My children are darling little angels.
Except when they aren’t.
And BELIEVE YOU ME, we have plenty of the “aren’t” sorts of instances, ’round here. Though their seemingly limitless capacity for finding NEW and INTERESTING ways to make that little vein in my temple throb sometimes astounds me.
So, you have to go read this post by Joshilyn about how her son Sam has had his first brush with inappropriate profanity. It’s worth the read, trust me. Go! I’ll wait.
It was hilarious, right? And lo, how I giggled. Oh, how I snorted in smug and blissful assurance that SURELY my children were LIGHT YEARS away from any such situation.
Hubris! It’s what’s for dinner! (And lunch!)
My sweet and compassionate son, he who inserts himself between me and Otto if we so much as disagree—exhorting us to please not argue! even if we aren’t actually arguing—had a little skirmish with another child at school yesterday. Nothing physical, but Monkey felt he was being taunted and he got pretty upset and reacted badly.
I’ve been following up with emails and phone calls to try to get the entire story, as it’s been dribbling in by bits and pieces. This morning I thought I finally had the whole thing.
Until I talked to the vice principal, who was the one to sit down and talk with Monkey after everything happened.
It turns out that my ANGELIC son explained to her that this other kid was “REALLY GETTING ON MY FUCKING NERVES.”
But WAIT! It gets even BETTER, because when the VP was (understandably) taken aback by Monkey’s language, he followed it up with:
“What? That’s what my mom says to me ALL THE TIME.”
(For the record? I have NEVER said that to either of my children, no matter how many times I may have thought it in the deepest and ugliest recesses of my overtaxed brain. And thank the good lord above, despite Monkey’s assurance to the contrary, it does not appear that anyone at school believed I have, either.)
(Though it may have been going too far to explain that I ONLY say that when I’m SHOOTING UP and he’s bothering me. I say extremely stupid things when I am MORTIFIED.)
And the jewel in my genius boy’s crown? When THAT didn’t go over particularly well, he then closed with:
“I didn’t know that was a bad word.”
When that child gets home today? He is in VERY DEEP SHRIMP.