Son of a . . .

Cursing is not an odd occurrance in my house, but the kids are really good about knowing which words are grown-up words and which are not. Occasionally, a grown-up word spills from the mouths of the babes, but it's usually just ass or hell, which in my book really aren't curses at all. Anyway, while at coffee with the neighbors this week, I told them a story about how when Dade was just a wee boy Colby said' "son of a. . . " and Dade finished with, "bitch!" Not a shining moment in parentling history, but funny nonetheless. This story was told in Evelyn's presence, and I should've known it was all being absorbed like pancakes suck up syrup.

A few days later, I was putting some carrots back into the refrigerator and spilled some of the water from the carrot bowl all over the floor. "Oh man!" I said. Evelyn comes back with, "Son of a bitch!" Evelyn, I say, that's a grown up word. "I had to say it, Mom, because you spilled water all over the floor," she replies. How can I argue with that?

In other news, Colby and I went out to eat last night with no kids!! I'm pretty sure that's the first time in 16 months. Colby got me a big box of dark chocolates and a locket. I got him a necklace and a bookend from etsy.com. Evil, evil website. Stacy, my husband thanks you for making sure his paycheck now goes directly to PayPal for my etsy purchases. Forget the mortgage. . . can't turn down that cute crocheted bacon.