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…..