Yesterday I asked Ella what she wants for her birthday, which is in November.

“I want a dooder.”
It just kills me when I can’t understand what she says, because I know she’s saying something I should recognize, and I know she’s trying to speak plainly.
“A what?”
“A dooder.”
Sometimes I just can’t figure it out. I’ll look at her, confused and hurt, and she’ll look at me, confused and hurt. “I’m sorry, honey, I can’t understand.”
“A dooder. Like Maya and Amlie.” (I knew Amlie was Amelia)

“Ooooh. A scooter!”

Yeah, catch up, Old Man. Hello?


Several months ago Ella told us she wants a “blue party” and a “blue cake” for her birthday. We’re not really worried about over-indulging our child — I’m the dad who tried to convince his kid that riding a broom stick around the garage was just as fun as riding a real horse — but rather are we giving her enough toys, and of the right kind.
Just when I was thinking that Ella’s too small for a “real” bike, she hopped onto Amelia’s and, with training wheels, rode around and around and around the cul-de-sac.

I asked her later which one she would rather have, a bike or a scooter.

“Both of them.”

“Which one do you like better.”

“I think both of them.”

“But if you could only choose one, would you choose the bike or the scooter.”

“Ummmmmm. The bike.

“And the scooter.”