Daddy Rules: Parenting with a language all our own

My wife and I aren’t much for baby talk with our toddler and preschooler, but the dialect of our family has become pretty distinctive under their influence. So while there may not be a lot of “goo goo gah gah” around the house, so many of our kids’ own names for things have crept into our vocabulary, I suspect we often sound completely insane to outsiders.

They would be at least half correct, for there really is no good reason for one adult ever to address another with a sentence like: “Little White Bunny is crying because he didn’t see the Blowy Thing on the way to the New Orange Rice Restaurant.” Or for the other adult to know exactly which restaurant and piece of local public art it refers to, and to feel a pang of irrational sympathy for the aforementioned weepy stuffed rabbit. But young kids have a vernacular so simple and logical that their choice of words often makes perfect sense to parents.

Dan Coleman's daughter, Zia, holds two of her favorite dolls, Special

The geography of our neighborhood seems to be a particularly rich source of toddler nomenclature. Borne on stroller, tricycle, scooter, and foot, we map the topography of a small island of several blocks like the ancient mariners who charted the Age of Exploration by hand. My kids log their landmarks, natural and man-made, and monitor each change with infectious amazement: There are fish in the Goldfish Pond again! Look at all the pokey seed balls beneath the Pokey Seed Ball Tree! The Orange Berry Bush berries are starting to turn orange!

My son Ray was once so big on basketball hoops that a mere suggestion to go visit his favorites could usually entice him into the running stroller. Each had a proper name and personality all its own: Yellow Hoop, Black Hoop with No Net, Chain Hoop. But I had my first inkling of how this type of thing sounds to normal people the day I chanced to meet the owner of what was known to us as the Orange Hoop with No Backboard House. When it came up that we lived in the same neighborhood, he described the location of his house, and I blurted out, “Does your house have an orange plastic basketball hoop out front? With no backboard? We love that thing!” My new friend was kind enough to remain smiling as he backed away slowly.

Household objects have a glossary all their own, as well, especially the hordes of stuffed animals and dolls. Several months ago we had occasion to introduce a new sitter to the chaos, and as I showed her around that first morning, I forgot to point out the necessities (diapers, wet wipes, snacks), and focused instead on the imaginary personalities of the household.

Ray’s numerous stuffed cats, dogs, bears and bunnies came first.

“Let’s introduce you to Fat Cat, and here is Cotton Candy (we call him that because he’s pink), Big Kitty, Pink Eye, Little Black Kitty (you can call him LBK for short). That bear over there is Biggie, short for Big Bear, granddaddy of them all, and here is Little White Bunny, and we can’t forget Bowling Ball. Yes, he is a dog, not a bowling ball. He came from the claw machine at the bowling alley.”

Our real dog, Claude, who at age 13 hardly bothers to rise anymore for introductions, musters a dozy tail wag in response to my passing mention as we cross to my daughter Zia’s room. But did he just roll his eyes at me to the new sitter?

Zia’s got a thing for babies, so I go around the room, introducing Baby Doll, Special Baby, Talkin’ Baby (whose name is probably a subtle form of protest on my daughter’s part, since the doll’s digital voice box was pried out and confiscated by an adult who shall remain nameless), Birdie Baby, and of course, prince of the nursery, Baby George (named after big brother’s hero, Curious George).

“Let’s see, who am I missing?” The new sitter and I stand together, each silently pondering a larger question: whether or not I should be wearing a strait jacket. “Oh yeah, Zia and Ray. Well, they’re around here somewhere. What’s that, Talkin’ Baby? Of course! What a good little hostess you are.”

I pick up Zia’s Fisher Price teapot and scrounge around her toy bin for a pink plastic teacup.

“Care for tea?”

— Dan Coleman is secretary on the board of Dads of Douglas County. He is a part-time stay at home dad with a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old, but in his other life he is a librarian at the Lawrence Public Library, where he selects children’s and parenting books for the Children’s Room. He can be reached at danielfcoleman@yahoo.com.