Learning the #$@&%*! language

As one of the millions of big and small decisions my husband and I make as parents, we agreed that we wouldn't keep words a secret from our kids. And by "words," of course, I mean the "bad words." It's an age-appropriate, as-needed sort of lesson set, but we figured that all those bad words would seem less alluring, less powerful -- and (hopefully) less likely to get hurled at us -- if the kids knew what they were and knew they could ask us about them.

So over the past few years, we (my husband, mostly) have been dealing out a few choice ones now and then during bedtime chats with Junius. We started with the less controversial ones -- like explaining that the S-word isn't actually "stupid" or that the D-word isn't actually "dumb." As he got older, the words got a bit stronger, including the F-word, the A-word and so on.

Junius seems to savor these tidbits of verbal exotica and feels empowered not to use them. In fact, his favorite swear phrase, borrowed from this book, is to shout, "Curses and foul language!" Try it -- t's really quite satisfying.

We've only just started sharing the first words with Pippi, or so I thought. Which brings me to a little story that just needed to be captured somewhere, so here goes...

* * *

One day this fall while we were standing around at school pick-up, my friend H was sharing concern that her daughter (Pippi's friend) had somehow wandered into another person's virtual house in Minecraft and read an inappropriate word that was plastered on the wall. H was consulting Junius, as a former Minecraft fan, about how her daughter could have gotten into someone else's space in the online game.

Junius, after clarifying that he no longer played Minecraft (because I guess 5th grade boys don't want to get lumped in with 2nd grade girls), told H he wasn't sure how that could have happened. Then he asked the all important question: "What was the word?"

My friend looked at me, I nodded, then she told him: "Well, it was the F-word."

Junius gasped quietly and looked gravely concerned, immediately understanding why H was worried about her young daughter's experience.

Somewhere during this conversation, Pippi had strolled up unnoticed and was listening in. As she watched her brother frown knowingly about the seriousness of the matter, she leaned in a little closer to H and looked up at her.

"Mrs. H?" she asked in a hushed voice. "Was it fuck?"

* * *

So there you have it. No good parenting deed goes unpunished.

If your kids are playing with my kids and come home with some new vocabulary, you're welcome. And my apologies.

Overheard: Smells Like Preschool Spirit

Each week, I drive Pippi and her friend Miss A to their afternoon dance class and then take Miss A home again. Eavesdropping from the front seat, I hear the news from preschool, learn which boys they plan to marry, and try not to laugh at their poop and fart jokes. Some weeks I wonder if the conversations will follow this same format when they're 10 years older.

Today Miss A mentioned that another girl in their preschool class had said something not very nice to her. After a little prodding from me, Miss A finally confessed that the girl told her she smelled like a monkey.

I stifled a grin, then asked if the girls knew the alternate version of the happy birthday song -- you know, the one that ends with the always clever line, "You look like a monkey, and you smell like one, too."

In spite of their obvious distress over the initial insult, they started to giggle about the song. So I asked Pippi to take a big deep sniff and double-check if Miss A did in fact smell like a monkey. Here is the delightful conversation that ensued.

Pippi: You do NOT smell like a monkey. You smell like a unicorn!

Miss A: And YOU smell like a hairbow! No, a pony! [Note: I took that to be the My Little Pony scent, as opposed to the horse manure fragrance.]

P: No, I don't, silly. Tell me I smell like a princess!

A: You smell like a princess! No... a QUEEN!

P: No... my mommy smells like a queen! I smell like a princess and my daddy smells like a king and my brother smells like a knight.

So, in the spirit of positive preschool thinking, we're rewriting the song: "Happy birthday to you! You wear a tutu! You look like a princess, and you smell like one, too!"

Pillow Talk: Post-Game Edition

Conversation with Pippi at last night's very late bedtime after going to a college football game:

Pippi: "Mama?"

Me: "Yes, Pip?"

P: "Tonight? At the stadium football game?" [I'm guessing she adds the "stadium" to distinguish it from "arena football" or "in-the-backyard football."]

M: "Uh-huh?"

P: "The walking banana... was wearing a necktie!" [giggling as she remembers the man who walked past us in the stadium wearing a full banana costume]

M: "Yes, he was -- that was silly."

P: "I'm going to tell all my friends at preschool!"

M: "They will think you're hilarious, Pip."

