Because of my son’s ear tubes, I still have to help him at bath time. The last thing we need is an ear drum full of playground scum mixed with shampoo.

As I was lifting him out of the tub last night, I grabbed him with the towel and said, “Come here, Mister”.

He corrected me and replied, “I’m a Master”.

I smiled. “That’s true. You’ll be a Master for a few more years and then you’ll be a Mister, and your sister will be a Miss until she gets married.” As I handed him his pajama shirt I said, “When you get big, you’ll get married too.”

“I will?”

I brushed his hair. “You will if you want to.” Then, thinking he might give me a hint as to whether he has a crush on anyone I asked, “Who do you think you’ll marry?”

He thought for a moment then said, “I think I’ll marry my sister”.

I laughed. “You can’t marry your sister. You can’t marry me, or your Dad, or your cousins, or anyone else in our family.” I left out the part about some places in the world which still let you do that. I’m talking to you, West Virginia.

“So, since you can’t marry your sister, who do you think it will be?”

And, I will never accuse my boy of not aiming for the top because he went ever so slightly higher than his sibling when he exclaimed, “I want to marry Jesus!”

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This morning my six year old son had an appointment with a psychologist. He was evaluated because we are searching for a diagnosis in order for him to continue receiving an hour of one-on-one speech therapy each week. Therapy which is completely paid for by our county.

Because his report card is perfect and because extensive genetic testing didn’t turn up a particular disorder, this is our last resort. Not that I want my son to be labeled, but those therapy sessions cost $250.00 a week and are extremely beneficial. I would hate to kiss them goodbye.

We certainly can’t swing an extra bill for $1000.00 a month. Not unless we want to give up something like oh, say…food. Without a diagnosis of some sort, speech therapy will be no more.

So I was pretty thrilled when I was filling out forms for the psychologist and read the question – Does your child ever make inappropriate comments to people such as, “Your sweater is ugly” or “You’re fat”?

Because if they’re judging him based on that? I don’t have a thing to worry about.

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My husband has been working long hours at his new job, which means I have been doing just about everything with both kids in tow.

Last night I had a committee meeting at their school. While I was in the library, they were to sit across the hall in the music room and read or play some handheld games. They’ve done this a few times before, but for some reason my son was really restless last night.

After coming in and interrupting us over and over, I finally sat him down in the chair next to me, gave him a pen and told him to draw some pictures in my notebook.

After a few minutes, I looked down to see him happily sketching. He looked up at me and said, “It’s a picture of you.”

I nodded. Then to further keep him busy I whispered, “You could make my hair longer or write my name on my shirt”.

Which explains why I got home from my meeting to find my white, hoodie sweatshirt now has the word “Mom” written on the sleeve.

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Last week, we were playing a board game together as a family when my husband blocked our six year old son’s next move. Our boy saw his dad’s defensive strategy and proclaimed, “Damn it, Daddy!”

He didn’t realize he had said anything wrong, so we explained that it was bad, and he need not ever say it again. We didn’t need to ask him where he learned it. We knew he had picked it up while playing games with his dad. My husband’s competitive nature has also been responsible for teaching our son the words, “sucker” and “crap”.

My husband, the sailor, also taught our daughter her first curse word. When she was about two years old we were driving in the car when, out-of-the-blue, we heard the “F” word come from the back seat. Before we had a chance to stop her, she had said it about ten times in a row. At least she used it in the proper venue. Clearly, she had heard that while driving in the car with her dad.

But, I can not blame my husband for the time my daughter did not fling curse words, but instead assaulted us with attitude.

I was extremely hormonal tired, and had been working all day while my husband played with our daughter, who was just a toddler at the time. They sat down to have a snack together as I flopped my exhausted body onto the couch. No sooner had I sat down, than my daughter asked, “Mom, can you get us some napkins?”

Irritated that she asked me, instead of her father, I angrily said, “Oh, sure! Dad’s been playing all day while I’ve been working, but I’ll get up to get the FREAKING napkins!”

I returned to the room and tossed them a couple of paper towels before falling back into my seat.

Then I watched as my daughter climbed onto her dad’s lap and put her face a mere inch from his. She held that position as she stuck her hand into their snack bag, then glared at him and yelled, “Dad! These are FREAKING cheese puffs!”

But all things considered, I don’t think my “F” word is nearly as bad as his.

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