A conversation in the waiting room...

With only one exam left (that I could get a 0 on and still have a B in the class), I've been able to wear my mom hat a little more often lately.  Surprising enough...it still fits.

Today, the little one had to go to the doctor (kid's mad allergic to bee stings, and fell on a stinging insect yesterday...today?  cellulitis!).  It was kinda nice having one on one time with the boy.  We jammed to his favorite songs and chit chatted.

I was standing at the counter, paying the copay, when Jack came up behind me, and said, louder than I would've liked I might add, "Hey.  Mom.  I know what a queeth is."

Thinking that surely my ears had deceived me, I asked for clarification from my youngest boy, "I'm sorry.  I couldn't hear what you said.  You know what a what is?"


I had asked for it, and even louder than before, my boy said it much more clearly this time, "A QUEE-FTH."


I quickly questioned, "OOOO-KAY...yeah.  Where did you hear that word?"  As I tried to don my best poker face, and not make a huge deal out of it.

"From Josh.  I know what it is."  Then, he just stood there smiling at me with this 'cat that ate the canary' kinda look.  It was like he was enjoying watching me squirm.  Like he was fucking with me.  Hazing me on my first day back on the job.

And squirming I was, and he continued, "Dad says that we can use words that we know what they mean.  So, can I use it?  Cuz I know what a queefth is."  


Luckily, the copay was paid, and I dragged Jack back to our seats where we could have a more discreet conversation.  I asked, "Really?  What is it, then?"  More than half hoping the boy was bluffing, and had just heard an interesting word, and repeated it without knowing it's true connotation.

Much to my surprise, my boy told me exactly what he knew a "queefth" to be.  And he was right.  He ended his graphic description with an eager, "So?  Can I say it?"


"No, son.  No.  I don't care what your Dad says.  You can't use that word.  Not at the age of 7.  You're too young to talk about things like that.  Maybe when you're older.  Now, it's not appropriate.  I don't want to hear that word from you, deal?" 


He nodded, played some Angry Birds on my phone, and after just a few minutes, asked, "Hey, Mom?"  


Bracing myself, I said, "Yeah, Buddy?"


It was a good thing I did, because my youngest one even leaned in for this one, and said, "What's a N-I-G-G..."


I cut him off this time with, "WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT?!"


"On Dad's iPod this morning.  When I was in the shower.  It was on a song," he explained.

I was short with him this time, and said, "It's a hateful word. One that I don't want you to use, ever.  Got it?"  


He pressed, "But, can I sing it?"


"NO!  You can't sing it, or say it.  Fuhgetaboudit.  Now can we please be quiet?"


After only a few, far too brief seconds, he said, "One more question..."


Terrified, I readied myself for the next colorful little quip that my boy had questions about, as he continued, "Who's Bill Murray?"  


I could only come up with another question to answer his, and simply said, "Dude...just who in the heck have you been hanging out with?"  


He laughed, and the nurse called his name.  To completely extinguish any future curiosity of his, as we stood up, I said, "Ope...that's you, Buddy.  I hope they don't give you a shot."  


That'll teach him to fuck with me, if that's what he was doing.  Even still...it was good to be back!