I recently revealed to you people that my son has a potty mouth.
Since I think we are all fairly clear that he gets this from his mother I have really tried to clean up my language around the kids.
I’m just not that good at it.
I say this because of two separate incidents today. First of all, and this was about 30 seconds ago, the kids and I are all sitting in the office. I was looking up a recipe for quiche with gruyere cheese in it (No, I really was. I’ve made one before and it was really good and I’m making one tonight.) and the kids were looking at pictures of themselves.
So Claudia is narrating the photo album. In this picture Ian is crying but I was happy because Grandpa was holding me. Oh, we were such cute babies. To which her brother replied. Damn right!
This happened only a few hours after upon overhearing me call someone in the airport drop off lane a jackass he repeated the term about 40 times.
As a bonus, I was talking to my mom on the phone earlier and I was telling her the jackass story. Ian snuck up behind me, heard the whole thing and said ‘jackass’ at least twelve more times. It is a good thing that I learned all of my bad words from my mom, because I’m pretty sure that she could hear him saying it.
It was tough to tell with all of the laughing.