Can you tell me?

One of your big rhetorical strategies is now "can you tell me?" 

"What's this?" you'll say, pointing to something in a book.

"What do you think it is?" I say.

"Can you tell me?" you insist. 

"I can, but I'm curious what you think it is," I say.

"I want you to tell me," you say. 

Oftentimes we do this with something you almost certainly already know - a cow, a dump truck. Sometimes it's a joke. You have started making jokes by stating things you know are untrue. E.g. we'll pull up to the house, and you'll smile like you're about to pull a fast one and you'll say "Are we at SCHOOL?"

Sometimes you might actually be asking, as you are learning your colors now, and color is actually a tricky thing to learn. But sometimes I think it's also a ploy for attention, or further engagement. Like last night, when we were watching The Great Muppet Caper for the 90th time, and every minute or two you were saying "What happened? What happened, mama?" My explaining each plot point was like instant replay. I feel like you were doing it to have a conversation with me, and also watch the movie twice.

Then, sometimes, I will tell you that I don't know how something works, or what something does, and you will say "I can tell you, mama." And then you will explain. Not always accurately, of course, but I enjoy the authority with which you stand ready to help me make sense of the world.