Lest Thee Be the Repeatee

(photos illustrate what happens when you cross 'da babe)

It's official, we have a parrot. In the last day, dear daughter has begun to mimic things that Chad and I have said. So far she's not selected anything, shall we say, tangy. But really, it's just a matter of time.

I've already rolled back the salty, sailor-home-on-shore leave vocabulary - for the most part anyway. And, generally, we try not to talk about anything inappropriate, at least not using vocabulary words that she understands. I fear, though, that even that must cease. I can tell she's saving up, she's listening to every little thing (especially when you don't think she is) and she's just trying to determine which little gem she's going to pull out and show someone.

Before any of you feel sorry for us, which as the doting, sympathetic people you are, I know was forthcoming, I should point out that this is just payback time. She's getting ready to get us back for every time that she's had to go to bed when she didn't want to, didn't get a cookie, didn't get to watch Elmo, had to go to school when she didn't want to, had to come home from school when she didn't want to, had to take a bath, in short, for pretty much every little thing that she couldn't control - now, she has this. She can listen and squirrel away verbal ammunition like she's Russia rolling into the Cold War. Boy, are we in for it.

Now, all I have to do to prevent the impending embarassment is to a) not be quite so sarcastic, and b) keep Chad from teaching Keira to say 'interesting' things on cue.

This ought to be fun.