The Air is Turning Blue…

Every parent has their own version of their little angel/darling/precious sweetie pie smiling that oh so charming smile right before they spout out some very un-charming dialogue and the worst opportunity possible.    And everyone tells themselves the same lie of “my child will NEVER do such a thing”. 

Yeah, right.

Ok, I have been married for years and have a pretty good idea of what sets the hubby off on  a tirade of verbal assault that can make grown men weep.  And I myself can get a good stream of obscenities going when provoked…who am I kidding – I swear like a sailor when pissed off.  Regardless, I never had any illusions that any child in our care would not be subjected to the occasional swear word.  Nor did I ever think that said child would never repeat those occasional swear words…in fact, I not only expected it , but knew it would happen at the most inopportune time.

Mr. D came to us a couple years ago, and has had the wondrous fortune to ride with the hubby.  This means he has been subjected to Mr B going from mild mannered super daddy to Gwar the uncouth barbarian of the road at the drop of a hat.  And yet he never seemed to show any sign of acknowledging that fact other than to look wide-eyed in wonder.  I should have known then….

There has been the occasion questionable word pop out now and the, but we were able to laugh it off and convince ourselves we heard it wrong.  Until the F word.

It started innocently enough…Davey was playing with toy cars, balancing one on top of the other.  Sometimes the cars would cooperate, sometimes not.  Finally, after balancing car A on car B and having it fall off yet again,  he casually uttered the F word in the midst of his tiny child conversation and continued on as if nothing happened.  We were stunned.

“Did you hear that?” we whispered to each other.  “Yes, I did” we would reply.   

We basically ignored the occasional word, even though we noticed it happened a bit more often.  Actually we had a good giggle out of it because not only did he would use the word in the proper context but with no emphasis at all….he could have been telling you that he wanted to wear his superman shoes today, it was all so matter of fact.  But bottom line was we tried not to make a big deal out of it.

Then came the day when I came home after working late.  I opened the door to have two small children hurtle themselves at me, shrieking “Mommy Mommy”.  No sign of daddy.  Finally he appeared.  The look on his face told me it had been a rough evening. 

“They are swearing at me.”

“What? Who is swearing at you” I asked in confusion.

As if on cue, a tiny voice happily sang out the word “B*CH”.  Only this time it was little Miss A.   To which her brother happily chimed out “DON’T SAY THAT WORD”.  Yeah, I could clearly see how the evening went.

Again we tried to ignore the words, only stopping to acknowledge that they weren’t nice words and could hurt people.  These two are big on “will it owie” – guess that is a standard concern when you are small and have no idea how to control your body when you are trying to run/twirl/skip or switch directions without notice.  Hell, I’m an adult and I often wonder in terms of “will it owie”.

Jump ahead to earlier this week.  I cheerfully went to pick up the kids from daycare only to be met by the first teacher. 
“Davey  said some bad words today.” 
“Oh?” I said.

“He called his teacher an F’ing B.” she said.
“Oh my”  (Yeah – I was pretending to be shocked – so sue me).
“Then he washed his own mouth out with soap.”

Ok, that did surprise me.  We have never even threatened to wash anyone’s mouth out with soap.  First off we can’t do that as foster parents, second, it never occurred to either of us, and as far as we knew he had never encountered even the threat of having his mouth washed out with soap. 

Second teacher – “Davey called me an F’ing B today.  Then he ate soap and said it was ‘ucky’.”

By the time we left daycare, no fewer than 4 people had told me of my darling boy’s expanding vocabulary and newest parlor trick.

That evening the hubby and I discussed the situation.  We both vowed to be more careful of our speech (yeah  - too little too late).  The only thing we could come up with for the soap episode was a recent attempt to lick the bubbles  during bath time.  Not sure why he connected that to language but hey, he is three and who knows how their little brains work.

The next morning, before heading into day care, I went through the list of things Mr D was to try not to do…”no pinching, no hitting, no biting, and no bad words.”   In the past this technique has worked for the little guy.  He dutifully nodded  in agreement, smiled and marched off to day care…muttering “Don’t say that word”…I knew I was doomed.

Sure enough – it was reported that the “f’ing B” words made several appearances.  I asked the day care teacher what she did when he said them.  “Well, I tell him he shouldn’t say those things” was the reply.

“That’s it?  You don’t put him in time out?” I asked.
“Well he starts flailing around – I’m afraid he will hurt himself.”  She then stopped and hugged the demon child, telling him “Be good tonight”.  I was floored.

The next day was more of the same.  “I don’t know what to do…what do you do at home?” I was asked.

“Well, we put him in time out.” 
“But I am afraid he is going to hurt himself.  He has such a fit and starts flailing about.”

