Where’d You Learn That Language Son?

Mr. C turned ten this week…TEN!!! How is that even possible? The Man and I were talking about his birthdays over the years and one in particular stuck out….his second…also known as the year he proved to us he could cuss like a sailor.

At the tender age of two, Mr. C had such an amazing vocabulary. He could tell us all sorts of stories, vivid descriptions of everything. But he was also a walking tape recorder at that point and we did not know it.

Every Christmas, The Man’s Mom and Step Dad come to visit us. This also coincides with Mr. C’s birthday and that of the MIL. It’s hectic and sometimes it gets a little crazy but we have a good time and celebrate their birthdays and Christmas all in one. In years going forward, the visit has become busier and crazier due to the addition of my adorable niece, nephew, and spouses as our family continues to grow. This year however, it was just The Man, Me and Mr. C spending time with Grandma and Grandpa in our home. It was lovely…very quiet and we were all enjoying ourselves and loved watching my adorable toddler rip through presents and bask in the spotlight, realizing for the first time all this fuss was about him.

So you can imagine my horror when my little angel opened up his mouth and proved that he had the biggest potty mouth in town.

The morning after Mr. C’s second birthday it was quiet enough that I could hear everything in the house. Mr. C and his Grandpa were playing with a toy from the loot he had received in another room. I’m not sure what the toy was but Mr. C was trying to figure it out, very focused and Grandpa watched silently as he concentrated. Apparently, my son could not get whatever toy it was to work and suddenly the blissful silence of the house was shattered when very loudly, Mr. C. proclaimed, “Grandpa, this goddamn toy doesn’t work..”

Five second pause.

Silence…except for the sound of my jaw hitting the floor.

Grandpa: “What did you say son?”
Mr. C: (assuming he has not spoken clearly or loudly enough) “I SAID….GRANDPA, THIS GODDAMN TOY DOESN’T WORK!!!”

OH.
MY.
GOD.

I tried to scurry under the sink to hide at this point but was not quick enough for Grandpa who came directly into the kitchen and asked if I had heard what my precious baby had just said. My eyes darted from side to side. What on earth could I say to justify this?? But then in came to me in a flash of brilliance. Goddamn is so not one of my words, it belongs exclusively to The Man. So I did what any loving wife would do, and threw him directly under the bus because he wasn’t there to defend himself. I also added that had he dropped an eff bomb, it would totally belong to me as that is my curse word of choice. And of course, I would NEVER say a word like that around my baby.

See how I did that, shifting the blame? It was awesome. It was not my fault, The Man was the bad influence and I was pretty pleased with my position of innocence.

It worked out really well for me until a year later. We had just moved into our new house and we had a dog that loved to bolt as fast as she could out the front door at every opportunity. I hated the dog but chased her down every single time anyway. Grandma and Grandpa were in town for a visit and somehow the door was left open just enough for the dog to shoot out of it and across the street. As I ran out the door, I could faintly hear Mr. C commenting on the situation.

“That fucking dog, Grandpa. That fucking dog…”

Awesome. Just effing awesome.

PS: I know I’ve been absent on a lot of your blogs this week as well as my own. Did you know Christmas is one week away? Yeah, I just figured that out a couple of days ago and have not mailed one card or purchased a single gift. The next week will be spent furiously elfing my way to the big day. I’ll post and swing by when I can….just wanted you to know I’m not rude, just the most disorganized person you may ever meet!