Two year olds are
awesome. They’re funny, authentic, and not yet mature enough to have
developed a self-awareness that keeps them from saying what’s on their mind. In
the Galotti home, we’ve got a two year old who keeps the whole family laughing
pretty regularly. Sometimes Ella makes us laugh intentionally, and there’s a
very discernable twinkle in her eye as she speaks; other times, she’s completely
unaware.
(This morning was an
example of a moment when she was entirely unaware—the kids had all finished
breakfast and were in the process of making their way downstairs to get into snow
pants and coats. Josh, Ella’s big brother by a couple of years, had called to
me that he was thirsty and needed a drink. Ella’s response, clear as day, “There
isn’t time, Josh. You can’t have a drink.” Josh was incensed at this reply from
his itty bitty little sister, and said grumpily to her, “You don’t make the
decisions around here, Ella.” Ella looked at him intently for a moment and
then, leaning toward him and furrowing an earnest brow under her delicate
blonde curls, said, “I do, Josh. I DO make the decisions around here.”)
I’ve always, from time
to time, called all three of the children “Sweetheart” or “Pumpkin” or “Lovebug”.
With the boys, it’s never been an issue. In fact, I’ve never really thought
about it and I don’t think they have either. Ella, ever the literalist,
responds to any name other than her
name by insisting that I call her by her proper name, Ella Grace. The first few
times this happened, I was amused and Ella quickly learned that this response was an
easy way to get a laugh. She now responds this way every time Justin or I
call her anything other than Ella.
The interaction goes something like
this.
Justin: Come here,
sweetie.
Ella, with a twinkle
in her eye and a grin on her face: “I’m not sweetie!
I’m Ella Grace!
or
Elisha: Did you want
some milk, lovebug?
Ella, palms upturned
in mock uncertainty, with a glint in her eye: “I’m not lovebug. Don’t say that, Mommy. I’m Ella Grace!
Funny, too, that this
seems to be the only time she refers to herself with both her first and middle name. What we also find
amusing about this is that, every single time she gets to the part where she
says, “I’m Ella Grace,” she puts her
chubby wee hand firmly over her chest, just in case there’s any lingering
confusion about who she’s talking about when she says the words Ella Grace.
These little stages of
childhood pass so quickly. I don’t want this one to end… but I know it will. So
now at least it's written here, to read and remember for years to
come.
“I’m not a pumpkin! I’m Ella Grace!”
