Toddler talk

It’s such a weird thing to watch a child acquire language.

When your child is in school full time, he’s picking up all sorts of stuff from teachers as well as the adorable little tykes he’s with all day, on top of the stuff he picks up from you and anyone in your house. So you are never quite sure where some of the stuff comes from. And when he busts out with something hilariously bossy or rude, it’s hard not to react with an incredulous laugh. Which a toddler probably considers the jackpot of parental reactions in most situations.

Here are some things Holden’s been saying lately. I wish I could get this stuff on video so I could preserve the inflection and conviction, which adds a whole other layer of hilarity. But, he is pretty good at shutting down shenanigans as soon as he sees me train a camera or phone on him.

• “O-B-E!” — I have a theory that there must be some song they sing at school where they spell out the word “obey,” which is delightfully Orwellian.

• “Are you OK? I’m OK.” — To people or toys, whenever they might have gotten bumped or jostled.

• “I can’t like it.” — Not I don’t like it, but I can’t like it.

• “The number B!” — He sometimes calls letters numbers and numbers letters, even though he knows all his letters and many numbers backward and forward.

• “Scoot that booty!” — For scooting out of chairs or down stairs.

• “That’s enough!” — For times when he is tired of your drama.

• “ROOOOAAAARRRR!!” — Used when we read books about lions, tigers, sharks or snakes, and used to scare the bejesus out of strangers at restaurants or grocery stores.

• “That is soooo sad.” — Proclaimed when he sees pictures of people or animals not looking very happy, or when we pretend to scare off monsters and lions.

• “Come back here!” — To be said to someone who is walking away in his view prematurely, or to poop making a getaway down the toilet.

• “Wait on meeeee!” — To be wailed to any parent figure who might take two steps away from him when he’s feeling like an integral part of the mission.

• “Put it in your pocket!” — About your mobile device when he wants your undivided attention.

• “Stop it, mama!” This is usually accompanied by a threatening finger point, followed by a time-out, because oh hell no.

Colloquially speaking

On the heels of a recent conversation about Southernisms and colloquialisms spurred by my usage of “gullywasher”…

Manfred: I heard something like “gullywarsher” the other day: “Frog strangler.”

Me: Oh yeah? Ha! That must be like a toad choker. Frog strangler, toad choker, gullywasher.

Manfred: I have never heard of any of those.

Me: What are some colloquialisms from where you’re from? I’m sure there are Jersey phrases we don’t use here.

Manfred: I can’t think of any that mean it’s raining. We just say, “It’s FUCKING POURING.”

Day 187: Awwww, Man!

Day 187: Awwww, Man!

Luke has started talking, and one of his favorite things to say is, “Awwww, man!” I am told that he also says this at the end of grace. Close enough!

[Project 365]

Speaking Southern like it should be spoke

pear preserves

When I was growing up, there was this book floating around our house called Speaking Southern Like It Should Be Spoke, and it was more or less a dictionary of Southernisms. What I can’t say for sure is whether or not it was mean or nice. Like, was it playful self-parody, or mean razzing from the outside? I’m not sure, and it’s even harder to tell since I can’t really find much out about that book online, almost like it only exists in my memory. And on this one random site. I’ll need to rifle through some drawers in my parents’ spare bedroom the next time I’m home to see if I can find it.

Anyway, what got me to thinking about Southernness was tonight’s potluck at the Yarbro-Dill estate, which was Southern-themed and so ridiculously delicious that it defies description. Maybe that’s just my own proclivities busting through the crust there; we’ve done an Indian food night and an Italian night (which I missed due to a case of the barfies) but I tell you, that Southern home cookin’ just practically begs to be lumped into a giant pile in the middle of your Dixie plate and shoveled into your mouth with reckless abandon. The color palate of all the food (save the pomegranate-cranberry deliciousness) was yellow in color and therefore simply had to be mashed together with a hunk of cornbread and shoved down the ol’ gullethole. I defy you to find a better way to feed yourself.

This idea of Southernness is something I find fascinating because I am one of these people who loves and appreciates where I came from and the undeniable Southernness of it, while still rejecting the idea that Southern equals ignorant and racist and hyperreligious. I did my fair share of rebelling against that idea in high school and college by purposefully altering my accent to squeeze out the majority of the drawl — saying “ahn” instead of “ohwn” was the biggest challenge of my life — but now I’m glad I’ve still got quite a fair amount of South in my speech. I never managed to get rid of it all and I can’t tell you how grateful I am because of that. I go home and people accuse me of being a Yankee (walking around downtown Saltillo on River Day with a camera I was told I seemed like a tourist); everywhere else I’m just a country bumpkin. So I can enjoy the awkwardness in both places, and take comfort in the knowledge that I have a home, but I’m not necessarily trapped by my roots.

As I left the potluck, I listened to this voicemail from my mom and grinned like a moron re: its country sweetness:


Southernistic from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

Part of being Southern is being told that you’re a joke. That you’re inferior. Southerners tend to shoulder an inferiority complex that most people don’t quite understand. I love knowing so many Southerners who are, in fact, fucking awesome, and who understand that the whole Southern underdog thing is just part of the story, not the whole story, and who blow right past that narrative and supply other much more interesting ones instead.

I’ll tell you what else I like: Going to a potluck where everyone else cooks amazing dishes, and feeling the need to contribute, and having the option to offer up pear preserves prepared from a harvest taken from a tree on your family’s land that’s been producing for four generations. And then having actual people enjoy that contribution. I don’t know. It makes the world feel a lot more manageable that way.