Really?

The conversation I had last night with d in the car.

d: Mom, I want to say a bad word.

me: What bad word do you want to say?

d: The F word.

me (after slight hesitation as to what I *should* say in this situation & deciding to take away the power of the word): O.K. Go ahead and say it.

d: No.

me: What? Why not?

d:… giggle… I don’t know. You’re going to get mad at me.

me: No, I told you I wouldn’t. Go ahead and say it if you really want to.

d: No, I can’t.

me: No, really, I told you you could.

d: No, you’re going to tell Dad.

me: Yep, I’m definitely telling Daddy about this conversation….

 

And we were both giggling at that point.

The kid cracks me up. I don’t get his obsession with “bad” words and the such, but it is what it is. And I’m pretty glad that the urge to say bad words left as quickly as it came.