My Little Man

Brady had just finished going potty and tried to flush the toilet this morning. The handle, I must confess, doesn't always work properly. It takes a little extra oomph to get it to flush, but a 3 year old at 6 in the morning just doesn't have the stuff.

Instead, I stopped cold in my tracks, thinking I hear "Dammit! It doesn't flush!" I walked over, calmly, and asked him what he said. And a three year old is NOT bashful about repeating their words, particularly when they are things they KNOW they shouldn't say.

This sweet little voice said "Dammit." Incredulously, I asked again, what did you say? This time a bit more shyly he said "Dammit" and looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as if to say yeah I get it Mom, I know it's a bad word, so what are ya gonna do about it?

So I said Brady, please don't use that word, it isn't a nice word, nor is it a word for a little boy to say. I felt like I'd really made my point well. I didn't yell, make a big stinnk about it, I just simply and calmly explained the situation. One of my finer moments as a parent, I thought.

A little while later he was working on a puzzle in the bathroom (don't ask, just work with me here) and I distincly heard the following: "Dammit! I can't get the Liking McQueen togedder!" Now people can truly understand why I keep his hair short....so when the devil horns start poking out I'll have fair warning.