Sandals

I want my sandal. The left one to be exact. I don’t know where it is and I need it because I look stupid wearing only one sandal.

It’s getting warmer out. I’ll need to be cool and relaxed and the only way to do it is in my surfer shorts and ugly shirts. I can’t possibly complete the outfit with tennis shoes. I need sandals.

How can I wear just one sandal? I’d look like a fool. I mean, more so than usual.

Where is my sandal you ask? I don’t know. That’s why I’m looking for it. What happened? That’s an interesting story.

I blame the baby.

You see, since we’ve moved into a house the baby has increased mobility. In our old townhouse we had three floors. Each floor was about 8 inches from one side to another. We didn’t need to tell the baby not to go here or there because she couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go that we couldn’t see her.

Now it’s not so easy. There are simply certain sections of the house that cannot be blocked off. And she’s stealthy. Like a special ops soldier on a mission. One second she’ll be sitting on my lap looking at a book. The next thing I know I’ll wake up on the floor with a head ache and the baby is gone.

One of her favorite places to escape to is our closet. It’s big and has its own light. She spends more time there than in her room playing with her toys. For some reason my belts and shoes are infinitely more interesting that a buzzing, blinking toy that a loving aunt or uncle gave her.

When she disappears I know where to find her. Usually she’s wearing her mother’s “parochial funk” shoes, one of my hats and is carrying one of my sandals. I always arrive too late, no matter the situation. I could be right behind her and still she only has one damn sandal.

I give her the stern voice and ask her where my other sandal is.

Her usual look of maniacal glee is changed to a sweet innocence; she looks up at me with her big blue eyes and gives me an angelic face. “Shoo”, she says. I forget about what she had done and scoop her up in my arms, cover her in kisses and give her another credit card.

The other sandal always turns up a few days later. Usually on my bed, as if to say, “I own you.” As if there were any doubt.

But I was beginning to have doubts. Not about who was in charge, as it’s clearly the baby. My doubts were about her vocabulary. So I’ve been taping our conversations. (What? You’ve never had a conversation with an 18 month old?) If you slow it down, you’d be surprised what you hear.

There are a few things that are literal translations. For example:

Tebble = Table
Cheeeeeeez = Cheese
Peez = Please
Tink Ooo = Thank you
Buddee = Bunny
Uck! = Duck, yuck, I’m fed up with the current state of politics in our city
Nyuck = Either this means cup (which is odd because she can also say “cup” and “drink”) or she is trying to be a replacement stooge.
Dugee = Dog
Nums = Food

These are simple words that she uses on a daily basis. They are her survival words. Things she needs in order to get what she needs to eat, etc. However, there are other words that she uses that have a more nefarious use, I’ve discovered. When slowed down on tape, this is what they mean.

Uh oh = You’re screwed
Poopie = The princess has soiled herself and you, manservant, are expected to make things right immediately.
Mama = Your presence is irritating me. Go away and bring the Life Giver to me.
Mommy! = Did you not hear me the first time? Fetch the Life Giver!
Daddy! = I want something for which I do not have the vocabulary to describe. However, I demand that you provide it to me at once.
My Daddy! = I am trying to break your heart.
Shoo! = You are mine. I control you. Do not try to deny it for it will do you no good. I am in charge now. Serve me you pathetic adult. Now, hug me and forget that I have stolen the vessels that protect your soft feet from injury and harm.