I stared at this young girl.  “So he hurts himself…trust me…he will stop.  Put him in time out – show him you mean business.  Otherwise you are going to be fighting this for a long time.”

The next day I picked him up.  “How did it go today?” I asked.

The girl looked sheepish and reported that he had done it again. 

“Did you put him in time out?”

“Yes”…she seemed so proud.  Then she frowned.

“And what happened?” I asked – fearing the answer.

“Well, he got mad at first. Then he sat there and muttered…”

“And….” I prompted.

“He muttered very quietly then started yelling.”  She said.

“What was he saying?”

She frowned again.  “Well he was saying the FB word….and he smiled when he did it.”

Once again I dutifully told Davey not to say bad words, explaining that they aren't nice and it hurts his nice teacher's feelings.

Once again he smiled at me like I was an idiot.  "Don't say that word" he whispered.

"B*TCH" whispered his sister....

Like I said…we are doomed…..

The Toothpaste Blues...

Two small children, ages 2 and 3 make life interesting.  Potty training is an Olympic event, meals are summit meetings and bedtime is everything from a walk in the park to all out war.  And yet we still manage to enjoy moments of pure joy and randomness.

Take for example the other morning.  Mornings during the week are an event in their own right.  Since we both have to leave early in the morning, things get a little hectic when you add two children who each has his own agenda.  As it happened, last Friday I had taken off work for a couple of appointments.  In one of those rare the planets have aligned moments, I did not have to get up before the crack of dawn, and was looking forward to getting a little extra sleep.  I should have known the kids would have other plans.

For once, both kids managed to sleep the entire night in their respective beds.  Ah the joy of such a little thing as to have one’s own bed for an entire night – I was beginning to think it was something I had imagined.   Even the dogs and cats were cooperating – no whining, no barking, no random meows to disturb us. 

At about 5:30, we both awoke to random babbling.  Let me mention that there is a baby monitor in the 2 year old’s room.    We both heard her babbling away, and slowly realized that the 3 year old was actually in there with her.  The two were having one of their many child-like conversations that only they understood completely.  Pretty soon we heard the not so stealthy pitter patter of tiny feet followed by swiftly running feet.  In the darkened room I could barely make out the determined face of a tiny girl, clutching her blanket as she climbed with purpose onto our bed and made her way to the pillows.  She promptly threw herself into the mass of fluff and announced with no uncertain terms “More Milk” as she settled in, a huge grin on her face at her cleverness. 

In the meantime the 3 year old stood on the trunk at the bottom of the bed.  I could tell he looked odd but couldn’t quite wrap my mind around what was off.  Then I realized that he was completely naked from the waist down.  Having been the one to put him to bed the night before, I knew personally that he did not start out that way.  “Where are your undies?” I asked.  He smiled at me like I was an idiot.  Heaving a resigned sigh, I got out of bed and said “Let’s go to the potty” to which he happily scampered off the trunk and toward the bathroom.

We have a baby gate on our bathroom.  Too many things of great temptation are held within, and to be honest I want to prolong the inevitable issues that come along with toddlers and toilets.  As I moved to lift the 3 year old over the gate, it registered in the back of my mind that his rubber boots (covered with space ships) were carefully placed just outside the gate.  I set him down and told him to go potty while I noted the pajama pants on the floor.  I headed off to his bedroom to grab some clean undies and clothes.  Back in the bathroom, I found him standing by the toilet.  “Go potty” I said. 

“Don’t want to potty” came the reply.  “Go potty” I repeated, as I placed his potty seat on the toilet and lifted him on to it.  “Where’s your undies” I asked – not really expecting an answer.  To my surprise he simply said “I put them in the trash.”  Sure enough, when I looked into the trash can, there was a pair of pull ups.  It was then that I noticed that the tub looked strange….it was blue.  At this point the 3 year old stood up and announced that he was done and requested his toilet paper.  Then I looked at him… I mean REALLY looked at him.  His hands looked pasty, and when he turned around I couldn’t help but notice his butt was as blue as the tub.  Slowly it began to come together in my mind. 

Apparently he had awakened and realized that he was wet.  Being a clever guy, he knew enough to head to the bathroom.  Why this required his spaceship rubber boots I am not sure, but when he reached the baby gate he had enough sense to remove them so that he might climb the gate.  He then ditched his pajama bottoms, tossed the wet pull up in the trash, went to the potty and carefully put his potty seat back in its rightful place.  He then looked for soap to wash up with, but instead came across his toothpaste, hence the blue tub, hands and for whatever reason butt.  I then found myself sticking him in the tub to clean up, getting him out just in time for my alarm to go off, alerting me that it was time to get p and get moving. 

I am happy to say that aside from a minty-fresh smelling bathroom and my extra sleep plans being thwarted, everything turned out fine.  I also want to mention that toothpaste is at the top of my grocery list…