Frog you, suckas.

Tommy's first day of school, ever, in his whole life, was yesterday. He learned about the color red. Here he is with his first tiny piece of shiz, er, crafty masterwork, that I will surely feel driven to save, in stacks and boxes, until it burns in the fires of the apocalypse:

So, in honor of his very first day in the hallowed halls of academia, I would like to share some of what we've been teaching him at home to prepare (to talk trash on the playground during recess):

A few days ago, we went to Meowson's Frozen Mustard for lunch. (That's what a barely-verbal Sam used to call Neilson's Frozen Custard, and now I've strong-armed everyone into calling it that. I fake a little no comprendo if a child of mine dares to call it by the correct name). As some take-out customers left the shop, Tommy yells after them:

"bye bye, suckas!"

I was horrified-slash-loving it. Mostly, just loving it. After all, it's hysterical. And now we know what my Mom was teaching Tommy while I took the older kids to the movies earlier in the day. I expect that he will always comes home from Grandma's house with a few new words. Grandma is a speech therapist, after all. But usually, they aren't so danged entertaining.

I will say, though, that Tommy is in a good place, linguistically. We can get him to parrot nearly anything we say, with only moderate comprehension, and poor 'consonent-R' blends.' (Except 'tr', at which he excels, which we have already discussed, at length). The Rs, on most occasions, are mostly inaudible.

Jake and I have had some good times lately, encouraging Tom to say shirt and frog repeatedly.

Or sometimes other variations on the same theme, including: baby shirt, bull shirt, or my favorite, frog you.

Hey, it might be poor parenting, and in poor taste, but what else are we to do for entertainment, with our Tivo nearly empty, except for SYTYCD and Burn Notice?

When we got home from Meowsons, I zipped Tom into his crib tent and whispered the usual "night, night." Then, instead of "love you, Tommy," I whispered (in my sweetest, lovey-dovey-baby-talk voice): "bye bye...suckas."

He gave me a little wave and a smile through the mesh netting before he responded, in kind:

"Momma. Night, night.

Bye, bye, suckas."

(Please feel free to leave me comments now about how I'm going straight to Hell.)