William is old enough that his personality quirks are beginning to show. Here are some of them:
He’s the first of my children to show a preference for a particular color, and the color for him is orange. I first noticed it when he would always choose the orange paper and orange paint at his little community art class. Then, when I found a rack of children’s t-shirts on sale at the store, he insisted I choose an orange one.
William now has four orange shirts. He also likes having an orange plate, bowl, and cup at meals. The last time I set out the crayon box for him, he spent ten minutes finding every single orange crayon, then holding them all in one hand while scribbling on an orange piece of construction paper. I might be sick of it if it weren’t such a novelty. Neither of the other kids give a hoot about what color anything is.
Wimmy’s speech patterns also provide a rich source of interest. He frequently chops two-syllable words into three syllables: “blan-ka-let,” “cho-co-late,” and “neck-a-lace,” which makes him sound like a miniature Damon Runyan character (“I was on my way to Lindy’s with Nicely-Nicely for some cho-co-late cheesecake, when two goons asked me about the stolen neck-a-lace . . .”
He also makes wonderfully adorable mispronounciations: “wackaroni” for “macaroni,” and “quesadaah” for “quesadilla.” But, once again unlike his siblings, he gets furious if Brian and I mispronounce the words back at him. “No, I saying ‘QUESADAAAAH!'” he insists, pounding his chubby fists on the kitchen table.
Although, I think “wackaroni” is a far more accurate term for what comes out of the Kraft box.