“Mommy, can I get an ice cream from McDonald’s?”
Ever since I started carrying gluten-free ice cream cones in the back of my car, the DragonMonkey has been obsessed with the dollar soft serve ice creams from McDonald’s. I can’t say I blame him – he’s been eating it out of a cup for so many years that using a cone is almost more of a treat than the ice cream itself.
Unfortunately, we were late. We had places to go, and besides – I didn’t feel like stopping. “Sorry, kid. No ice cream today.”
He sighed – a resigned, almost adult sound that drifted from the backseat. “Damnit.” He said it under his breath, in a soft, quiet little voice…. just not quiet enough.
My head whipped around so fast I heard my neck crack. “WHAT? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?”
The DragonMonkey hunched down beneath my gaze, trying to fold in on himself. This wasn’t the first time we’d talked about “bad words”. It would be nice to blame his newfound appreciation for cussing on the kindergarten riffraff at school…. but since I’ve already had one very embarrassing talk with his teachers about the DragonMonkey’s potty mouth, I’m coming to the realization that my son might very well be the riffraff.
So, we’ve been cleaning up our language as of late… although, apparently, not enough. Hunching his shoulders, the DragonMonkey lowered his head, his hair sliding forward over his eyes in an effort to hide himself from my angry glare. Effective though it might be, I realized I probably shouldn’t be shooting my glare-of-death towards the backseat while I was driving the car, so I turned back to face road.
“Young man, we do NOT use language like that, do you hear me?”
He opened his mouth to apologize, already nodding, when he was interrupted by the Squid.
“What’d you say? What’d you say? Mama, what’d he say?” Apparently the Squid needed to know the exact bad word that had been said so he could avoid saying it.
If that doesn’t make sense to you, then you’re probably not three years old.
“Squid, it’s not important.”
“Which bad word? Which bad word you say, DragonMonkey?” Squid was not about to be deterred. Someone had said a bad word, and by golly, he was gonna get to the bottom of the mystery.
“Squid, it doesn’t matter what word your brother said, only that it was a very, very, very bad word-“
“NUH-UH!” the DragonMonkey interrupted. “I didn’t say a very, very, very bad word, I only said ‘damnit’.”
Ah, yes. My kindergartener knows how to rank foul language. Awesome. I am a totally awesome mom.
“What? What you say? What word was it?” Squid asked again, raising his voice to be heard over me. He needed to know. For… for science.
“I said ‘damnit’,” supplied my six year old. He’s helpful like that.
“I didn’t say it again! I was just telling Squid that I said ‘damnit’ cuz he asked.”
“No, Mama,” said the ever-helpful Squid, rising to the defense of his brother. “He just say ‘damnit’ to me, not a bad word damnit.”
“DAMNI— I mean, darn it boys, would you guys quit saying damn it?”
Bean, we really, really, really need to get that cuss jar going.