P: "What if there was a walking carrot? And a walking strawberry? And a..." [more giggling]

M: [trying not to laugh] "Okay, time to be quiet and go to sleep."

P: "Mama?"

M: "Yes, honey?"

P: "I'm a goof ball. If anybody needs a goof ball, they can call me at my phone number. It is nine-zero-eight." [still more giggling]

M: [shaking my head in wonder] "Good to know, Pip."

Name Dropping

This is the conversation that Pippi and I had in the car on the way to preschool this morning.

Pippi: Mommy, do you know Anna Lewis?

Me: Sure, I know Anna Lewis. She's in your class at school.

[Long pause]

Pippi: Mommy, do you know B.B. King?

Me: Umm. I know who B.B. King is. Do you know B.B. King?

Pippi: Yes! I see him at the coffee shop. [pause] Does his guitar have a name?

Me: Yes, it does. Do you know his guitar, too?

Pippi: Is it Lucille?

Me: Yes [laughing], actually it is Lucille. Is that funny?

Pippi: [cracking up] I'm going to call Anna Lewis "Lucille"!

* * *

Not to ruin the comedy, but just as background... Pippi's dad sometimes takes her to a nearby coffee shop on Saturday mornings. Apparently there's a picture of B.B. King on the wall, so they've talked about him and his music while they're having Saturday scones. Just goes to show that kids are really listening sometimes -- and there's no telling when they're going to share what they remember from those conversations.

Image borrowed from The Silver Tongue.

Friday's Five: Worst Things Your Kids Say in the Car

We'll be heading out on our annual beach trip later this month. I'm already counting down the minutes to sand in my toes, salty breeze in my hair and a ProCo shrimp burger in my mouth.

But before we arrive at the beach, we have to survive the car trip. Thankfully we're past the stop-in-the-empty-community-college-parking-lot-to-nurse stage and the frantically-grope-around-the-rear-facing-seat-to-find-the-pacie stage. They entertain each other more than they used to -- and more often than not, they'll sleep through part of the drive.

But there are still some phrases that I hate to hear come from the back seat while we're driving. There's the classic "Are we there yet?" -- usually first uttered as we turn left out of our neighborhood. And then there are these winners:

1. "Mommy, I have a booger." Usually followed by the sound of my husband gagging. At least I've got tissues stashed in the glove box. The trick is to get the tissue around the kid's finger before said booger gets wiped on (ahem) something else.
2. "My mouth is itchy. Is there peanut butter in this?" When your son is allergic to peanuts and you're 30 miles from the nearest hospital, the last thing you want in the car is a reaction.
3. "She won't let me look out her window." Really? And how, pray tell, is she stopping you from pointing your open eyes toward the expanse of glass wrapping around our car?
4. "I have to poop. Now." Usually yelled about 3 minutes after we leave the rest area. This is the primary downside of children who are potty trained. 
5. "I can't see the movie on my screen." For some reason, one of the screens in our two-screen car DVD player set is showing up strangely green and kind of dark. I do not know why and cannot seem to fix it. And seriously, I spent HOURS in the car as a kid with NO TV and NO BOOKS (car sickness is a bitch) and I survived. Get over it, kid. 

So how about you? What car comments make you want to pull over at the next exit and hitchhike back home?

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Friday's 5: More Crazy Things Parents Say

Parenting makes you say crazy things. Not just the things you swore you'd never say -- like I haven't yet said "Stop it or your face will freeze like that," but I do regularly tell my kids "Because I said so, that's why!"

Beyond those good 'ol classics, there are also those other, much more hilarious comments -- things that make sense in the context of the moment, but sound completely ridiculous after they've left your mouth.

You know, like "Jesus is not a drumstick" and other gems my kids have actually heard from me.

So, for your Friday entertainment, here's another round of Who Knows What the Hell I Meant When I Said These Winners..

1. Stop that -- you can't blow bubbles with a bagel.
2. My face is not a handle.
3. Quit licking the carrots, please.
4. Don't put your tutu in the ketchup.
5. No, we cannot be naked on the neighbor's deck.

Leave a comment and let us enjoy the funniest thing you've said lately...

Friday's 5: Pippi Speaks

My baby girl is growing up fast -- she's sleeping in a big girl bed, wearing undies and giving up her nap (most days). But she still says "kankoo!" when she means "Thank you!"

And I find that very comforting. As long as she still has some baby quirks, I can still hold on a little longer to the illusion that's she's not on the fast track to turning into a teenager. Which is terrifying.

