Sh*t

“Sh*t! Sh*t!” Daniel exclaimed, whilst bouncing his bottom up and down on the couch with his legs dangling over the front of the cushion, and giving me that I’m-being-cheeky-to-get-a-rise-out-of-you grin.

“Excuse me?”  No one here swears.  Nor is he around people who swear.  Unless you count the flood of screaming expletives from the block of flats next door. But the second the yelling starts, I drown it out with my horrible singing so the kids don’t hear any of it.  I don’t want them to think that’s how people are supposed to speak to each other, and I don’t want them to pick up any bad words.

He kept looking at me with his cheeky grin plastered on his face, still bouncing up and down.

I listened a bit more intently.

“SSsssit!”

Oh, SIT.  Daniel enjoys jumping around on the couch and making me think he’s going to fall face first onto the floor with his recklessness.  Which he has a couple of times, prompting me to always tell him to sit every time he’s on the couch.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t say it in public until he works on his annunciation a bit…..

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Copyright 2013 Sheri Thomson