Back in about 1988, my brother and I owned a word. A word that was meaningless to everyone but us. Nyyrrrr. It described a situation that involved some kind of awakening, a touch of confusion and probably mild embarassment. It was neither an adjective nor a noun and we never used it as a verb. It was just said. A single word. And it was understood.
So it is both funny and familiar to hear strange new words bubbling up from inside my own children. Bundi. Apu até. Driz Driz. I have absolutely no idea what they mean - and Max isn't even in Kindergarten yet - but he uses them with a cozy familiarity. Even Oli, who has only just learned to say 'carry me' rather than 'kai me', is fluent in the language of Driz Driz.