One of the most appealing aspects of blogging is being able to chronicle my children's milestones. I'm sure that if this blog is still kicking around in 20 years or so, Junior and Diddlydoo will read it with glee and agree.
Or they'll sue me for privacy infringement. Either or.
Yesterday Junior celebrated a milestone I had smugly believed wouldn't arrive until he entered the public school system and was corrupted by other people's monsters: He learned a swear word.
I blame it on Diddlydoo.
I had placed Diddlydoo in the center of the bed and run out of the room for a millisecond when I heard Junior screaming, "He fell on his head! He fell, Mommy!"
I ran back into the room. Sure enough, Diddlydoo had rolled right off the bed. He was lying on the floor screaming.
So was I.
I didn't realize just what I had been screaming until we got to the hospital (okay, okay, so I freaked out and rushed him to the ER. Having a nurse look at me like I was a neurotic freak because Diddlydoo obviously was fine was preferable to spending the entire night holding my palm over Diddlydoo's nostrils to make sure he was still breathing. A woman needs to sleep now and then).
As we stood in the ER entrance Junior looked at me sweetly and said, "It's a bad thing Diddlydoo fell, right Mommy?"
"Is that why you said 'shit'?"
We locked eyes.
"Shit," he said again, savoring the taste of the word. He looked at me and smiled, like we'd just shared a lovely secret. "Shit."
"Junior," I said, "that's a word that—"
"Junior, we don't—"
"Shit, shit, shit."
So here's the thing: Junior is old enough to know that there's a new word in town, and that it feels good to say it. I've explained that the curse is an adult word reserved for adults, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist (or four-year-old) to know that even with the most finely attuned emphasis, fiddlesticks and sugar just don't cut it when you're really upset—even if you sneer and spit as you say those words.
I ask you, what's the best way to temper the newfound deliciousness of swearing?
And while we're at it, what's the best way to deter your older kid from enjoying watching his younger sibling suffer, cause Junior told me that he was certain Diddlydoo's head would just fall off the bed, and that's why he didn't try to stop him from rolling.
My, oh my, they are savvy little beasts, aren't they?
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