backwards talk

On our drive down to Lake Weiss in Alabama for the last hurrah of summer–Labor Day weekend–the screeching banshee that is Darwin Elizabeth Fotopulos was in rare carseat form. You were driving us mad, oh willful girl!

Oliver, your problem-solving big-brother suggestion was to tell her to scream and maybe she’d stop, since clearly, asking her to stop and use a nice voice wasn’t working to quiet her. Daddy asked if you knew what that was called, buddy, and quickly and confidently, you said: “Yep. Backwards talk.”

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