A month or so ago, Jasper began dropping the F-bomb.
It is Patrick’s favorite word, and he really enjoys using it- especially when driving. It has been difficult for Patrick to give up using the word, despite my
polite annoying reminders that he needs to watch his language around our very verbal two-year old.
(To be fair, I’m no saint when it comes to cussing, but I’m much better at watching it around kids than Patrick-I’ve had years of practice as a school teacher.)
So, when Jasper started using the F-bomb, I was horrified. I felt like this was a test of parenting, and we had failed. I lambasted my husband for his foul language, and he assured me that I too needed to do a better job of watching my language.
“We just have to tell Jasper that its a bad word. He’ll stop using it,” he assured me.
I took the tactic of pretending that Jasper was using a different word. (“Oh, you mean truck?”)
After a week, Patrick was sure that the F-bomb had been eradicated from our house. I took Jasper with me on my weekly adventure to Stop & Shop (my nemesis). We were almost done with our shopping, when I realized that I still needed to grab some soup for Patrick.
With a sigh, I began to scour the shelves, trying to calm my less-than patient, boisterous toddler. My frustration mounted as the right brand and flavor evaded me.
“Uh-oh, Jasper, please remember to stay in your seat,” I pleaded, as an older woman elbowed past, clearly annoyed that we were taking so much time, hogging so much of the aisle, and that my kid was shouting out his own adorable version of the ABC song at the top of his lungs.
“WE JUST NEED SOME F—-ING SOUP!!” Jasper yelled at the woman as she passed.
I turned six shades of red, smiled politely at the woman, and then at Jasper.
“Daddy hates duck soup. Let’s get this one,” I stammered, chucking the cans in the cart, wishing, more than anything, that I could mutter my own string of curse words.