Many of you already know the "Damn it" saga in our house that started when Short Person was two, but since just as many don't, I am reposting the original blogs-- because I have an update at the end =)
When Short Person was two, she started picking up educational wisdom from her Grandfather in the form of colorful words. Words that she loved. But the biggest one, the one she really wanted to say more than any other was the phrase "Damn it".
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(Originally Posted November 27, 2006)
A few months ago, my daughter picked up a new phrase. A phrase she loved to use. Any time she would hurt herself, drop a toy, just get mad, or need Cheerios, the words "Damn it" would erupt from her mouth as though she were enthusiastically happy.
Somewhere, there is even video evidence of this fact.
The short person was playing outside at our family reunion. As her little cousin prepared to go down the slide, my daughter had the bright idea to go and sit at the bottom of it. She got tagged in the leg by two feet. Not hard, but hard enough to propel her out of her seat and proceed to grab her leg and hop around the ground saying, "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
For two months, I followed her around correcting her "Damn it!'s" with "Darn it's" and it worked. Until last Thursday when we had dinner with my in laws. Now, she's back to saying it... but this time, she's smarter. Now, she's correcting me. The other day, I said "Darn it" and my daughter walked over to me, grabbed my cheeks (I was kneeling at the time), pulled my face up to look directly at her, and said "No Mom... it's DAMN it."
(Originally Posted January 6, 2007)
We've gone through a few rounds of telling the short person that she needs to say "Darn it" instead of "Damn it". I finally cured it in a matter of speaking by telling her that when she looked like Grandpa she could say "Damn it" too.
For a long time that reasoning worked. It worked to the point that she was telling Daddy that only Grandpa could say it whenever those chosen words left HIS lips.
Tonight, the little character almost outsmarted me.
She came into the living room, lounged against the couch, and looked up at me.
"I look like Grandpa now." She said matter-of-factly.
"You do?" All I could think was "God help me, I think I know where this conversation is headed". Pleading for emergency wisdom from above.
"Yep! I do. So... can I say 'Damn it' now?"
My mind raced through response after response, searching for a way around my self-inflicted Grandpa rule. "Well, honey... I know you look a little like Grandpa but there are... other factors." Big words, I'll just use big words and she'll get befuddled.
"Fectors?" She's staring at me inquisitively, waiting for a response as to what that might mean.
"Yes. Like, I still think you're a little young yet. And... you don't have as many wrinkles as Grandpa..." I let my voice trail off and paused, wondering if this will do it, but she turned her face up at me.
"Please? I want to say Damn it." Her voice had a little wistfulness, like she knew that if she didn't say these two words she was going to be missing out on a big enjoyment in life. I'm a sucker for that voice.
"Hmm... well, maybe you should ask your Daddy." The ultimate cop out for those times when you know you are outsmarted and need back up assistance. This unfortunately happens altogether too often in our house but between the two of us we've somehow managed to stay ahead.
The short person wandered into the hall and I heard the door to our bedroom swing open and the first line of her "I look like Grandpa now" speech. Unfortunately, the rest was only quiet mumbles so I turned back to watch the basketball highlights on television. A few minutes later, she returned, her feet stomping sullenly on the floor and the scratch, scratch, scratch of a stuffed animal being dragged behind.
I looked at her lowered head and asked the question I was dying to know the answer to. "What did Daddy say? Did he say you look like Grandpa?"
"Yep!" She responded enthusiastically and I momentarily freaked, wondering what in gracious name my husband had told her.
"Oh... well, what else did he say?" I watched as she frowned and pursed her lips.
"Dern it, dern it, dern it."
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UPDATE: January 20, 2009
Two years. That's how long we thought the words "Damn it" had been eradicated from Short Person's vocabulary. She's experimented with some others, like Hell (We discovered that one during a game of hide and seek when Shortie couldn't find me. She stood in the middle of the living room after about five minutes of searching and screamed, "Mom! Where in the HELL are you?!), and a few worse ones that don't need mentioning, but 'Damn it' had all but disappeared.
Until tonight.
Tonight, we learned that although you can teach someone not to say something out loud in front of you, it doesn't mean the word has gone away.
