This post contains cuss words. Actually one cuss word in particular — SHIT. And this is a post about a mom who has used this word way too many times. And this is a story about a little boy who heard his mom use this word way too much. So he said what she said. And well, shit, this is getting way too confusing. So here, just read the post.
It is a word that has always come spewing out of my mouth.
Drop something on the floor.
Walk into the bathroom to find that Dawson has dumped my contacts in the sink.
Watch in disbelief as Dawson squirts the liquid from his water bottle onto the walls of his room.
Oh shit, Dawson don’t do that!
Stroll into the playroom to find a beautiful painting that Dawson has created on our carpet.
Shit, shit, shit and shit.
You get the idea.
Sometimes life just calls for the word.
And you know, like any good mama, I have tried really hard not to say this word in front of my little Dawson and Mae Mae.
But as it turns out, I have not done a great job at keeping my curse words from the ears of my little ones.
Because things slip out in these moments of contacts dumping, carpet painting, and water bottle squirting.
Dave has always warned me. Before Dawson had words, my husband would say, “You know the first word out of his mouth is going to be shit.”
I would smile, “If that is his first word, then great! I will take it! I will take any word, any word at all.”
Yep, you got it.
Dawson now uses the word SHIT.
Not only does he use the word shit, he also uses it in the appropriate context.
And I must admit that I am really darn proud of him.
He drops his fork on the floor.
And says, “Oh shit!”
He trips over a toy in his room.
Any my sweet boy yells, “Shit!”
He walks down the aisle at the Toys R Us and a box Hot Wheels that he is looking at falls from the shelf.
And he looks his daddy right in the eye.
And with his most glorious words he says, “Oh shit.”
We have tried to redirect him.
Teaching him “Aw shucks!” or “Dagnabbit!”
But he runs into the chair at the kitchen table. He looks at his feet and whispers, “Aw shucks” and then his chin rises from his chest. I see the long brown hair that is covering his eyebrows. And his cheeks rise as his eyes squint with great mischief and he says, “Oh shit!”
And he laughs.
The glorious giggles that tell me he knows he has said something he is not supposed to say.
And I look at him.
My face scrunched up as if I have just licked a lemon as I try desperately not to smile, “Oh, you ran into the chair… Aw shucks.”
He stares at me and in a voice that is as flat as Texas he says, “Aw shucks.”
And then his grin.
And with a voice that is as high as the mountains and as deep as the valleys he says, “Oh shit!”
And he plops himself in his chair.
He takes a bite of his toast.
I yearned for words to come from his mouth.
For him to know the meaning of words.
To use them in context.
And he did it.
And I helped him.
He did what I did.
He imitated me.
Because you know, sometimes life just calls for the word.
And I am forever grateful that it does.
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Copyright Cheairs Graves October 25, 2012