Spicy Girl could talk a dog off of a meat truck.  She talks.  All of the time.  She talks to her “guys” (her various stuffed animals, dolls and figurines), and propels them through adventures that involve running, swimming and climbing.  She talks to herself as she plays in her room narrating her way through diapering her babies or walking her puppies.  She talks as she … well, you get the picture.

While I am known for my own ability to gab, I hope that this isn’t all learned behavior.  If it is, then I need to make some changes.  But, more than her tendency to talk, it’s what she talks about that raises the real concern.  Let’s be honest, she isn’t picking up on this stuff on her own, and while I’d like to blame it all on the unsupervised TV time that she has while I’m cooking dinner each day, the root of this behavior is most probably Mommy or Daddy and not Curious George, Elmo or Dora the Explorer.

How do I know?  Well, let’s see – how’s this for an example:  this past week, she was playing in her kitchen, filling up little goblets at the sink with drinks for herself, and her Mommy and Daddy.  The commentary ran like this:

“Here we go.  OK.  A cup for Spicy Girl. Nice cold juice.”  Cup was then placed on the counter.

“OK.  Now for Mommy and Daddy.  Hot.  Cold.  Hot.  Cold.  Here we go.  Some hot and cold wine for Mommy and Daddy.”

Now, let’s be clear, I like wine.  I like it enough to drink it every so often, not every day and certainly not at every meal, but apparently I drink it enough that my kid now fantasizes about serving her parents out of some magical faucet that serves up hot and cold running wine (as well as milk, juice and hot cocoa).

Daddy and I just looked at each other, knowing that we shared the same concerns, all the while swigging back our fake goblets of wine.  We commented that it tasted a little “Oak-y” – “Oak-y?! Oak-y Wine!  Oak-y Wine!  Do you want more Oak-y Wine Mommy and Daddy?!” cried our teeny sommelier.

Yeah, it’s our fault.