For a year or so my mackerdoodle has had a “one size fits all” approach to naming her dolls. Every doll is named “wee wassee.” Sometimes it’s said in a slow drawl, and other times it is said quickly and repeatedly with a stirring hand motion, but the name remains the same. I’ve always thought it was cute, and I assumed one day the dolls would be named something else and “wee wassee” would disappear. This week we were chatting together and I asked her, really just to fill up the conversation, “What does wee wassee mean, baby girl?”
She gave me the same look someone gives a foreigner who asks an obvious question, and said, sort of slowly, “You know, mama. It mean little . . . ” she held up her fingers, pinched in the universal sign of “small” and then said it again, “little, mama. Little girl. You know. Wee. Wassee.”
I was dumbfounded.
“Do you mean ‘wee lassie’?” I asked.
She nodded slowly at her dimwitted mother and held her pinched fingers up again. “Yeah. Wee. Wassie.”
That’s right. All of my daughter’s dolls are named wee lassie. She’s quite the kid, that mackerdoodle of mine.