This is what came out of my three year olds mouth tonight.
I can not tell you the level of pride bubbling below my seething anger over this new found word set.
Really, it is like when she learned to walk. Where is the video camera?
You ask where she learned such colorful and appropriate three year old words and I submit to you a myriad of sources. Me, of course. Let’s just be honest. My mouth can get dirtier than a diaper after chocolate milk. I am much more aware of what I say and when I say it now that I have parrots running around. But I do slip and apparently, it is soaked up. However, I rarely use a true curse word as I have found substitutes to be both effective and entertaining. “Holy macaroni and cheese with a crusty topping!” is one of my favorites. But I have to admit, “freaking” probably came from me.
The sh*t part- well… let me count the mouths. To avoid pointing fingers directly at someone – honey – we’ll just say that those near and dear to my children have a hard time curtailing the curse monster. Though a vast improvement has been made, there are lingering words that still filter their way in. And I have noticed, after certain people who have no children come over and f- bomb the place like they are killing fleas, certain words get repeated for a few hours after they leave.
I try to handle like the experts – other mothers – tell me to. I ignore it the first few times, or repeat the sentence to them with new words inserted. “Mommy, can you get the damned dog off the couch?” “Yes, honey, Mommy will get the sweet dog off the couch.”
Though I have had success with this method in the past, I find that they are starting to outsmart me. My first clue was when I got back “No, Mommy, get the damned dog off the couch.” Busted.
So while standing in my living room, trying to figure out where to hang the sweet, innocent baby pictures we have finally gotten around to organizing since the move, I hear “freaking sh*t” from my daughter’s room. But I have to stop and listen before I maturely march right up to my husband and slap him upside his uncensored, R- rated head. Because really, shake can sound like sh*t, bam can sound like damn and fork can sound like… well, you get the idea.
I hear it again, “freaking sh*t”. Yep, clear as day. I glare at my husband who is suppressing laughter like I will suppress nooky later.
I call Katie out to the living room and ask her what she is saying in her room. She honestly says she was saying the offensive word combo because she was looking for her purple Silvermist dress and she couldn’t find it and it goes with her princess shoes and her crown and her Prince will kiss her and married her.
Makes perfect sense to me.
As I watch my husband’s face turning shades of red from holding in the laughter at her potty mouth, I explain to her the Princesses don’t use words like that and I don’t want to hear them again. She innocently responds “But, Mommy, we haz to get married!”
While my husband wipes tears from his eyes and almost pees his pants holding in his hysteria, I watch my sweet, innocent, little girl skip off the her room to again resume the game of freaking sh*t Princess married a Prince.
I look at my somewhat recomposed husband and say “Well, hell. What are we going to do about that freaking sh*t?”