MotherofConfusion

Language around our house can be salty. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like we’re the Osbournes and the f-bomb is dropped every other word, but there is the occasional curse-word muttering or exclamation.

I’ll admit, in my younger years, I wasn’t so careful to guard my language around my oldest son Jay. He was speech-delayed until he was 4 and later didn’t seem interested in turning a colorful phrase.

It wasn’t until he was 11, and his dad overheard a front yard cuss-war between him and a neighborhood kid, that I clued in to Jay’s ‘expanded’ vocabulary.

On the other hand, Craig, while speech-delayed as well, was a quick study. So quick he wasn’t yet 2 when he uttered his first zinger.

“Dambit.”

What? I stopped folding laundry and looked at Craig. He was focused on a plush toy resting on the carpet. He squatted to grab it, stood up triumphant and toddled towards me.

Hmmm. He couldn’t have said what I thought he did.

After a few steps, Craig let go of his toy. When it hit the floor he said ‘dambit’ again. Only this time it was louder and he gave it emphasis by waving his chubby fist.

Oh, son of a … He was saying what I thought.

This was Jimmy’s fault.

Oh boy, was I going to let him know too. I fished around my pocket for my cell phone, pulled it out and dialed his cell number.

“Hello.”

“Guess what your son’s first word is? Beyond mommy and daddy and yoo (Jay) …”

“Uhhh.”

“Damn it. That’s his word.”

“Oh yeah? Are you sure?”

As if on cue, Craig tilted his head up and roared out the word. He batted his eyes, smiled so I could see all six of his teeth and drooled.

“Did you hear that? That’s your fault.”

“What? How’s that my fault?”

“Because you say it all the time.”

“I do not. You do.”

“What? Noooo.” How could he think that? It was totally his word.

“Yes.” Jimmy let out a sigh. “I say shit. YOU say damn it.”

“That’s absolutely not true.”

“Yes. … Yes it is.”

“Damn it, no it’s not.”

Jimmy gave me a second to let the truth sink in.

Oh no. “Damn it! I do say it.”

He laughed. “Told you.”

Luckily Craig didn’t hang on to that power word for long. His dad, however, would jab me with a tease about it now and then for long after.

It wasn’t until recently, as a preschooler, that Craig that let out another powerhouse utterance. This time it was a phrase and it didn’t include any salty lingo I understood – but Craig belted it out like it did.

“Craig, what are you doing?”

He rolled on the carpet from side to side, kicking his feet and dangling his tongue. His hands fluttered above his eyes.

“Craig?” I leaned down to get a better look at his goofiness. He was pinching his eyelids, pulling them up, rolling his eyes around and then letting go. He did this repeatedly. “Craig, oh my gosh, what are you doing?”

He laughed, while still yanking and snapping his eyelids and yelled, “Haaahaaahaaa! That’s what you get Mommy! That’s what you get!”

Whaaaat?

Craig tried to repeat his phrase but couldn’t. He was in a fit of giggles.

Later that night, I relayed to Jimmy what happened and confronted him. “He picked that phrase up from you.”

Jimmy looked surprised. “No he didn’t.”

“Yes. You say it all the time. ”

“No, I say ‘that way so you learn.’”

“No, I hear you say the other.”

Jimmy shook his head.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

I didn’t argue. I learned from the first time.