Dat's dangeris, mom.

Danger, apparently, lurks everywhere.

"Don't put me in da street, Mom, dat's dangerisss."
Good advice.

"Don't stand up in Grandpa's waterpool and put your face in the water and get water in your eyes. Das dangerisss. Okay, Mom?"
Makes sense.

"Don't use that one knife. Okay? Das dangeriss."
You're absolutely right.

"Don't read me dat story, Mom. It's too dangerisss."
Okay, wait a minute...

"No want brush teeps. Is too dangerisssss."
No, teethbrushing has never been considered dangerous. Well, unless you jam the toothbrush down your throat or say swallow too much toothpaste.... Hey...!

"I no want to pick up my toys, es dangeriss."
Now I know you don't get "danger", kiddo.

"Dad, you change Baby's poopy diaper. It's tooooo dangeriss for Mommy."
Okay, you totally get it.

Jibba Jabba

Yes, Jibba Jabba. As in "Cut out that jibba jabba." Jibba jabba is the current theme of my life. I wake up to jibba jabba. My two year old bombards me with jibba jabba throughout the day, I partiticipate in random jibba jabba on the phone and later fall asleep after 8 1/2 minutes of quality jibba jabba with my husband. By the end of the day we're all jibba jabba'd out.

I wasn't always a fan of Mr. T. While I was saving up my allowance for a Cabbage Patch Doll -one with glasses and jeans and a windbreaker- my sister was adding a Mr. T. Doll to her Christmas list. What a nut. What would a little girl want with a Mr. T doll? When the torn Santa paper revealed the box containing Mr. T., she squealed like someone had given her a Cabbage Patch Doll- one with glasses and jeans and a windbreaker. Nope. A plastic Mr. T. complete with a painted mohawk, heavy gold chains and bare chest hidden only partially by an open leather vest. This doll/action figure/plastic hero came complete with a small tool box full of choking hazards. So now we had a mini plastic man that could fix things, presumably Barbie's pink convertible or the broken door on the barnyard stable that housed our My Little Ponies.

Soon conversation around the house contained phrases like, "I pity the foo who doesn't like tuna sandwiches." or "Whatchyou mean you won't give me back my clear red sun visor with the blinking light band and 9-volt battery pack, fool?" or "Hey sucka [insert any insult you've ever heard in a war between two smallish girls]. Mr. T. was the IT man. He fixed things, he taught us neat-o catch phrases, he was even (I still don't get this) cuddly enough to sing to and rock to sleep. Eventually I would ditch my Cabbage Patch doll- you know the one- and kidnap Mr. T. while my sister was napping. I would jibba jabba with him a bit and have him fix Hot Wheels and the Barbie convertible with his choking hazard hammers and screwdrivers and then make sure he was comfy in bed next to my sister. Mr. T became the icon of the 80's for me, for sure.