This weekend, Bryan and I were sitting in the living room with our boys. I don’t remember what happened, but Wesley looked at me and said, laughing, “Mommy, you a dumb butt.”
I was a little surprised. I wanted to correct him and say, “No, Wesley, it’s ‘Mommy, you ARE a dumb butt’ – you forgot the verb.” But I knew that forgetting the verb wasn’t really the problem here – it was my two year old son calling me a dumb butt. Bryan and I told him that we don’t use that word and I gave him an alternate phrase: silly turkey (child development experts say you must give them an alternate word/phrase to use and luckily I just read that a few days ago…) He seemed to accept this idea, at least for the moment.
A few minutes later, the phone rang and Winnie barked at it. She doesn’t usually bark at the phone but that isn’t the point. The point is that Wesley laughed and said, “Damn it, dog.”
Okay, that one didn’t come from me. My eyes just about fell out of my head and I looked over at Bryan. But I don’t ever hear him say that either. Where is our precious little angel getting these words? What’s next – dropping the f-bomb to a little old lady in the church nursery?!? Cussing out the Easter Bunny? I don’t even want to think about it. And now that he knows he isn’t supposed to say those things, I often hear him chanting them to himself over and over like a little broken record.
It reminds me of when I was a young’un. I can almost taste the soap in my mouth now…