Oggy, that is. Or oggie, auggie, or auggy, depending on your pleasure. This being the word game I started with the kids, oh, four months ago, never imagining it would have so much mileage. It started innocently enough on the way to school one morning, when I told Alexander he couldn’t make me say the word “oggy.” Over the ensuing months, the ways in which they’ve found to get me to say it have become more sophisticated.

“Mr. Clii-int (though these days my nickname, thanks to Angelina, is ‘Kippy’), you can’t say ‘oggy.’” - “Sure I can. ‘Oggy.’” - “You said it!” (Always in unison, of course.)

“What does o-g-g-y spell?” - “‘O-g-g-y?’ Well that would be ‘oggy.’” - “You said it!”

“‘Clint’ is spelled o-g-g-y.” - “What? No, it’s not. O-g-g-y is ‘oggy.’” - “You said it!

“What does ‘foggy’ without the ‘f’ spell?” - “Without the f? ‘Oggy?’” - “You said it!”

Then there’s the written approach, including it in a message or drawing and having me look at it. “What’s this? It looks like . . . ‘oggy?’” - “You said it!”

Reading: “‘I love Mommy oggy.’” - “You said it!”

Or they’ll fill me up with them by putting them in my hands, or ears, or mouth.  Why, just this morning Alexander told Carole to give me “two thousand—no, infinity and beyond oggies.”  This way my tank will be full and I’ll just say it at random times of the day as they leak out.  Which of course they do.

Yes, another textbook case of never knowing what’s going to catch on in five- and six-year-old heads. And also another perfect illustration of how a lot of the best fun is free.