LJS and I had just put Short Person to bed and were in our room talking about the weekend's events when all of the sudden there was a loud noise from down the hall.
Followed very closely by a very loud, "DAMN IT!"
Her water cup had fallen in between the bed and the wall to the floor.
It is very hard to scold someone when you are laughing your butt off-- not that it would do much good anyway. After all, one slip in two years isn't bad, and I believed her when she said she forgot she wasn't supposed to say it.
Ahh... thank you, Grandpa =)
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Saturday Scrapbooking (Imagine)
One of the things I wanted to accomplish last Saturday while scrapbooking was to frame a set of drawings that Short Person had done of her and I. The drawings tell a story about her and I going to pick flowers, but having to climb hill after hill to get there.
The frame I had was a four window, with 3x5 openings-- perfect for the pictures since she had used the backs of some of my note cards to do them. Unfortunately, she had drawn about 20 pictures, so I had to narrow it down and choose the best for the frame.
As I laid them out, I came across a picture that I was not expecting, but was so cute and endearing and funny, I had to share it. The picture is of us, on top of very large hills. She is goofing off and I am standing, frowning, my arms crossed looking at her.
How very astute of my almost 5-year-old to include something so true to life. LOL...
The frame I had was a four window, with 3x5 openings-- perfect for the pictures since she had used the backs of some of my note cards to do them. Unfortunately, she had drawn about 20 pictures, so I had to narrow it down and choose the best for the frame.
As I laid them out, I came across a picture that I was not expecting, but was so cute and endearing and funny, I had to share it. The picture is of us, on top of very large hills. She is goofing off and I am standing, frowning, my arms crossed looking at her.
How very astute of my almost 5-year-old to include something so true to life. LOL...
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Heaven's Mail Delivery Service
There are many challenges that come with parenthood. Temper tantrums, picky eaters, marbles in noses, body parts stuck in things that leave you wondering how they got in there in the first place, just to name a few. But none of these things has been so challenging as attempting to figure out Heaven's delivery service.
Short Person loves writing letters. So much so that envelopes, colored pictures, and notes are piled upon nearly every available surface awaiting delivery. She's written to all her classmates, nearly all of her relatives, Santa Claus, and the neighbors, so it would only make sense that this letter writing would transcend its way to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
"Mom. How is this letter going to get up to Heaven?" Shortie looked at me with all the expectation of a 4-year-old that thinks her mom, mostly, knows everything. "This letter is for Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus."
"It is, huh?" I needed to buy time. Exactly how did a letter get to them? Find the nearest dead person and enclose it in the coffin? That answer was definitely NOT going to work.
"Yeah. Can you put a stamp on it?" She asked.
"Well... It doesn't really work that way." I immediately cursed myself for not forward-thinking. I so could have taken the easy way out and instead I chose to be honest.
"So, how do I get the letter to them?" Her little nose was scrunched up and she was looking at me with varying shades of doubt as to whether I was the right person to ask. Since Daddy wasn't there, however, she was stuck with me.
"I don't know, Honey. I need to think about it, okay?" I went about doing chores, thinking that maybe I could take her to a Catholic Church where they light the candles. They have a delivery box there for prayer requests-- or, they did on television. Since I haven't been to a Catholic Church in quite some time, i was a little iffy on the particulars. I had her set the letter on the table next to the door with the promise that I would get back to her with an answer, and she went about writing more letters.
About a day passed before it was brought up again.
I was in my office, working on the computer when I heard the front door and then the screen door open. Since Short Person and I were the only ones in the house, I bolted out of the chair and ran into the living room prepared to ream her up one side and down the other for going out the front door. I caught her just as she was coming back in.
"Mom, DON'T WORRY! I was only on the porch." She had one hand up in an attempt to stave off her mother's bout of lecturing. "I just needed to do something REALLY QUICK."
I'm gathering my patience. After all, it wasn't like she had run down the driveway and was playing in the street. The whole episode had only taken, maybe 2.5 seconds. "Honey, you know you are not supposed to open the front door without asking mommy or daddy." I gave her the stern I-mean-business look. "Sweetheart. You are only in pj's and snow boots and it's SO cold outside!" I looked out the screen door. Cold and snowy. Snow piled higher than she was.
