Skip to main content

How You Doin’

Benjamin has a new habit that is slowly driving me crazy (as if I wasn’t already there):

He’s dropping the final consonant sound from a bunch of words when he speaks. Mostly ‘ing’ words.

Speaking becomes speakin’. Lifting becomes liftin’. Being is bein’. Doing is doin’. Driving is drivin’…and so on.

Well, guess what kid? You are drivinG me up the wall.

Now, I’m not a member of the speech-police (‘hey’ and ‘yeah’ play a prominent role in my vocabulary!), nor do I expect Benjamin to walk around speaking as though he’s auditioning for Masterpiece Theatre. But, could we not have a little more diction, please?

Our conversation about 20 minutes ago went like this:

Ben: “Hey Mommy. Look at my colorin’.”

Me: “Good job Ben. And it’s coloring.”

Ben: “Yeah. Colorin’.”

Me: “No Ben. Coloring…say the “ing” at the end of the word, please.”

Ben (more or less rolling his baby-blues at me): “Coloring-GA.” (Um...was that attitude I detected?)

Now, Benjamin is the kid who never stops talking. He uttered his first three-word sentence at 18 months, and hasn’t quit since. And his speech has always been clear as a bell. So, I am sure this is just a phase, as are most of the other kooky, drive-me-insane things that my kids do.

And Pierre (he of the French accent) sometimes pokes fun at the way I speak. I tend to over-pronounce words, and apparently cannot say the word vodka properly (maybe that’s because I’m a wine drinker!). And of course, I’ve been known to drop an ‘eh’ every once in a while. 

So, as with all things kid-related, I am sure that this too shall pass. In the meantime however, I will try to refrain from being all over Benjamin like jam on peanut butter each time that he pulls a Joey (as in Friends. Don’t you miss Friends?).

I know, I know. I’ll be workinG on pickinG my battles.

xo Naomi

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Funny Medicine

So, after blogging about Ben’s ear infection, a good friend messaged me on Facebook with a unique remedy for ear pain. She’s had a ruptured eardrum, so if she says that this works, I’m inclined to believe her. Here’s the message: “If Ben complains about pain, take an onion and mash it as you would a potato. Then, wrap it in something and heat it in the microwave till it’s hot (not hot like I'll burn you if I touch it, but hot). Take it out of the microwave and wrap it in a towel (don't worry you can wash it out after), put it on a pillow and then have Ben put his sore ear on it. When he no longer feels the heat, move a piece of towel away so he is one layer closer to the onion.” What do you think? Neat, eh? My pediatrician recommended a few drops of olive oil in the ear to ease pain. I’ve tried it with Ben, and it seemed to give him some relief. I’m going to try the onion. Why not? It’s an alternative that just might work. And I think that Ben would find it kind of fun to put...

Here we go….

I’ve been wanting to start a blog for a while now. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about starting it, talking about starting it, tinkering with the layout (and that was hard because I am basically a computer-dummy), and now, writing it. Is anyone actually going to read what I write on here? Maybe. Well….my mom will read it (Hi Mom!). Regardless, I do have a purpose to starting this, and here it is: Deciding to be a mom was one the very best decision that I have ever made (second only to marrying Pierre), and I want to share that. The time spent being home with my boys goes by so fast. Ok….let’s rephrase that….actual days can seem endless (and there are definitely times when I call Pierre at work, and tell him not to dare come home without wine. Or chocolate. Or both!!), but still each day, each week, seems to be going by faster and faster. I blinked and my youngest went from being a baby to turning three years old this coming Tuesday. And the next time I blink he’ll be thirty-three!...

A Brother’s Love

The boys had ice-cream for dessert tonight. In fact, not only did they have ice-cream, they had an ice-cream sundae with whipped cream and strawberries, a special treat as only Grandma can make. Spoiled little bugs. Just as my two sweet-toothed monkeys were about to dig-in, Grandpa, being “the silliest” as Nicholas calls him, pulled a fast one. Taking Nicholas’ bowl of ice-creamy-yumminess, Grandpa said: “Mmmm-mmmm. That’s my ice cream, Nicholas. Thank you!” And he pretended to gobble up the bowl. Nicholas was not impressed. He stuck-out his bottom lip, and gave a somewhat convincing fake cry while burying his little head in his chair. I wouldn’t have awarded him an Oscar for this particular performance, but his point was clear enough: Grandpa had his ice cream, and he wasn’t going to let it be eaten without protest. Now Benjamin, watching all this unfold, had a very different reaction. His big, blue eyes welled up with tears, not of the crocodile variety, his face cru...