I've got an extremely polite child.
I have no idea how the hell that happened.
Punky can be so sweet these days. She's mastered the proper use of phrases known for getting her what she wants, when she wants it. She still needs some tweaking in the pronunciation department, but the message comes across loud and clear.
"Punky, would you like some juice?" I say and walk into the kitchen.
"Yes! Peas!" she yells excitedly and runs after me. "Tanks!" she chirps when I had her the cup.
"You're welcome, sweetie."
"Malcolm," she repeats after me. "Mama's Malcolm too!"
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