Where's WaldoObama?

Rowan is a typical 19 month old. She loves to identify things she knows, and will continue to do it repeatedly, insisting that you confirm her statement. "Cow!" she yells from the backseat. "Cow! Cow! Cow! COWWWWWWWW!!!!" "Cow," I answer, and she is silent.

She knows a lot, but not everything. Parts of the body, she knows. Clothing items. Books. Diapers (and wipes, but those are also "diapers".) Juice, milk, water. Snacks. Banana, grapes, apple, pineapple (also known as "apple"), bread, pasta, chicken. Shoes, shirt, jeans, pants, tights, mittens. Daddy, Mommy, Baby, Kitty, Puppy, Elmo. Daddy. Elmo. Daddy, Elmo. Lights. Lights. LIGHTS. L*I*G*H*T*S!!!

She sat on her dad's lap while supper was cooking, surfing the web with him. He was looking at a political website, scanning the headlines of the day. Soon, she was helping.

"Obada!" she said, pointing to a small picture. Soon, again. "Obada! Obada! OBADA!!!!"

And now, every male is one of the three. Daddy, Elmo, or "Obada".

Really, what more do we need?

Little Pitchers

Upon looking at the cover of a book she loves:

"Look, honey! What does the cow say?"

"Mooooo."

"Good job! What does the sheep say?"

"Mooooo."

"Well, no, he says 'Baa'. Can you say 'Baa'?"

"Baaa!"

"Right! And the pigs?"

Right on pitch, and in rhythm... "Na Na Na*!!!"

Thank you, Sandra Boynton. Apparently my daughter thinks all pigs are wonderful singers.




*N's are currently her version of L's. Lucy is now "Nootsy".