Last night I was tired, and as the “after a long day of work fog” slowly settled like a thick blanket over my brain, I got really clumsy. I was in the kitchen trying to open the cabinet under the sink with my right hand, and managed slam the door into my left peeling back the cuticle of my pinky finger in the process. I blame my foggy brain on not realizing that James was walking into the kitchen, because I let out a loud string of expletives, which had I been less tired, and realized where he was, would have been “Ouch oh darn, owww!” not, “DAMNIT, OUCH, SHIT! Owwww!!!!”
James trotted over and asked me very calmly, with a smidge of concern, “Mom, are you OK? Can I give you a kiss? How bout a hug?” After giving me gentle kiss and a hug, he whispered solemnly in my ear, “You shouldn yell, an don swear again, OK? Do you undersan?” I received comfort and chastisement from the kid who doesn’t pronounce Ts, Ns or Ds with any regularity. What would I do without my tiny teacher?