"But Mo-om. I tolded you, I only needed to do something REALLY FAST, so don't worry!"
I sighed. Okay, no harm no foul, but what in blazes did she need to do in her nightgown with three feet of snow outside?! I asked her as much.
"Well, I was trying to see if it was windy or not."
"Windy?"
"Yeah. I was trying to mail this letter to Jesus." She said matter-of-factly. Any hot air I had left vacated at the answer as I tried to figure that one out.
"Why-wind-huh?" I sputtered out, totally confused.
"If it was windy enough, the wind could take the letter up up up to Heaven." She let out a long, drawn sigh of disappointment. "But it's not." Setting the letter back on the table, she took of her snow boots and went to sit on the couch, a picture of dejectedness.
God bless her, she'd figured out a way to get it there all by herself. I assured her that it would some day be windy enough and we'd be able to float the letter up to Heaven on our own created Heavenly delivery service, thankful that those words were enough to squelch the disappointment she felt.
Short Person loves writing letters. So much so that envelopes, colored pictures, and notes are piled upon nearly every available surface awaiting delivery. She's written to all her classmates, nearly all of her relatives, Santa Claus, and the neighbors, so it would only make sense that this letter writing would transcend its way to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
"Mom. How is this letter going to get up to Heaven?" Shortie looked at me with all the expectation of a 4-year-old that thinks her mom, mostly, knows everything. "This letter is for Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus."
"It is, huh?" I needed to buy time. Exactly how did a letter get to them? Find the nearest dead person and enclose it in the coffin? That answer was definitely NOT going to work.
"Yeah. Can you put a stamp on it?" She asked.
"Well... It doesn't really work that way." I immediately cursed myself for not forward-thinking. I so could have taken the easy way out and instead I chose to be honest.
"So, how do I get the letter to them?" Her little nose was scrunched up and she was looking at me with varying shades of doubt as to whether I was the right person to ask. Since Daddy wasn't there, however, she was stuck with me.
"I don't know, Honey. I need to think about it, okay?" I went about doing chores, thinking that maybe I could take her to a Catholic Church where they light the candles. They have a delivery box there for prayer requests-- or, they did on television. Since I haven't been to a Catholic Church in quite some time, i was a little iffy on the particulars. I had her set the letter on the table next to the door with the promise that I would get back to her with an answer, and she went about writing more letters.
About a day passed before it was brought up again.
I was in my office, working on the computer when I heard the front door and then the screen door open. Since Short Person and I were the only ones in the house, I bolted out of the chair and ran into the living room prepared to ream her up one side and down the other for going out the front door. I caught her just as she was coming back in.
"Mom, DON'T WORRY! I was only on the porch." She had one hand up in an attempt to stave off her mother's bout of lecturing. "I just needed to do something REALLY QUICK."
I'm gathering my patience. After all, it wasn't like she had run down the driveway and was playing in the street. The whole episode had only taken, maybe 2.5 seconds. "Honey, you know you are not supposed to open the front door without asking mommy or daddy." I gave her the stern I-mean-business look. "Sweetheart. You are only in pj's and snow boots and it's SO cold outside!" I looked out the screen door. Cold and snowy. Snow piled higher than she was.
"But Mo-om. I tolded you, I only needed to do something REALLY FAST, so don't worry!"
I sighed. Okay, no harm no foul, but what in blazes did she need to do in her nightgown with three feet of snow outside?! I asked her as much.
"Well, I was trying to see if it was windy or not."
"Windy?"
"Yeah. I was trying to mail this letter to Jesus." She said matter-of-factly. Any hot air I had left vacated at the answer as I tried to figure that one out.
"Why-wind-huh?" I sputtered out, totally confused.
"If it was windy enough, the wind could take the letter up up up to Heaven." She let out a long, drawn sigh of disappointment. "But it's not." Setting the letter back on the table, she took of her snow boots and went to sit on the couch, a picture of dejectedness.
God bless her, she'd figured out a way to get it there all by herself. I assured her that it would some day be windy enough and we'd be able to float the letter up to Heaven on our own created Heavenly delivery service, thankful that those words were enough to squelch the disappointment she felt.
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