I love little kids.  I love it when they say absurd things. Their curiosity and enthusiasm for the now mundane things is refreshing.  I’m jealous that they get to have tantrums and say what they want.  People frown upon that as you get older.  Let’s face it watching a 40 year old woman screaming and kicking on the floor because her ice cream is too “melty” is apparently not ok…. sorry again Baskin Robbins…. 

 I love and hate their uncensored honesty.  And I especially love watching their personalities come to fruition.  When my now 4 year old M was 1, my husband and I were scared that she had no personality.  Which if you know her, you know how laughable that thought was.  We would play peek a boo, act super silly and nothing.  Nothing!  And we are pretty funny people, well we like to think so anyway.  It was kind of a blow to our self esteem.  She just seemed unimpressed with us most of the time.  Fast forward a few years and she is probably one of the funniest kids I know.  And that says a lot.  I like to think she was just studying us back then.  I have to give her credit, this girl has the quickest wit and the best one liners. 

Like most sleep deprived beings, I like to start my morning with a cup of hot coffee.  However, I never get to enjoy it hot.  I swear the moment the coffee is done brewing my children can sense that I am excited about something.  Maybe it’s the rich aroma of happiness wafting through the air that awakens them, who knows.  This particular morning my sweet M comes down and crawls into my lap and burrows her tiny self into my body.  I give her a big hug and kiss and say “Good morning love!”

“Good morning mommy.”, she replies with a big yawn and her sweet stinky morning breath.  We sit a rock back and forth for a moment before she pops up and grabs my face. 

“Mommy?”, she asks. 

“Yes M?”,  I reply as I take a sip of cold coffee.

“Can I see your dingaling?”, she asks inquisitively. 

I start choking. I set my cup down, trying to swallow back my coffee as best I can without it seeping out the corners of my mouth.  I finally catch my breath.  “What did you say?”, I ask mortified and praying that I misheard her. 

“Mommy, I want to see your dingaling!”, she asks again with an air of annoyance.  

Now something told me not to react how I wanted to react.  Because I’m assuming your mind is where mine was right then.  Before I could form a coherent sentence M gives up on me and turns to her father.  

“Daddy, let me see your dingaling!” she demands. 

My husband’s face fell and froze. I could see the range of thoughts going through his head like mine. 

“M, why don’t you show us your dingaling?”, I ask calmly. Trying to suppress my own horror.  

“Okay!”, she says gleefully. She then proceeds to open her mouth and points laughing really hard.  “See?”, she squeals.  “See, it dingalings!!” 

Oh my good gracious, thank you Jesus. M had discovered her uvula.  So naturally my husband and I obliged and showed her our dingalings as well.  She was thrilled. We are still working with her to use the proper name.  And don’t worry her school has been notified as well.