Jack dropped an F bomb at school on Tuesday. Seriously, he did. His friend said it first and Jack repeated it, his teachers said. Later that day, he shouted the word over and over as we browsed the aisles of the grocery store. Someone walks by, FBOMB! He throws something out of the cart, FBOMB!
Holy crap what do I do?
I don't know either so I ignored it and changed the subject, asking him to help Mommy pick out a new kind of tea. I mean, I'm no saint- believe me. Plenty of bad words have escaped this mouth but I assure you, I (mostly) kicked the habit back when I was pregnant, knowing full well it would take me until the baby was on the verge of talking to actually watch my language.
Sunday we took Jack to play at my BFF/rock'n'roll soulmate's house to play with her nieces. The kids kicked a soccer ball around, drank capri suns, and performed dances to pop music for us. The concrete patio transformed into a stage. It was all very cute. (Until Jack got a little too comfortable and started being rowdy again...)
This afternoon Jack told me his kitties weren't at home. Oh Really? I see. Apparently "they went to Target to look at things."
I'm struggling with Halloween costumes, people. Help me out.
♥ jp
TGIalmostF!
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