Looney Mother with head cold seeks advice ...

  It's that time of year. Warm foreheads, runny noses, dry coughs and incessant sneezing. Two for the price of one at the Looney Bin. My son and I are both sick with the crud. As if the feeling of being hit by a mack truck, followed by being left for dead in 5 o'clock traffic isn't enough, I have one more thing to deal with.
  My son has learned a few new words at school, and they are not nice words. He has a really close classmate whose big brother regularly spouts off obscenities that I didn't know about until well into my teens.
  What am I to do? He's three and a half. We tell him that the words are potty words, and that they are bad choices. We have such a great child. So it's a little disappointing for us to see this happen when we know he's not getting it from us.
  I can remember growing up hearing certain words spoken by my oldest sister. I learned by observing the look on my dad's face. It said all I needed to know about what would happen if I dared to utter such words. All in all, I learned a lot about what not to do from my oldest sister. Thanks, kid!
  One thing I didn't catch on to very well was that when she told me to do things, or say certain things, that I stood a better chance of flying like Mary Poppins than escaping consequence.
  There was the time that our preacher's daughter spent the night with me. We were minding our own business, playing with Barbies, and the big sis dropped in for a visit. She told me that it would be really funny if I called our dad a turd at dinner. She explained that Potsie had called the Fonz one on Happy Days, and that Daddy thought it was sooo funny. She assured me that it would get a really good laugh.
  I believed her. That night at dinner, she set it up. When it was time, I said, "No, Daddy. You are not a nerd. You are a turd." You could have heard the record scratch about four miles away.
  To this day, I have yet to utter that word again. The consequence was quite effective. So, now I am dealing with little Potty Mouth. His word of choice is booty butt. He uses that one like some people use air. He finds reasons to say it. Of course, we always have the "It's a potty word and we don't say those..." talks. Still, he's got carte blanche membership in the Potty Mouth Club.
  So it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me when we were playing with our cat the other day and he uttered a potty word that I didn't even know until I was at least 12. He threw a catnip toy for the cat. She She took off after it, but hit her head on the table in the process. Little looney's reply? "Oh, damn it."
  I immediately asked where he heard that word. I tried to play it cool so as not to scare him out of telling me. He told me that he learned it from his teacher. I guess the look on my face conveyed to him that I wasn't buying that one. So he told me that he learned it from his grandfather. No deal. It reminded me of Ralphie, in A Christmas Story, when he uttered the king daddy of potty words. He had heard his dad say the word about ten times a day or so, but when pressured to tell who he heard it from, he blamed a friend. If you've seen the movie, you know what happens next.
  It's a little bit different with a toddler. We talked about good choices, bad choices, and how if he hears something and wonders if he can say it, he can always come and talk with us.
  You know, it's not the worst thing in the world. There are much harder things to deal with as parents. I just hope that we will remain diligent about coaching him on right and wrong. He's a pleasure to be around, and a very lovable little looney. He strives to please us, to make us happy. And he does make us incredibly happy. This late at night, and on this much prescription medicine, it seems like a battle best set aside for now - and one that really will work itself out. Besides, the little smidge is fast asleep, probably dreaming about Spiderman and all of those villains. Probably calling them booty butts.