Moye! Care!

30 11 2010

Moye, means “more” in Little C speak. And Care is my name. Or Car, as I seem to have become since she went home.

Little C speak is a mish-mash of toddler speak, and what we’ve decided is German, Irish, French, Italian and some form of old-school Jewish-woman speak (we mean no negatives to anyone Jewish, German, Irish, Italian or French by saying that, believe me. Little C has been throwing out some random pronunciations of words.)

I heard “Care” and “Car” so many times from Wed – Sat last week, that my heart melted into a puddle. I heard “Care.” I said, “Yes, Lovely” or “Yes, Ma’am” when she was adamant I pay attention!

Whatever she calls me, I don’t care. As long as she remembers me and some version of my name (she has a memory like a steel safe. I think she may never forget me now. LOVE) she can call me whatever she wants, as long as I get that smile, that silly, and that “no no no Care!” when I do something she deems wrong.

Good gravy, I’m totally in LOVE with My Little C.

She is the ultimate comedienne. She knows it, too. I love her. Can you tell?

I’ve never been happier to wake up at 6am (before her) for coffee and then to greet a sleepy-eyed small person who just beams with happiness to see me. (Heart melted, again.)

And her apparent joy upon seeing The Nana and The GrandPa (who may become Pa-Pa soon, since that’s what she calls him) and her Grammie and other GrandPa, is contagious.

I just want MOYE Little C. Moye. Much moye.

And I have to wait three weeks for it.

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