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The Newsletter >
Kids When Little Can't Say Things Good So Much
November 6, 2008
Greetings Earthlings,
In my last posting, I mentioned that our neighbors unexpectedly moved, leaving behind five—count ‘em—five, cats. I started feeding them. I had to because (1 they were starving and (2 they were ripping holes in my window screens trying to get into the house so they could eat me while I slept. I was scared.
We have a cat. She came with the house. We call her Condi, and she is known around here as the “good” kitty. The five flesh eating feral cats are referred to as the “bad” kitties. It’s a fairly simple set up. Condi, good. All other cats, bad.
Conner, our two-year old grandson, has become the self-appointed “bad kitty” spotter, and he takes a lot of pride in his work. They can run but they can’t hide. The problem is that Conner doesn’t say things good so much.
When Conner spots a flesh eating feral cat lurking about he yells, “Bad titty! Bad titty! YaYa! Bad titty!” Luckily, we live in the country and our neighbors have moved.
Conner’s new baby brother’s name is Kipling, but if you ask Conner he’s going to tell you that the baby’s name is “Dip.”
While troublesome, these examples do not even begin to compare to Zoe’s struggles learning English. Zoe is a girl who loves frogs. Unfortunately, when she would spot, see, or sense a frog’s nearness she would point and yell, “F--- (A word that rhymes with luck),” at the top of her adorable potty mouthed lungs, mostly in the middle of grocery and box stores. It didn’t sound like frog.
Her mother and I would say, “Yes, dear, that’s a F-R-O-G,” sounding out the word slowly and completely at the top of our lungs. Repeatedly.
By the end of November, Sherwood and I will have five grandchildren--four and under. Our cup runneth over and spilleth out kids who say the darndest things, mostly with four letters. What fun.
Linda (Potty Talking) Zern
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