It Wasn't Me

As most of you know, one of my son's favorite words to date is "poop". It was poop this and poop that. It started out getting such a laugh from his sisters that ever since he's never let it go.

He's even saying it in his sleep lately. Well, let me explain. He'll fall asleep in his car seat just before arriving home, and even though his eyes are closed and the drool is already forming a puddle on his shirt, he'll occasionally open his eyes and attempt to wake up. And when he does, he says "POOOOP!" really loud and with a smirk on his face. Then he'll not his head off in the other direction and go back to sleep. Sometimes he'll even do one or two encores of this before finally settling down into slumber.

Well it seems now we may have a new winner. Although I'm doing my darnedest (notice the use of my child safe language) not to let it happen.

The new word that I'm hearing too often is "dammit." I recently told the story of the first time I heard this while we were on vacation. I heard it a few other times that week, and then it was pretty quiet after that.

Then the other day I was carrying him downstairs and he was mumbling "dammit....dammit....dammit."

Then the rest went something like this.

Me: What did you say?

Him: Dammit.

Me: No, that's not nice. We don't say that.

LONG PAUSE (filled with lots of two year old wheels turning).

Him: Daddy say it.

After stifling my laughter I simply replied "that's not nice...no saying that."

So there you go. Proof that it wasn't me. Sorry hubby, your son ratted you out and now I'm telling the world.

Playground Trash Talk

It happened again.

Last night my oldest is in the bathtub and she is babbling away with some imaginary friend or something of that nature, and she says "the F word."

She says it just like that. "The F word." As if it was a tag on to some sentence she just uttered.

My husband is walking past the tub right at that moment and I'm on the computer with my back to them. I instantly turn around with huge eyes and a bit of a smirk on my face.

We give each other a quick look that says "now what?".

Just as he's trying to make a quick getaway she asks "What's the F word mean?"

You'll notice she didn't say "what is" the F word, which would mean that she thinks this mystery is all wrapped up in those exact three words. Not in the one actual word that starts with the letter F.

My husband fields the question with another question.

"Where did you hear that?" he asks. Like a pro, that man of mine.

"Some kids at the playground were talking about it. I don't know what it is but I think it's something bad," she says.

And then she just keeps on playing in the tub and sort of changes the subject herself.

We know when to leave well enough alone and not provide any information, especially when none is being pursued.

If only those trash talkin' kids on the playground would do the same.

Until next time.

The Finger

Yes, it is as you think. The dreaded finger. But it’s probably not as bad as you are imagining, so here’s the story.

My 6 year old daughter is supposed to fill out her reading log for school so her teacher can see what she has been reading at home every night, as well as what has been read to her by her parents.

The other night she is filling it out and I am desperately trying to be patient with her as she writes down the titles and the amount of time we spent reading. If you aren’t familiar with it, it is really hard to just sit and watch a person that has just learned to write. There is a whole lot of erasing going on. So much so that you just want to snatch that little pencil away from her and do it yourself. Or at least if you are a control freak like me you do.

So I’m trying to point to places to write things, because letters get all out of proportion and the word “The” takes up so much room that there isn’t enough space left for the other 5 words in the title. And as I’m pointing to the paper, at one point I must have used my middle finger.

My daughter breaks out of her studious mode and starts holding up her middle finger on her right hand and a smirk comes across her face. Although the palm of her hand is facing me, I still sense that something is coming about “the finger”.

She then giggles and says “You shouldn’t use this finger. It’s a bad finger.”

“Why is that?” I ask innocently. “What’s so bad about it?”

“It’s not nice,” she says.

“What’s not nice?” I ask, still avoiding the inevitable.

“It means something not so nice,” she says.

I don’t really know where to go from here, so I just come out and ask it. “What’s it mean?”

“It means you are stupid. Or something like that. Doesn’t it?” she says.

Phew! We narrowly missed that one.

“Who told you that?” I ask. I must know where this is coming from, even if I have no control whatsoever who she plays with at school. At least I will know who to be weary of.

She told me it was one of the girls she plays with whose name she has mentioned before. Yes, a girl. She must have an older sibling or something, or so I like to think.

So be it. The girl is now placed on my suspect list.

I end the conversation with “Well it’s just not the finger we are supposed to point with – we should be using this finger,” I tell her, holding up my index finger.

Thankfully that suffices and she seems embarrassed enough not to push it further. For which I am thankful, because what am I supposed to do now? Teach her what it really means? No thank you.

I'll let that happen in it's own time, the way it's been done all through the years.

So we move on.

Until the next time.