His dad called to tell me the bad news. He also told me that he had already dealt with it and meted out the punishment, so all I needed to do was to listen to my son's confession when his dad handed him the phone.
"He's going to cry as soon as he hears my voice," I warned him.
"No, no. He's not. He's cool now," his dad assured me.
"Doesn't matter. As soon as he hears my voice, he'll cry."
"He really won't. We've already dealt with it and he's fine," his dad said.
"Okay," I replied and waited for him to hand the phone to the potty-mouthed criminal.
"Mom?" A quavery little voice inquired.
"Hi," I said.
"MoooOOOOoooom!" he cried, choking on his sobs.
Bingo. I win.
"I guess you were right," his dad said when he got back on the phone.
"Freud said the mother is conscience," I explained.
I agreed to go along with his no TV punishment for the crime. I was actually really proud of myself for not completely flipping my lid as I usually would. It's like I conserved karmic energy or something. I may have to make a note of this for future parenting.
Then, the other day, my husband and I were driving the kids to the Ho Ho Ho to get a Christmas tree. (Or as I like to call it, the "Buddhakamas Bush.") We were joking about an uptight person who's been awfully light-hearted and happy of late.
"He must have gotten L. A. I. D.," I said, spelling out the offending word.
"Laid!" my seven-year-old son shouted from the back seat.
My husband and I froze for a moment and stared at each other in horror. Then he collapsed in laughter behind the wheel.
"No more spelling words," I said.
I looked behind me at the beaming boy, so proud to be such a fast speller. Oy.
It looks like his step-dad and I are going to need to learn a common foreign language. The boy is fluent in filth.
I wonder what Freud would say about that?
Ha ha ha.