Say My Name, Say My Name: The Sequel

I had to return some overdue library books the other day. It just so happened that it was Tuesday and just in time for the storytime of yonder days. Tickled at the notion of observing my all-grown-up girl behaving herself like a little lady--after all, isn't she in school now, and eight months older?--we wandered into the comfy but mildewy back room and took our seats. This story lady had no bells and whistles--just an assortment of books about spring arranged on a table behind her. My confidence increased as the room began to fill with a preschool class and various toddlers from the neighborhood--when questioned, many of them revealed they were also two.

Jarrah listened to two pages of the story. Then she made her spine like a Gummy Worm and slithered off my lap, and remained prone on the floor repeating "DA DA DA!" at the top of her lungs. Admitting defeat, I gathered her and our things and slipped out the back, so the other children--mysteriously riveted, even glassy-eyed and slack-jawed--wouldn't snap out of their trance. Since my investment in this experiment had been low, I was able to recover quickly, without projecting any crap onto Jarrah.

On the way to the check-out desk, I quietly reminded Jarrah that "the library is a Sssshhhh! zone." She nodded and repeated "Sssshhh!" I handed one of the librarians my books and my phenomenal fine. Jarrah observed the other librarian, an older lady, who was seated behind the counter, and then:

"HULLO! I JARRAH! THIS MAMA!"

Lately, she's taken to introducing herself to strangers, always in a very loud voice. I could tell the librarian had no clue what Jarrah was saying. Luckily, Jarrah never travels without a skilled interpreter.

"She's telling you her name is Jarrah," I translated.

"Is your name Jarrah?" said the librarian.

"YEH! JARRAH!" replied the very same.

"And what's your Mama's name?" asked the librarian (though I have no idea why.)

"MAMA NAME SAM!" shouted Jarrah.

My head almost blew off. She knows my name! And here's the really kooky part: in my last post, I said that Jarrah has been calling me Sam, but I was lying. I was taking creative license there. (I'm clever like that.) In fact, I was speaking at the greatest level of hyperbole I could conceive of, with the sole design of being found amusing by You, Dear Readers. That's right--I do it all for you. BUT SHE DOES KNOW MY NAME!!!

Even more interesting, her Daddy--the center of her universe--does not call me Sam. He has never called me Sam. When we first met, he said "I like your full name and I intend to use it." He has never reneged on this intention. So that means Jarrah got "Sam" just from observing me interface with the outside world. Kind of spooky. It's like having a tiny CIA agent living in the house. I'd better watch my back.