If I’ve learned anything over the past 7 and a half years of mothering, it’s that I know nothing. If you find a groove, something will ungroove you. That was never more apparent to me than when Eli ran face first into our fireplace and I had to take him to get stitches. (This happened about 6 months ago)
(Little side note: I have a potty mouth. I love the f word. It expresses my feelings with the gusto and pizazz they deserve. My darlings know those are grown up words and they are not allowed to say them until they are old enough. They follow the rules pretty well.)
Back to the E.R. While we were waiting to get “string bandaids” and the nurse was waiting for Eli’s numbing to kick in, Eli asked to play a game on the iPad. He tried about 6 times to beat a level (candy crush) unsuccessful every time. He finally looks at me and says,
”Mommy! How hard is this fucking level?”
Oh boy. Um…“Buddy. You can’t say that word. It’s a grown up word.”
“What word? Fucking?”
Blushing and sweating begin. “Yeah. You can’t say that”
“Man! I can’t say fucking or shit?”
Awkward glances, more sweating. “Nope. Sorry bud”
And that’s why we had to find a new emergency room.
Incessant Buffoonery 