...In Which We Learn Not To Say 'Fucking'

I'm going to say fuck in this entry a lot... mmmkay??  And it shall be a true testament to my amazing parenting skills...  my fortitude and well... my children's education about four letter words.  I've been told by a lot of people to write this story down.  Where?  I don't keep baby books... well... I tried... with Coop.  I wrote something in Z's.  I bought one for Max.  I didn't even bother with Lola.  And not that it is baby book material.  So, if ya know me, you've heard it... but here we go.  I have no where else to plant it.

Picture it.  mmm... let's call it Wednesday.  It must have been last Wednesday because that is just the worst day of the week.  The Hubs' job has decided it will throw just a huge wrench in our entire schedule by working the Hubs some pretty strange long hours on that day.  While I obviously love these children and they are mine to care for, by 8:00pm Wednesday night I frankly feel like I could die.  It's just a long ass day.  Last Wednesday was one of those.  I do not recall smiling most of the day.  I don't necessarily remember why... could have been any number of things...  money?  messy house?  too much to do?  lack of sleep?  want of coffee?  prego belly weighing me down? kids' bad attitude?  MY bad attitude?  mayhaps all of the above?  Likely all of the above.

I will spare you the gory details.  They are boring.  The day was boring... and that was probably most of the problem.  Coop had complained about a bug downstairs.  Noted that it was huge.  I ignored the whole thing and proceeded with my evening.  I put the youngest two down for bed.  Lola is always so easy... Max always screams.  Ah, Wednesday.  While shuffling the eldest two down I noticed on the stairs something... eh, large.  A shoe maybe?  Someone's discarded size 22 sock??  Mayhaps someone's freaking PET CAT???  DEAR.  GOD.   Realizing I couldn't make waves, lest the entire thing would go up in smoke right in front of my eyes... less quiet time to read... less Calgon time...  I chose to ignore the monstrous bug, climb over it and proceed down the stairs, noting that I would be back with perhaps a shot gun to take care of the thing.  The kids lay down in their bunkbed and I said I'd be right back.  Fly swatter in hand, I proceeded back up the stairs where this "bug" sat waiting for me in the foyer.  What was I to do??  What any normal tired person would do... proclaim to myself, "DAMN.  That is a HUGE fucking bug!" 

To be fair, I totally thought I was out of earshot.  I drowned that bitch in the toilet and made my way back down the stairs to the laundry room that sits adjacent to the boys' bedroom.  Everything was quiet...  for a moment...  and then I heard the tiny voice of Z say to his brother,

"Coop!" in a whisper, "that was a Fucking Bug because it was so big."

Silence continues.  I shake my head quickly like a cartoon character.  Nope, couldn't be.

"Cooper.  That was a Fucking Bug because it was so big. That's its name."

I could only imagine from the laundry room Coop's eyes getting as big as saucers and praying I hadn't heard his little brother.  While imagining... I was also laying all over the washing machine trying to keep my laughter to myself.  Sorta.

"Cooper!  That was a FUCKING BUG because it was so big!!"

"Uh, Zander... I don't think think you should say that."

"BUT IT WAS A FUCKING BUG!"

"ZANDER!  DON'T!"

This is where I interjected.  I couldn't let the madness continue... as funny as it was.  Poor guy.  They are all kinds of into Wild Kratts and Nature and Nova.  He was just excited he knew the bug's name!  That's all.  He tried to tell me then too about the Fucking Bug.  It's these snapshots of life that make it all fun.  I heard myself say, "Now Zander, we don't say 'fucking'.  That's not a nice word." and I giggled inside.  These are the times, right??

Well, I suppose I need to learn that we don't say 'fucking'.