It happened. Like a 100% grape juice box dropped on your beige carpet (when you are in your work clothes and it splashes on your newly dry-cleaned skirt), just like that.
Splat!
My sweet, lovey little 3 year-old did the unthinkable. He pulled a Ralphie and dropped the 'eff' bomb.
Go ahead. Take a minute. Gasp if you want: friends who don't swear in the house or around the kids. I applaud you and you know who you are and I love your kind souls for that, but in our house, it happens. What can I say? We tried using Disney-inspired terms like, 'Oh, chicken feathers.' Hubby just can't pull it off.
I say the 'D' word a lot. Mostly the traditional, compound (depending on the spelling; does Webster's include cuss words?)
'D-word' all of my adult life. That's the one that Big Kid decided to try out when he was still itty. Luckily we dodged the bullet and it was never in a questionable situation. His timing was impeccable and most of the time it was comical.
Now I prefer the other 'D' words. Especially if someone is very much portraying the characteristics or behavior common with a 'D' or a 'D', then I call 'em like I see 'em.
Ahem.
Back to Beetle. He's been testing us with potty words lately. His favorite is butt head. In fact, his favorite term of endearment for me is mommy-princess-flower-butt head. This time, it wasn't his favorite bathroom word or D or GD - thank goodness. He goes to a church preschool for G's sake.
This was the next worse foul word you could say in church next to GD. The soap-in-the-mouth-if-he-was-old-enough, hot-sauce-on-the-tongue if our family traditions required that punishment...
Word that would be completely inappropriate for not only church and church preschool but the dry cleaners, the post office, the pediatrician's office, the grocery store, in front of your boss or your pastor or your great-grandmother. Anywhere quiet and when you and your preschooler are trying to get in and out unnoticed. And surely not timely on the sidewalk in front of your house at dusk when all the other kids are playing outside and parents are lingering on porches and in driveways and chatting down the street.
It's really not my fault this time. Beetle was simply reacting to his father's bleeping reaction in a tiny moment of frustration over an insignificant conversation that we grown-ups were having.
Yes. We have been married for 13 years and together for 19 years. We know how to push each other's buttons. Last night was one of those strange and exciting conversations where you think you must be speaking Huttese or pig Latin or Uncle Si slang to your spouse because they are completely misinterpreting what you are saying and looking at you like you have two heads. We get that about each other and always apologize later when we realize that the other one was just being a 'D.' Like Pink says in her new song and an old friend and I giggled about this past weekend, it must be True Love. Smooches,
honey!!!
Here is how the blasphemy occurred: Husband shut the front door a little too hard and and the folksy Uncle Sam that I display between Memorial and Labor Day fell off and it was so loud that the dog across the street stood up from his spot in the drive way and gave us a look and his one ear went up (the other ear stays permanently down). I don't think that any standers-by realized what was said due to Beetle's three year-old accent that sometimes has a southern twang. Not sure where that comes from. Maybe the new preschool teacher, but probably residual Honey Boo Boo or Duck Dynasty.
Beetle should have put his hands on his hips for affect by the looks of his expression and the following phrase that fell out of his 3 year-old lips:
'Daddy broke that BLANKIN' door. That is a BAD daddy'.
The expression on my face (after I whipped my head from side-to-side to see if anyone heard/saw) was deer-in-the-headlights-dumbfounded-damn it! I gulped slowly and pretended that I did not hear what I just VERY clearly heard. We moms are masters of that, yes? And I decided to deflect, asking whether or not he wanted to help me put his scooter away in a very calm and unassuming voice. We walked to the backyard and I rocked in the chair and watched him organize beach toys.
I recalled that it was a full moon/blue moon this week and
obviously this was what had lead me to three nights of restless sleep, hubby and I being royal 'D's' to each other and of course, our wee one to utter the number one swear word carved into park benches and rest stop bathroom stall doors all over America.
Wow, he really nailed the context, though. Way to go Beetle Bug. Just the other night you were schooling me on the Brontosaurus and its long neck (because they are cannibals, according to Beetle; you know, easier to bite each other) and now you are clearly demonstrating your gifted language development skills.
This is why granny calls you 'the little professor.'
More to come, I am certain of it.
