Since moving to a different state, we don't get to see our niece as much as we would like. She's a beautiful, smart, sweet little girl, and we all miss watching her grow. Her low-key personality is a big change of pace from our boisterous boys. And my brother-in-law's wife is understandably horrified when my sons teach their cousin potty words like penis, butt & fart, because she just doesn't talk that way (though I might argue that they're just body parts and bodily functions, big whoop).
Driving in the car today, I turned on my booty music cd, being careful to stick to the songs that I think are innocuous, like "Ice, Ice, Baby." The boys find the song hilarious, because it almost sounds like he's saying "Ass, Ass, Baby." When we got to the line, "so fast other DJ's say damn," Peanut was pleased.
Peanut: Oh, d-a-m. He said d-a-m. D-a-m. Mom, he said the D word.
Me: So what?
Peanut: It's a bad word.
Me: Damn, shit, piss, damn, damn, shit, hell(deep belly laughs now roll out of my back seat occupants). They're just words. What is the big stinkin' deal about words?
Peanut: Mom, remember the time when Sam said d-a-m twenty times?
Me: It's d-a-m-n.
Peanut (suddenly serious): Damn, Mom. I know.
We really miss our niece. But it's probably for the best that she doesn't spend too much time with us.
Me: I did not say that you can't get that. All I said was that I think it's absolutely disgusting to buy stuffed animals from a thrift store and I don't even want to think about how many nasty, filthy germs are on that thing. If you want to get it, get it. I'm just telling you that it is disgusting. (Said to Peanut about buying a second-hand Furby at the exact moment that I was searching for the tag on a 1950's black lace garter belt. I still contend that vintage lingerie is likely far cleaner than some boogery stuffed animal).