So for now, here are five words that I love to hear Pippi say in her own way (with translations)...

1. Nimps: mints, specifically Altoids, which she asks for every time we get into the car
2. Allums: olives, preferably threaded onto her fingertips
3. Guh-normous: ginormous, usually in reference to the size of her poop 
4. Bamamma: banana, one of her favorite snacks
5. Mackin: napkin, something she needs a lot of at every meal

The F-Word

This is the conversation I had with Junius last night... as if I needed another reason to love him.

Junius [stage whispering]: Mom... I have a secret to tell you. But you can't tell anyone.

Me [stage whispering back]: Okay, what is it?

J [reaching up to my ear]: When I was upstairs this morning, I heard Pippi use the F-word.

Me [trying not to blanche]: Um, really? Uh, which F-word would that be, buddy?

J [looking concerned and glancing around to be sure no one is listening]: She said... "fart."

Me [now trying not to laugh]: Oh, right, "fart." Of course. Well, you're right -- that's not a polite word to say to other people. But it's okay if she says it at home alone.

J [relieved]: Okay, I just didn't know.
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Back Away from the Candy

There's something inherently hilarious about hearing a kid say something to a parent that normally the parent would say to the child. At least, that's true when said child is two. It probably gets less funny when your 15-year-old is parroting parenting phrases back at you -- but thankfully we're not there yet.

Recently Pippi has taken to looking at her father and saying, "You know what, Daddy?" with a very earnest look on her face. "You are a Good Boy."

I'm not sure where she got it from because I don't think it's something we say (at least, not quite like that), but it's funny regardless. The other day I went into her room to get her out of the crib after naptime and she did it to me, putting weighty emphasis on each word: "You know what, Mommy? You are a Good Girl."

So this past weekend, all four of us were in the kitchen enjoying a little Halloween candy and Junius did something nice (the details of which I can no longer remember). Whatever he did prompted me to give him a big grin and say, "You know what, Juni? You are a Good Boy."

My husband (who was on the other side of the kitchen from us at the time) then added, "You know what, Pippi? You are a Good Girl."

Without skipping a beat, Pippi leaned a little closer to her pile of m&m's, set her hands up around them like a fence, shot her father a stink eye and said sternly, "I am NOT sharing."

That girl is funny, she knows her Daddy well -- and she is a second child through and through.

Friday's 5: Parents Say the Strangest Things

Before I became a parent, I almost never said things like "Do you need help wiping your bottom?" or "I'm going to count to three" or "Has anyone seen the pink sippy cup?" or "Use your words, please." But after I became a parent, these phrases -- and hundreds of others like them -- have taken up residence in my daily lexicon.

Even still, there are some phrases that I could not have predicted. Those groups of words that, once they've left my mouth, cause me to pause and realize how strange life can get with there are two small children in it.

Here are five zingers that I've said to my children in the past year -- I'd explain the context for you, but that would take all the fun out of it:

1. Put that down -- Jesus is not a drumstick.
2. Do not brush your teeth with the geraniums.
3. Come out from under the bed and bring the eggplant with you.
4. Look, there's a mermaid in your toes.
5. No lawn mowers in the house, please.

How about you -- what are your winning parenting phrases?

Friday's Five: Baby Talk

In preparation for Junius's kindergarten debut in August, we had our parent meeting last night at his school. I was doing fine until the principal stood up to say a few words at the end of the group session before sending us off to see the classrooms. "I used to be a kindergarten teacher," she said. "So I know what it means that you are trusting us with your babies." At that point, the tears started to well up in my eyes.

"But while they're here with us," she continued, "we promise to take very good care of your babies and to honor the trust that you're placing in us." I was already fighting hard against the tears when I made the mistake of looking at my girlfriend across the room -- her younger son is starting kindergarten this year, too, and her eyes were red and wet as she held her "baby" in her lap.

Deep breath.

So in recognition of the fact that my baby is about to be a big-boy-kindergartener, I share with you five of vestiges of his baby voice that still linger in his speech. Most of the time, he talks like a big kid -- but there are a few words that he still says in his own funny little way and I'm so glad he hasn't outgrown them just yet.

