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Clap Your Hands Everybody, and Everybody Clap Your Hands!

ClappingThose, of course are the immortal words of one of our favorite Tri-Lams, Lamar Latrell.  You know, the one that threw the wobbling javelin in the Inter-Greek competition to help the Tri-Lams win control of the Greek Council.  Revenge of the Nerds? Ted McGinley?  Robert Carradine?  Anthony Edwards BEFORE ER?  C’mon…

In any case, those words seem apropos because our little Justine, seemingly out of the clear blue sky, delighted us with some sporadic hand to hand combat.  It was Easter morning, and Kim was preparing a monstrous feast, while I was once again whittling away my youth and intelligence trolling the Internet looking for clues on the Smoke Monster and why exactly New Kids on the Block thought a reunion tour was a good idea.  Justine was wandering about, picking up things, tasting them, and then throwing them aside.  Kim came out of the kitchen briefly, declaring that we needed “tunes” and turned on some Dave Matthews Band. Shortly after we watched as Justine suddenly started clapping her hands together.

Now I don’t want to suggest here that Dave Matthews may have “magical powers,” (magical plants is another matter entirely) but if he can cause children to spontaneously make developmental leaps, I bet his album sales would double.  Will this lead to a spate of newborns rocking out to “Crash into Me” or falling asleep to “Satellite?”  I would stake my reputation on it.

Honestly thought, in the days that have followed, Justine has gotten a little more regular with her clapping, and a pattern has emerged that actually throws the DMB theory into doubt.  For a long time now, one of the games we try to play with her is the classic “Catch,” which in normal human terms involves two people tossing a ball back and forth in the air, but in our variety involves her picking up the ball, raising it over her head and letting it fall to floor.  We respond by grabbing the ball (“catching” in the parlance) and reacting with the standard parental uber-excitement of shouting “yaaaay” and clapping our hands.  In watching her play by herself in the last couple of days, she’s followed a similar pattern (sans us of course).  she picks up a ball, brings it over her head, drops it, then shouts and claps her hands.

There you have it folks, the gentle beginnings of parental mimicry.  Frankly, this is as exciting as when the monkey touched the Monolith and then picked up the bone in 2001…

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