At 7:45 this morning, my niece A. called. She is three and a half, and on Eastern Time.
Sleepily, I scanned my brain for toddler conversation topics.
"Are you on your way to school?" I asked
"No." she answered. "I'm on my way to preschool."
One of my favorite things about A. is she demands precision with the English language. She refuses to call Spongebob Squarepants by his trademarked name. Why? As anyone with eyes can see, his pants aren't actually square. To A. he will forever and accurately be referred to as Spongebob Rectanglepants.
Earlier this summer I was on the phone with my sister-in-law, who was describing for me how A.'s little sister crashed A.'s dance lessons and even lined up for an animal cracker treat with the rest of the class when it was over. "She just marched herself right over and put out her hand."
"No, mommy!" I heard A. insist in the background. "She didn't march. She walked."
Get it straight, people.
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