WARNING: Salty language ahead. Not appropriate for high school students, 21-month-old toddlers, and church ladies.
Scene: My living room. Thursday afternoon.
Ahhhhhhhhh…. FINALLY HOME. Both J and I have been in teacher mode at our respective schools all day, and it’s SO NICE to be switching into parenting mode. As J takes the dogs outside, I sit on the couch, watching K bring me book after book as we decide which one we will read together first.
Suddenly, my iPhone rings. “Mama, ring!” K gleefully points at my phone. “Yes, it’s ringing!” The caller ID indicates it’s Tanya, a close friend. I pick it up. We start to small talk while K runs into the kitchen to welcome his father and the dogs, who I can hear have just re-entered our apartment.
Suddenly, Tanya reveals a scandalous bit of gossip. “What?!” I screech. “Oh fuck fuck fuck!”
Then, like a tiny echo in a deep cavern, a squeaky voice emerges from the hallway just outside the living room:
“Fack! Fack! Fack!”
That’s it, folks. The end of my prodigious life with the tongue of a shore-bound sailor. TEACHER MODE ACTIVATED 24/7.
That’s life with a toddler.