We were all sitting down at dinner a few nights ago, looking at each other, eating, smiling. All was well. Gianna was talking about something no one could understand, Christopher and I were making light chit chat about our darling children and Davy was giving us the inside view of a day at preschool.
"Mom. And. Dad. Jack is so funny"
Awww. Really? Why Davy?
She paused and looked up as she was obviously in deep thought.
"Because......he said FUUUUUUUUDGEEEEEE." Except with less of the "djjjj" sound and more of the "k" sound.
Christopher and I looked at each other with sheer panic and dropped jaws. I desperately tried to hold it together with my eyes to communicate that he must rescue the situation without encouraging her to repeat the profanity by laughing and making sure she never never ever says it again and surely does not think it is appropriate for light dinner humor.
Then I dove into the dark recesses of my mind and unearthed some enormous mother of all guilt for sending my baby 3 year old to preschool where she is learning the freaking F word. I threw her to the wolves. I suck. What will become of her now. Doomed. Doooooomed.
Davy was still speaking. She didn't hear our internal horror or notice our appalled faces. And ironically with wolves already on my racing mind, I hear her little who-ville voice.
"ummmmm...he said that FO-XXXXES are the same as wolves. Isn't that hilarious?" It was that tricksy plural fox.
At first I started laughing nervously...because I couldn't believe we got out so easy. Then Christopher joined in and our laughter got louder and scarier and Davy started laughing, followed by little clueless Gianna. It was a little creepy but much better than what could have happened.
Thanks Jack for thinking foxes and wolves are the same thing and for not teaching Davy the F word quite yet.
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