I like to think that I have a handle on the 3-year-old language. "Doesn't your three-year-old speak English?" you ask. Well yes, but she uses the toddler dialect. Here's an example.
Earlier today, we were at the grocery store picking up a pack of diapers and some milk. On the way home, Grace announced that she wants to play with "...that toy" when we got home. "Which toy is that?" I ask her. "That toy you put on your knee," she answered.
Hmm. That toy you put on your knee. My mind set to work on the problem. "Grace," I said, "What is the toy that you put on your knee?" "You know that toy," she said, laughing dismissively at what must have been a joke on my part. "Oh, no, I sure don't," I thought.
Once we got back home and I had put the groceries away, she repeated her request. I told her that I'd help her look, hoping that she'd lead me to a location that would reveal some sort of clue. Soon we were hunting around the house for something that she couldn't describe and I couldn't imagine. I felt a little like Robert Langdon from The Da Vinci Code (minus all the priceless art and exotic locales). The pursuit ended with her in disappointed tears and me in moderately annoyed confusion.
Hours later, with the whole business forgotten, she shouted at the top of her lungs, "Here it is!" She came marching towards me triumphantly holding...are you ready for this? Band-Aids.
That's right, Band-Aids are "that toy you put on your knee." Now you know. Sometimes I think that Grace and I live on the same planet, but markedly different worlds.