Mine, all mine.

Since starting his new daycare, my son has picked up some new words, mainly "no" and "mine". I can only imagine that these words are essential for carving out the toddler fiefdoms that make up daycare. While I'm glad that he can express that which is his (apparantly everything), you try and have a conversation with someone who only says "no" and "mine" and see how long it takes before you want to hurt them. The world record is 19 femtoseconds.

Conversations usually go like this:
"How was your day?"
"Mine!"
"Yes, your day. How was it?"
"No."
"No what?"
"Mine!"

At dinner, when eating time is through, a sentiment usually expressed with the throwing and/or smearing of food, we ask Ben, "Are you done?" to which his reply is to put his spoon on his bowl, hold it out and say "Mine". In this case, "Mine" means "I'm done now, but I'm coming back for that motherfucker. Believe that." At least, that's what I think it means. In my world, 18 month olds speak like Dolemite. Can you dig it?

Last night, as I was reading to Ben about Bartholmew Cubbins and his environmental problems, all I heard was "Mine, mine, mine" until I got tired of the pronounciations and put him to bed. As I lay him down, I wound up his music globe and said goodnight before I left. "Mine" he replied, and I thought, "Yes I am."