Now I must make a confession. My three-and-a-half-year-old has picked up a bad habit. He curses. His most prolific word of the present is "fucking" in the form of an adjective. He uses it quite aptly during moments of profound distress or emphasis. It's not a daily occurrence, so when he does say it, we are completely off guard. Robert and I usually stop, look at each other in a dumbstruck way, and remain silent. I suppose we hope that if we ignore his curse word dabbling, it will go away. We all know where he got the word from. Sigh. His grandma. No, no, only kidding. He got it from us -- well, mainly Robert -- but a little bit from me too. We are trying very hard to watch our language in front of the kids. But we are emotional creatures who lack the patience or motivation to think of more appropriate adjectives to convey our frustrations. Well, we lacked the motivation until now. Now we most definitely have the motivation.
Dammit, it's so hard.
So the other night, Maeve and I were snuggling on the couch. One of our five cats was about to curl up on the back of the couch. Maeve was eyeing my boobs -- she wanted to nurse. I was having one of those blissfully-in-love-with-my-daughter moments. That's when Max ran in the room. I could feel his tension immediately. It was like there was a fire around his feet. Instantly, Maeve and I became rigid, not wanting to fuel the flames. "I want to snuggle too," he said in a demanding, louder-than-necessary voice.
And, YES, my boobs really are that big and perky. Don't be so jealous! And, no, that's not a real fire at his feet. It's just depicting the heated emotions.
The cat immediately hopped off the couch to look elsewhere for peace and solace. That should have been my sense of imminent doom. But silly me, I suggested a group snuggle. Maeve, however, did not want to share my boobies or any other body parts associated with my boobies. Max did not care. He was ready to snuggle. One of his requirements for snuggling is his passy. Sometimes he has a hard time asking nicely for it. This night was no different. He screeched, "I want my passy NOW, daddy!!!" Most of the time he makes his demands to Robert which I find quite amusing.
Par for the course, I tried not to react immediately by yelling at Max to stop yelling at Robert. That seems counterintuitive, right? He managed to squirm his way in between Maeve and me, displacing any thoughts of breastfeeding bonding that was in our minds. His fiery mood swept over the couch. Maeve arched her back dramatically and screamed in reference to my boobs, "Noooo! It's mine." But I really think the boobs are metaphorical for her. They represent undivided attention. They symbolize our physical and emotional connection. However, there is a consequence to pay for this bond. Sometimes we get engulfed in the arson otherwise known as Max.
Robert made his way into the living room by this point and asked, "What is the magic word, Max?"
We all paused expectantly. I think we might have even all collectively held our breath. Said a little prayer. We willed him to say "please".
And yet, Max kept up his track record for thinking outside the box. WAY outside the box. He had a completely different idea of the magic word. One that packs a bit more punch.
I know what you are thinking! You're thinking, I can't believe he said "Robert" instead of "daddy".
Or maybe you're thinking, oh my God, that Max is a handful.
Or maybe you're thinking, that Allison and Robert! They need to be careful what they say!
Well, you are right. Our new choice phrase for the variety of negative human experiences is now "oh MAN"!
And yes, we gave him the passy, we choked back tears of laughter, and Maeve even got booby time.
Happily ever after in the Murphy household.
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