Tonight The Double B and I were sitting next to each other on the couch as the Kaje rocked in his Granny chair (named, of course, for our Granny) in front of us. It was very pleasant. My husband had his arm around my shoulder and we were discussing the merits of softball and how I was proud of him for organizing a team this year and not just finding a new one to join. Kaje rocked away, smiling at us. And then, out of the clear blue sky, he smiled big and said
"Oh, Damn it."
That's right, folks. Oh, damn it. Right out of our son's mouth, right in front of us. And quite pleasantly, too.
The Father of said child and I looked at him. Looked at each other. I tried really, really hard not to laugh. Because laughing at that moment would just not have been appropriate. We took the moment to calmly explain that damn it is the kind of thing we just don't want to say. Not a nice word, you know. The Daddy asked "Where did you hear that?" Kaje may or may not have looked at me out of the corner of his eye.
As a small post-script, my Granny had a swear word of choice. She used to say "shit." Sometimes calling her grandchildren "little shits", sometimes saying "shit-a-fire," or "pickle-shit." She said that this type of behavior was acceptable because her own mother used to say "shit," and her mother was an angel.