I'm one of those people who regard the english language as sacred. Before I had kids I was sure that I would insist that they speak properly. When my little brother said ambleeance, I saw the transgression as yet another sign that he was fundamentally defective, and ought to be sent back from whence he came.
Now my beloved little boy says ambleeance, and I don't want him to stop. Because when that goes, it won't ever be back.
What will I do, when we don't see ambleeances any more? The world will be different when I stop reading the constructions when I assemble Happy Meal and Kinder Egg Toys. Right now, a hambooger is the kind of booger it's ok to eat, and you can have oatmemeal for breakfast.
These boy-isms are as precious to me as the intricacies of the language once were. Or, perhaps it was the rules, the sense of order that I loved. In that case, too, I value him more - more than order in my home, in my car, and in my language.
He'll figure it out, and he'll be as precious to me tomorrow as he is today. But a little bit of him will have gone when the day comes that there aren't any boogers left that it's ok to eat.