Life of a Fire Wife

Potty Mouth – My Mommy Confession

I keep up with a former co-worker’s blog once in a while.  She’s a multi-faceted, multi-talented fellow redhead who can’t understand why on earth I wouldn’t want to become a falconer like my parents.  (And like her, but that’s a story for another post.  Isn’t everything?)

I was reading one of her blog posts tonight wherein she relates the story of how her parrot, Ty, learned how to imitate the UPS truck perfectly – and other undesirable words and expressions as well – when it occurred to me that a two-year old is very much like a parrot.

Now I’m not talking about an innocent mispronunciation like my friend’s son, Anthony, who couldn’t say “truck”.  I’ll leave you to figure out how he said it on your own!

Kenny was two years old on 9/11.  Like many others, I sat watching the collapse of the second tower on television and all I could manage to say was “Oh my God!” with tears streaming down my face.  When Kenny started repeating me, I knew it was time to turn off the TV.  Pretty innocent, but read on…

Kevin learned how to call people he didn’t like “puckers” when he was about two.  When we asked him where he learned that word he said “Uncle Steve.”  Needless to say, we had a little talk with Uncle Steve.

Krissy, though, was far more talented than any of her siblings.  She formulated complete sentences around her word of choice.  The day she handed me a bottle of water and said, “Mommy, open my fucking water bottle.” I knew I had to clean up my vocabulary.

And so I did.

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