Talk It Out

When Charlotte says something I've never before heard her say, I'm always super proud and super amused.

Anyone who spends time around "older toddlers" knows they should have their own show on Comedy Central. Either that, or I just see Charlotte as MY Charlotte, irresistibly adorable in all she says and does.

Lately, she has given us some fantastic entertainment, or at least insight into how her mind operates. For starters, Chris gave her a mini-flashlight to take to school for her pretend campout during camping week at school. It struck Charlotte's fancy, and she now sleeps with it each night.

As I said goodnight to her, doing our evening ritual, she decided to play doctor and examine me with the flashlight. She looked up my nose, in my eyes, down my throat, and in my ears.

"Are you a doctor?" I (stupidly) asked.

"Yes," she said, not batting an eye, focused on her examination. "I'm Doctor Hofmann."

I laughed but of course played along, like any decent mom would. "Doctors go to school for a LONG time," I said.

"Yes," Charlotte said, in an almost eerily professional voice. "When I get bigger, I'm going to medical school."

What? When did she ever learn the term "medical school"?

So, I asked her.

"Ms. Michelle," she said, naming her school teacher. Like it was obvious.

"Chris, that school tuition just paid off!" I yelled down the stairs.

Meanwhile, Charlotte continued to check me out, examining my eye. "Hmmm. A little red," she said IN THE EXACT SAME TONE her pediatrician uses. Then she looked at my knee. "Hmmmm. A little red."

As much as I wanted to indulge in career planning for her, bedtime awaited. "Alright, noodle. Time for lights out," I said.

"I'm not a noodle!" she said. "I'm Dr. Hofmann!"

"What kind of doctor are you going to be when you get big?" I asked.

"The kind like Dr. Siegel!" she joyfully announced.

"You want to be an ear-nose-throat doctor?" I asked. "Not a doctor for kids?" (I mean, doesn't every child want to go into pediatrics?)

"Nope," Charlotte said. "I'm a doctor for ears."

"Good enough," I said. "And don't tell Daddy, but I'll totally pay for medical school. But, um, we need to work on learning to write your name first, okay?"

A day or two later, I asked Charlotte, "What do you want to be when you get bigger?"

She coyly grinned and said, "Ummmmm, a MOMMY!"

"There's no better job, pumpkin," I said, and Miss Literal Like Her Father informed me that she was NOT a pumpkin, she was Charlotte Marie Hofmann. Of course.

Another time this week, I asked Charlotte a question--I can't remember what--and she paused to think about her answer, her hip jutted to one side, her hand on it, and she tapped her lips with finger, deep in thought.

I smirked and waited. She looked oh so very sassy.

As if reading my mind, Charlotte announced, almost rap-style, "A hand on my hip and a hand on my lip!"

I literally fell over laughing. "And where did we learn THAT phrase?"

Her teacher. Of course. I love it!

And, lately, Charlotte has been calling everyone and everything POOPY. We've managed to parent her enough to stop her from calling people poopy, using the it's-not-nice approach, but her general fascination with the word POOPY was a bit of a gray area. I was willing to let it go, but I suspect she and her friends were obnoxiously chanting, "Poopy! Poopy! Poopy!" at school, and they were told it was a bathroom word.

So, Chris was putting Charlotte to bed. She looked up at him from her Cinderella-clad bed with those giant brown eyes and asked, ever so innocently, "Is poopy a bathroom word?"

"Um, yeah. I guess it is," Chris said.

Charlotte nodded. She then hopped out of bed, marched to the bathroom, and yelled, "POOPY! Pee-pee! Poopy-peepee-poopy-peepee!" Then she quietly walked back to her bedroom and climbed into bed. Apparently she just had to get it out of her system.

The next day, I was driving home with the girls. "Mommy, is poopy a bathroom word?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I suppose." I'm not crazy about categorizing anything as a bathroom word, because I think it just makes it more tantalizing and weirdly special to 3 year olds. But I didn't want to undermine the stance her teacher had taken--an understandable stance, considering how small children play off one another in the most annoying ways at times.

"Okay!" Charlotte sing-songed. "I'm pretending the back of the car is a bathroom. I'm in the bathroom!"

I sighed again. "Okayyyyyy." I knew exactly where she was going with this.

"Poopy-poopy-pee-pee-poopy! It's okay, I'm in the bathroom! Poopy-poopy-pee-pee-poopy-POOOPY!" And on and on and on.

I figured telling her to stop would only egg her on, so I decided to let her get bored with words herself. Lorelei, meanwhile, thought Charlotte was hilarious.

And of course, there are those verbal moments that actually give us some hope that we're not terrible, terrible parents. For instance, last night, as I laid next to Charlotte before lights out, Chris brought her her nightly Contigo bottle of water (with ice!). "Thank you, Daddy," she said. "I love you."

Or they occur when I hold Charlotte in my arms. She lays her head on my shoulder and says, "I love you SO MUCH, Mommy."