Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Dropping Bombs

So, my sweet, adorable 2 and half year old has begun dropping the F-bomb again.  It is currently part of our everyday vocabulary.  Her absolute favorite time for this expletive is when she is jumping and hopping around like a frog.  Instead of "ribbit, ribbit," it is "f***, f***."  This is especially cute and adorable as we are walking (well, she is hopping) into the grocery store.  I have repeatedly told her that only Mommies and Daddies can say that word, but she replies, "No, I can say it too Mommy, see, F***!"  Yeah.  Great.

We have had trouble with this word before.  APPARENTLY, she picked it up from me (yeah, I'll take the blame for this one) when I was pregnant with the twins.  At about 4 months pregnant, I was already measuring close to full term - I WAS HUGE- and already having extreme difficulty picking things up off the ground.  Well, Karlie was about a year and a half then, so throwing things down for Mommy to pick up was still great fun.  In my extreme pregnant state, I MAY have let an F-bomb go each and every time I had to do the straddle, squat, and try to get back up part of the game.  During the peak of this phase, I would be pushing her around in the grocery cart, and Karlie would systematically grab things out of the cart, throw them down on the floor, literally scream "F***," then dissolve into a fit of giggles, followed with, "Fun Mommy, it's fun."  To which I would reply, "Frog baby, is that what you're saying?"  Eventually, we moved on to bigger and better things.  Thank God.

Come to think of it, we are probably at a natural progression with the F-word.  I did try to cover it up with saying frog, and now, that is what a frog says. 

Great.  How am I going to get out of this one?

Fuck.

4 comments:

  1. At a Sunday lunch at my mom's house with boys, Mom, Bob S, and GRANDMA Schluter, J.R. works himself up into saying something: "I ought to just F*** you all." The oxygen level severely decreased with Grandma's intake of air. Bob S. started to chuckle; how dare he as I'm trying to contain my giggles while trying to sound mean! I couldn't even look at Gma as I chastised my charming young man. Now he shakes his finger at us when we let a shady word slip (hello, farmers!). So, yesterday at the doctor, JR makes up a word and announces, "It's not a naughty word, so it's okay. Right Mom?" Doctor laughed...I did too.

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  2. Good Lord! I can just picture the lunch. That is hilarious! Glad I'm not the only one!

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  3. Her's one for ya. Mom used to tell Cadie that it was time to change her britches. Cute, right? Until we are in Hy-Vee and she tells me, and in that baby talk that normal people don't always understand, that I need to changes her bitches. Alot of nasty looks later I finally convinced mom to say pants.
    And, now she has picked up my dammit. Dad and Sharon realized what she was saying one night in the bathtub when apparently her toys were not doing what she wanted. Dammit Dammit Dammit. To make matters worse, she taught the kids at daycare. I got in big trouble for that one.

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  4. LOL - gotta love being the parent of the kid that teaches the other kids to swear. Well, we've actually graduated to a new form of fuck. Now, we are at the "you're fucking it up" stage. She told Stephen that the other day for the first time when he cut all the limbs off the Christmas tree. "You're fucking up the tree Daddy, don't fuck it up." Now it is pretty much what she says whenever things are going according to her plan. Awesome, right?

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