It happened the other day. (To me, everything always does, even if it happened last month.)
It’s on the thing. (Whatever it is, it’s always a thing to me.)
Can you please hand me that whatchamacallit? (Because can’t you tell I need that whatchamacallit so badly that I can’t even think of its name?)
As terrible as it is, this is how I communicate. Andrew has learned to translate so I’ve always been able to get away with it. Not anymore though. It seems my lazy language is not sufficient for Nia. I thought that whole “why” phase was rough – and don’t even get me started on her past “I wanna listen” fits – but this is just plain painful for me.
The most recent exchange went like this:
Me: Nia, please get your cheer bag.
Nia: Where is it?
Me: It’s on the thing – the chair. (Where we usually leave bags and such.)
Nia: What chair?
Me: The dining room chair.
Nia: Which dining room chair?
Me: (Head explodes in exhaustion and defeat)
She will even correct me now if I’m not specific enough.
“You didn’t tell me to shut the door behind me.”
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Five seconds are up. Can I watch tv now? You said five more seconds.”
“Are you driving about 20 fast or is it 18?”
“It’s not 9 o’clock, momma. It’s 8:58.”
It all makes that thing in my whatchamacallit between my ears hurt.
Are You Zhazha? 
You call it a whatchamacallit and I call it whatstheirnuts,no gender in mind. I use that when I can’t think of the person or things name.We are from the same DNA. The only thing is I don’t have a very smart 7 year old to question me.