, it was thunder like the thunder that made the Von Trapp children scared in The Sound of Music.

Last Monday night we went down the street to a baby shower at 7pm. When we came outside an hour later it was dark. "Dawk!" Edith said in surprise. "Sun has gone to bed and so must I. Like Gretl. Gretl go sleep stairs, Liesl come carry Gretl bed." Whereupon she lay her head down on the sidewalk, waiting for Liesl.

It doesn't have to be something she hears as frequently as The Sound of Music, however. This evening we were at an end-of-year reception for the Princeton writing tutors. Suddenly Edith announced in the middle of the living room where we were gathered, "Mehk!" and sketched a big circle with her hands. People looked at her, uncertain, and laughed a little. I was uncertain, too: this didn't sound like her usual request for mommy milk. But she repeated it. "Mehk!" she said, with the circle motion. Then, "Kitten!" as she pointed to the mantel over the fireplace. I looked up, and it suddenly clicked. Over the mantelpiece was a very large, perfectly circular mirror that from our perspective was reflecting the white ceiling.

"Like Kitten's First Full Moon!" I exclaimed. "Kitten want bowl mehk!" she agreed happily. In Kitten's First Full Moon, a book we've read three or four times in the last year, a young kitten sees the full moon in the sky, thinks it's a bowl of milk, and tries to reach it. I was very excited not only that Edith recalled a book we've read rarely, but also that she had compared the big, round, shiny mirror reflecting a white ceiling, an object that's not really a bowl of milk but might be mistaken for one, to the big, round, shiny moon, an object that's not really a bowl of milk but was mistaken for one.

Not all Edith's conversation this evening was so sophisticated. Tom took her away from the company at one point, when we determined both that she had a full and odorous diaper and that we had come without the diaper bag. A few minutes later she ran back into the living room, announcing proudly and very clearly to a group of assembled strangers, "Not wearing diaper! Not wearing diaper!"

And when not wearing a diaper led to the inevitable a few minutes later and we decided it was time to make our exit, promising Edith that we'd remove her wet clothes when we got to the car, she told another stranger in anticipation, "No pants! Edith naked!"

***

A final word on The Sound of Music. Edith's favorite song currently seems to be "So Long, Farewell." Tonight she figured out a piece of it that had escaped her before. Once I told her that champagne was a drink, she realized, "Liesl want dink. Fadder said 'No, Liesl, go bed.'"

But it's right at the end, before Gretl backs her way up the stairs, that Edith usually shouts, "My favorite!" She shouts that when reading her current favorite book, too, Little Pea, a birthday gift from Harrison. The phrase appears at the end of the book, when Little Pea discovers that he's going to get spinach for dessert and exclaims, "My favorite!"

Sometimes Edith embellishes the phrase, adding, "My favorite coming up!" And sometimes she says, "My favorite going up!" At first I thought this was just the inadvertent substitution of one movement verb for a similar one, which seemed logical. But then I realized it was even more logical considering that her original context was Gretl backing up the stairs towards bed. Edith's favorite is, quite literally, going up. Night after night after night...