Me: What are you talking about when you say that?
Z: That! (pointing)
Me: Can you tell me more about what that is?
Z: Mommy! That!
Me: What color is it? What shape? What does it do? Is it this? This? This? (grrrr)
He’s made progress with colors, and even has three words he misuses constantly as adjectives, interesting, impressive, and on-purpose. Adjectives do not come naturally to him yet. Some nouns have made their way into his narratives. Instead of just that, we might getthat thing or even better that toy (still replay the entire conversation above with these additions).
Today, things shifted a bit in Zee’s adjective use. Very naturally, several times, Zee added the generic f’ing (yes, say the real word whenever you see f’ing) to describe common nouns in his world.
“Mommy, can you give me f’ing Skipper.” (Skipper is a plane.)
“Look mommy, I draw f’ing mac and cheese.”
“Where’s my f’ing bowl?”
Ace knows her “bad words” so has been quick each time to jump in before I can register what he says.
Ace: Mom, Zee said a bad word.
Me: I know sweetie. Zee, do you mean the blue popcorn bowl?
Me: It’s right there (pointing, yes I get the irony).
Z: Oh, yeah, thanks Mommy.
Me: Zee, you know we don’t use that word, okay?
After a full day of repeated variations on this conversation, I added an additional question to the blue f’ing popcorn bowl exchange.
Me: Zee, do you know what word I’m talking about that we’re not supposed to use?
Z: The f’ing word?
Me: Yep. Do you promise to not use it again?
Z: Yes Mommy. Can I please have some more popcorn please?
Me: Of course. Thanks buddy.
My husband came home in the middle of the blue f’ing popcorn bowl chat and smirkingly spectated. As we walked out of kid earshot and vision, giggling, he said, “That might be the cutest f’ing f’ing I’ve ever heard.” So true. See, it was cute. Not because it was a little kid trying out a bad word, but because he honestly wasn’t intending it to be bad. He was innocently trying out an adjective. One that he has obviously heard recently.
Now I’d like to think that a weekend family gathering is to blame, or that this is a dorment reaction to something heard while I was out of town two weeks ago, but the truth is usually much more simple. The person Zee spends the most time with is me, and I guess being a stay-at-home mom hasn’t allowed me enough adult conversation outlets, or that Ace and Zee are good eavesdroppers, or my husband and I aren’t as quiet as we think, or that I don’t realize what the fuck I’m saying half the time.