I often simultaneously complain that my children ever learned to talk and yell "Mom" or yell at each other, while also adoring their toddlerese mispronunciations (something my husband swears the woman he married would never have approved of), funny phrasology and meltingly sweet statements.
While all of us have been sick and grouchy, we've had plenty of the yelling part that I'm not so fond of (not, I must sadly admit all on the part of the children -- hanging head), but also many of the good parts of speech are going on around here.
First, the bittersweet -- some of my children are learning to pronounce words like popsicle correctly. Once long ago, the older two argued whether the word was said "popskable" or "pop-see-el" but now one of them says it correctly. Soon only my husband and I will be left saying "plasagna," "gomana," (banana) "gaboon," (balloon) "ice pubes," and "popskable." And they look at us like we are crazy when we do. Is there no justice in the world?
I love, however, that my daughter's vocabulary is big enough to let her creatively explain things that happen, while not being quite big enough to use the correct words. Where else but from someone in this position of verbal innocence would you hear that you wear floatation devices at the pool to keep you from "floating down" or that (my personal favorite) her "bottom burps"?
But best of all, I love it when my kidlets, who I wouldn't really sell to passing Gypsies (no matter what I threaten them with) for all the gold or tea in China -- snuggle up to me, wrap me in their arms (as The Middle Girl did last night) and say, "I love you, Mommy. You're vewy pwecious."