My Catcher in the Rye Moment

My perception of my little blue angel was rocked today by news from his nursery school teacher that he had dropped the f-bomb on the playground. WTF?!?!

Okay, so my loyal readers know that "F" is a word with whom I am on a first-name basis. Recall my post of December 7, 2007 "Bloody Hell" (side note: my little green apron store escape has come to an end. Remind me to blog about that later.)

But this is my SON and this afternoon's revelation became my Catcher in the Rye moment. After all, Griffin is so sweet that when I tell him at bedtime that I am so glad he is my son, he tells me that he is so glad I am his mama. He thinks the "bad words" are things like stupid, fart, and poop. Something doesn't jive here.

But this is ME so I began the self-analysis and hand-wringing immediately. First, I realized Brett and I have not done a sufficient job of keeping our bad words to ourselves. Mostly Brett, I blamed, as I cursed under my breath at another driver. Or maybe it's because we don't "church." That's it! We'll have to join a congregation - a nice liberal place that is pro-gay and not anti-choice - but a church so the children can learn to sing "Jesus Loves Me" and not drop f-bombs.

When I told Brett about the bombing, he had the same thought but (and this is why I married him!) a different reaction. "No way," is what he emphatically said, "He didn't say it."

At dinner, I danced around the issue with a myriad of questions. What are some bad words that you know? Would you ever say bad words that you've heard mom and dad say? It went on like this for an unbearable amount of time until Brett cut to the chase.

Brett: "Did you say something to a little girl about playing in the snow?"

Griffin: "Yes" (looking slightly uncomfortable)

Brett: "What did you say?"

Griffin: "I told her that it would affect her because the teachers said it could hurt us to eat snow. I didn't want her to get hurt."

So, dear reader, say it with me ... AFFECT. Imagine the possibilities of this word in the mouth of a five-year-old. HA! He didn't swear. There was no dropping of an f-bomb (except, may I point out, by the little girl who knows F but not "affect" ... but I'm not bitter.) Anyway, the teachers were very cool about the whole thing and I am confident that when I tell them the story they will appreciate my son's stellar vocabulary.