“….for, though Tommy was one of the best-meaning boys who ever adorned knickerbockers, events of the most direful nature were always happening to him, no one could exactly tell how.”
Little Men, Louisa May Alcott.
*Sigh*. It’s one of those moments you hope will never befall you. The one where your child says something utterly horrifying, in public, to your great chagrin. Yes. One of *those* moments.
Until now the worst it had ever gotten was our oldest daughter once crying out in great three year old anguish from the back seat for someone to help her with her “bloody seatbelt.” I stopped using that word then and there in moments of frustration, I can tell you that right now.
How was I to know things could be so much worse? Immeasurably. Worse. As the story goes, as my children would tell it, my 5 progeny were seated around the supper table last night with the prim and oh so proper Miss Shawna presiding. Everyone was apparently enjoying their ravioli and the prospect of an evening of fun and games and crafts with the sitter. When all of a sudden the devil entered my three year old Rugrat (hyperbolically speaking of course that kid’s got enough mischief in him that he really doesn’t need any help from the devil) and caused him to look innocently at Miss Shawna, open his adorable little mouth and say; “You son-of-a-gitch” and then have the audacity to laugh. And say it again. And again. Like five times in a row.
My older children sat there stupefied. And apparently my five year old Hero blushed, and ducked his head in a most telling manner. (Should I really be reading Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer to these two?)
Are you kidding me??? No. No. I kid you not. I think we need to wash some mouths out with soap around here, and the most humbling part of it all is that it won’t be only little mouths.
Oh, Lord. Have mercy.
Posts
