Son of a crap

Okay. So sometimes I’m known to utter the words, “SON OF A MOTHER!” or “HOLY CRAP!” I’m trying really hard not to swear (in front of children). As it turns out, Jack is hanging on to my every word and spitting it back out in his own fashion, thus, son of a crap. I’m conflicted as to whether to be angry or proud. Also overheard, “Fricken mother.” He muttered that one under his breath as he was trying, unsuccessfully, to put the wheels back on his little school bus. I’m going to be in so much trouble when he starts school.

You know how kids say the darndest things? Well Jack says the damnedest things. I don’t know where he gets this stuff. As if it’s not bad enough that he’s always telling me to shave my legs, the other day his little fingers found their way to my armpit. You know what the little bugger said?! “Mama, you have a beard in your armpit.” Okay, this was a GROSS exaggeration. It had been like two days since my last pit shave, there was hardly a beard going on in there. Jeeze.

And now he’s started calling his little sister “Misty.” He certainly mystifies me. I wonder what he dreams about at night. I asked him once, he said, “sleeping.” I asked him what else, he said, “waking up.” Whatever. He’s awesome. I love the crap out of him.

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