1. Funiture: I don't know why he never puts the "r" in the middle of "furniture," but given our families' love of rearranging rooms, I think "fun-iture" is actually more appropriate. And it sounds adorable.
2. Bery: Somehow, the letter "v" is hard to say at the beginning of words, so it comes out sounding like a "b" instead. It's particularly cute when he says something like, "Mom? I am bery tough and bery strong."
3. Keel: The fact that he's trying to use the word "kill" is less than adorable, but thankfully it takes some of the edge off the word to hear him drawl it out with such a twang.
4. Go infinity...: So this one is a phrase instead of a word, but it cracks me up that he always says "Go infinity... and beyond" instead of the actual Buzz Lightyear line of "To infinity..." I'm not sure how it happened, but even funnier was the very first time he declared it as "Holy Trinity... and beyond!" I'm sure his preschool teachers at Holy Trinity Episcopal would have been proud.
5. Definitely: Here it's not so much the way he says the word as how he uses it. As in, all the time at the beginning of every other sentence. Like, "Definitely I love Buzz Lightyear. He is awesome. And definitely I am bery fast." (And yes, I realized that I'm the one who overuses the word "definitely," which I didn't realize until Juni started saying it.)

P.S. That photo is Junius with my brother at the Super Dylan walk. My boy might be all big and tough, but he still wants to ride on his uncle's shoulders -- so maybe he's not growing up too fast after all.

Thankful Mama and a Sweet Baby Girl

According to my husband, that last post crossed the TMI line toward the end there. Sorry about that. The good news is that the plumber came the next morning and had everything fixed and running properly within an hour. I really should have trained to be a plumber instead of a teacher or a journalist -- better pay and very appreciative clients.

Anywho, I got a strong reminder yesterday that if my biggest problem is that I had to go overnight without running water while I waited (inside my toasty warm house with my loving husband and sweet children and plenty of bottled water) for the plumber to come in the morning (so that I could write him a check without worry and without having to crawl under the house in the puddles myself), then my life is really good. I have wonderful family and friends, my health and a great new year ahead -- and I am thankful. A little bad luck here and there shouldn't change that.

So instead of giving some kind of rant today about the crazy school board that just did away with assigning students to year-round schools without any review of the economic impact of that decision, I'm going to write a happy little Pippi post instead.

_______

This morning while I was getting dressed, Pippi was playing in her room -- she's just now getting old enough that she's figured out she can do that. I love listening to her talk to herself and her toys, alternating between random snippets of songs ("Row, row, row,... ream..." followed by "Bimble bell, bimble bell, bimble bell, way!") and general gibberish.

At some point, I realized she was calling for me, so I peeked into her room to find her holding Elmo by the hand (which makes him sing the "Sesame Street" theme in Spanish) with her pretty monogrammed burp cloths spread all over the floor. She had pulled a diaper and a new package of wipes from the changing table and had been wiping Elmo's bottom, but she couldn't fasten the diaper by herself.

"Emmo dia-puh?" she asked, handing me the diaper and placing Elmo's tushie squarely on one of the burp cloths. After I got him properly suited up, she took Elmo into her arms, cradled him with a kiss, then tossed him over the side of the crib. "Night night, Elmo," she called, before dumping every book in her room on top of him, one at a time.

As I struggled not to laugh in front of Pippi (she was being so earnest about taking care of her "baby"), I realized I couldn't remember Junius doing this when he was her age. Maybe I've just forgotten -- and he certainly "mothers" his baby bear -- but the baby-doll instinct (or at least the impulse to keep a diaper on anyone small, which I certainly understand) seems much stronger in my daughter than in my son. Don't get me wrong -- she'll play with cars and balls and blocks, too, but she really loves to put on her dress up shoes, hook a little purse over her arm, and push that diapered Elmo around the house in her stroller.

Crazy stuff, this parenting -- but it's a funny show to watch.

When Junius Grows Up...

One of my favorite books to read with Junius is I Want to Go to UNC by Ripley Rand and Jorin Garguilo. Although I didn't grow up wanting to go to Carolina (in fact, it was my last choice -- but that's another story), it's never too early to get Juni on board with the Heels -- particularly given his track record of supporting, ahem, other ACC schools. I like the book because it introduces him to important places in Chapel Hill; he likes it because it rhymes, has fun illustrations and references lots of career and college options.

