When you have a 2, then 3 and now nearly 4 year old who does not talk you can get some crazy ideas. I’ve said more than once over the last few years that if he dropped the “F” bomb as his first word, I’d throw a damn party.
Now, that didn’t happen. He’s picked up some other more socially acceptable words along the way fortunately. This move from “non-verbal” to “verbal” is so slow and painstaking though that I sort of haven’t been giving much thought to my tendency to use, shall we say, “colorful*,” language.
Friday, we were in the truck headed toward school (and the marvelous triumph I posted about below) and I saw one of my neighbors. My neighborhood is filled with odd ducks but this man stands out. He is bat shiznit crazy. He thinks people are picking on him when they let their dogs poop in the (city owned) strip of grass in front of his house…even though they PICK IT UP. (There’s lots more but he rants about this one frequently.)
Anyway, I see crazy neighbor numero uno walking down the street, headed for work looking like…well…like hell. Unshaven, jeans, old flannel shirt, dirty vest. Now, this guy works in commercial real estate, so this is not exactly his typical “uniform.” So, I said to my darling husband.
“Oh, man, he looks like hell!” and the conversation immediately turns to another subject until…30 seconds later…we hear our darling Monkey pipe up in the back seat.
My response? Naturally, I say “Oh, shit!” Fortunately, he’s not making the “S” sound yet so that one is a ways off.
*OK, fine, I swear like a sailor, happy? I’m screwed.