The Pre-Hustle Hustle

Oh!...We are soooooooo there! {With pockets full of money and a mouth full of lumpia}.

Puck You Too!

It was an ordinary day at the playground. Emphasis on ordinary. Until Hayes began yelling the f-word. Seriously.

I’d like to preface this story by saying that I’m not the potty mouth who taught him to blurt out four-letter expletives…Let’s just blame cable TV.

So, Hayes is on the swing. I’m pushing him. And he’s happily cursing at the air. It took more than a minute for me to make it out because while toddlers are truly language geniuses, their pronunciation is not exactly expert. I heard many variations of the word “truck” before the little girl on the swing next to Hayes let me know that my child was swearing.

I got a clue when she stopped swinging to take a moment to stare wide-eyed at Hayes. But still I wasn’t totally convinced my kid wasn’t just screaming some version of a nice word like “luck.” So I ignored the eyeballing.

But when the little girl said, “ooooooh,” in that old school “you’re in trouuuuuuble”-kind of way. I decided that it could be true that the f-word was being slung around by my very own. “You let him curse?” the girl said, a little too gutsy for me, before I slowed the swing to let Hayes know that he should stop embarrassing me.

Let me just say, there is nothing more insulting than being called out for poor parenting by anyone under the age of...hmmm…18. So I replied, “yeah, actually I do.” And gave Hayes a big, happy push into the air.