Alphabet Soup.

“Mom, I know the ‘b’ word. It’s spelled b, i, t, c, h.”

Speeding across black asphalt in the pitch black desert, I am suddenly back on our street knocking three doors down and letting my new neighbors know exactly what this b-i-t-c-h thinks about their foul-mouthed offspring. Because when they moved in four months ago, my son did not know the “b” word. Or the “sh” word. Or the “f” word. Or the “c” word. And he didn’t say crap or darn or damn. Or “son of a …” Or “what the …”

Four months ago our family tooted, but didn’t fart. People were silly, not stupid. We didn’t hate – unless we were talking about Daddy’s departure because, really, hate doesn’t even come close – but we “not liked” things a whole lot. We shushed where others shut up, and butt for exceptions here and there we were bottoms up. There are ta-ta’s where others have boobies and cubes where others choose fruits and nuts.

But, nooooooo. Because not only is the dictionary of all things rude and raucous three doors down, he is in my son’s classroom. At the same group table. Which is why I sent an email to his teacher that went like this:

Ms. Teacher of My Precious Son, 

I was hoping you might help me with something. My son has made a wonderful start to the school year, and I am very pleased with the progress he has already made in two short months. He loves his class, tells me every day about the new things he has learned and, as always, tells me all about the friends he has made and how much fun he has. I’ve also noticed that his vocabulary has expanded in leaps and bounds but not, always, in the way I would like. We’ve talked at great length about what words are appropriate and that just because others use them doesn’t mean he should. 

Unfortunately, it seems that all of these new and often four-letters-long words are coming from the same classmate and I would like to ask that you separate the boys (they sit at the same table) and watch the language that is being used during recess. I know that boys will be boys, and that this is inevitable. But I am not ready to hear my seven-year-old drop f-bombs. 

I really appreciate your help and understanding with this.

Best,

Irate Mother Who Has Already Been Through Enough @#&!

“Sweetheart, I’m very proud of you for knowing that is an inappropriate word. And, I want you to know that you can always ask me questions and I will never get mad. However, if I hear you use any of those words – EVER – the Wii and the DSi are gone. Not for a little while like before. Like FOREVER.”

“I know. What does OMG mean?” 

“It means Oh My Gosh.”

“What about SOS?”

“I think it is Send Out Signal.”

“I know what SOL means. Scream out loud!”

LMFAO.