Mali finally enunciates all the syllables in her name correctly. She is all about the labeling: I am Mali! That is Daddy! She is Violet!
Leelo, after much much much coaching from Therapist L and Supervisor M and Babysitter A and me, is starting to call for me by yelling, "Mommy!" This is a big deal, and the concept seems to have clicked because in order to encourage him I respond quickly and with gusto. "Mommy!" *poof* Mommy appears, even if she was in the middle of hand-washing all those really cute hippie baby clothes that looked so cute at the second hand store but now need to be laundered painstakingly and individually (Note to all new parents: "Hand Wash Only" is one of Hell's own clothing labels. Don't let Satan suck you in, no matter how cute the clothes are, and even if it's only to one of his minor circles).
But, anyhow, Yay Leelo! And he went poop in the potty twice, for Babysitter A. Woo. And then he soaked his carseat on the way home from school, which he has never done. Such an unpredictable boy; just when we think he's totally on top of something, he'll have an accident. Then again, many five year olds still have occasional wet underwear.
Iz corrected me, yet again. This must be what it is like for my mom: The *Duh*, Mommy! Show. Here is the exchange, which started as a discussion about Jo's mom, the impracticality of cemeteries (they could be parks, or schools, or housing), Parsi traditions, Unitarian traditions (most people probably get cremated, but of course the individual gets to choose), pauper graves, the Black Plague, and burial practices in islands like Bermuda where land is scarce so people get buried six deep...
Me: "Well, Zombie Jamboree [we were listening to Harry Belafonte] describes zombies going "back to back and belly to belly" because the bodies were buried on top of each other..."
Iz: "You mean their coffins were lowered into the grave. Or their caskets. They don't just stick the bodies in the ground."
Me: Surreptitious eye roll. "Yes, that is more accurate."