Tonight while we were reading, he kept pausing on each page (a ploy, no doubt, to put off the inevitable and impending bedtime) to discuss what he might want to be when he grows up. It was the first time I'd heard him discuss what's on his list, so I was curious to know what he was thinking about. Keep in mind that the options were inspired by the careers in the story, but I just wanted to take a moment to capture them now in case he actually becomes one of them later on:

• jet pilot
• dentist
• pediatric nurse
  
• car mechanic
• tuba player ("For when I'm bery, bery growed up, Mommy.")

I think it's a great list -- surprisingly technical and medical, two areas in which I was never interested. My guess is he's probably thinking more about having cool tools than about solid career paths. Can't fault the kid for liking the accessories

Come to my window

I promise I'm not stalking Mrs. Chicken, but she has another interesting post on her blog this week about the fascination of being a voyeur. I'll let you read her post because it's better than reading my paraphrase of her post, but I saw myself in her story about the "allure of... glimpses of someone else’s ordinary evening." Nothing creepy, but I still find it fascinating to see in the windows, whether literal or virtual. Probably part of why I like the movie Rear Window so much -- I get the fun of inventing a story around that tiny glimpse.

Okay, go ahead. Read it -- I'll wait. Seriously -- you don't really need another link, do you?

So here's my "window" -- the photo of me when I was reading her post yesterday. No make-up, bed-head, still sweaty from the morning's walk pushing 75 pounds of children and stroller around our hilly neighborhood. I'm in what my husband calls "Command Central" -- it's the corner of my kitchen counter where my laptop sits most of the time. While my children are napping, I catch up on email, read blogs, check Facebook and prep for dinner. It's not glamorous, but it's me -- and most days, I'm happy with that.

But if you happened to walk by my house later on last night (and one of my friends was doing just that), this second picture is what you saw... not through our window, but outside at the curb. It's Junius and his Daddy watching for lightning bugs.

This sweet scene started when my husband heard Junius walking around upstairs after he should have been asleep. When he found Juni awake, he suggested a trip to the potty might help. Junius looked out the bathroom window into the almost-darkness and said, "Da -- look at that! What's that little light that keeps blinking? Look -- there it is again!"

And so the boy with the early bedtime got his first trip outside on a summer night to catch fireflies with his wonderful father. His eyes wide with excitement, his voice hushed in the dark, Juni went out and hopped around the yard with us as we tried to show him what a lightning bug looks like up close.

Before we went back inside to bed, he turned and said in his most earnest little voice, "Thank you, Da. Thank you for taking me outside to see the fireflies."

If you like, show me your window now... what would I see as you read this post?

He says it there and it comes out here

Junius loves to talk. I have no idea where he got that from (*ahem*), but he really does. Even when he's wrestling with the stutter that occasionally comes and goes (apparently a normal developmental thing for 2- to 5-year-olds, especially boys), he still keeps talking. And talking.
And talking.

As he gets older and his vocabulary expands, it's fascinating to listen to what he comes up with and try to decipher where the ideas or words came from. I feel like I'm working some strange puzzle, searching for the links to things we've done or books we've read or shows we've watched until I can make sense of his story.

Here are two favorite excerpts from the past few days:

In a conversation with a grown-up friend over the weekend...
Junius: The Red Wings and the Penguins played for the Stanley Cup last night, but the Penguins won.
Ms. S: Oh really? Did you want the Penguins to win?
J: No, I wanted the Red Wings to win.
Ms. S: So did that make you sad?
J: No... [and then he paused, looked at her and said very carefully and clearly] I was disappointed.
[Strangely I found myself tearing up at this moment. Not because I was so upset for the Red Wings, but because my baby sounded so grown up. Also, we have no idea why he became a Red Wings fan, but it could be the red uniforms remind him of the 'Canes.]

Talking to his dad at bedtime...
"Alex used to be my big brother, but he's not anymore.
Now my big brother is Walt Henderlite.
And Pippi's big sister is Dot Henderlite."
[This is funnier when you know where the names came from. Alex is his best friend from preschool, who happens to be about nine months older than Junius. Walt is my friend from college who met us for lunch earlier this month -- it was the only time I've seen him in more than a decade, but he's tall and apparently that made quite an impression on Juni. Dot is a character in A Bug's Life, which is the movie we recently let Juni watch -- she's the little sister ant. And Henderlite is the surname of a family in our neighborhood whose house we'd passed that morning on our walk.]

Side note: The photo is Junius playing hockey. I'm noting that for you just in case you can't tell because he has a golf club, a baseball glove, a soccer goal and a footbal helmet. But it's hockey. He's being Cam Ward.