At some point, the word "butler" came to mean – to my children, who are 6 and 4 but may have been 5 and 3 when all this began – butt. Or bum. Or derriere. Fanny. Tush. Tuchus. Whatever you call it.
And this word – butler – became the funniest word in the world to say or hear.
"Wanna see my butler?"
"You're a butler!"
"ACK! Mom, she showed me her butler!"
And so on. Each use of the word is always followed by both of them gurgling with laughter and using "butler" over and over again a few more times in new and expressive sentences.
Oh, and you have to say it in italics, too. Can't just say butler. Has to be butler.
This morning my daughter, happy about an upcoming field trip, broke into a spontaneous dance, shimmying and shaking her little self all over the room.
"Mom! I'm shaking my butlers!"
And then later, after they've both gone to school, I laugh and laugh and laugh.