Oh Shit!

Yesterday morning, right before Connor was going to get his hair cut, I was trying to put on his sweater and he was being a little difficult about it. Actually he was so excited at the prospect of getting a haircut and actually leaving the house that couldn’t sit still for me to put it on. I sighed loudly during the tussle at which point he stopped looked up and me and said, “Oh. My. God.” and started helping by putting his arms in the sweater. I was able to be mortified by this, only because it’s the thing that Jorma says, not me. Connor did a pretty good impression too, with the emphasis on the “my” and sounding as frustrated as possible. But if someone had been around to hear Connor say, “Oh Shit!” as some idiot on his cell phone cut in front of us in traffic, (waving like that made it all ok), as I slammed on the brakes, yesterday on the way home from preschool they could be mortified too. As soon as I heard it, I responded, “Oh SIT! That’s RIGHT, Connor is sitting! Mommy is sitting too!” hoping that I might confuse him into thinking that’s what he actually meant to say. I checked him out in the rearview and he had that “Nobody ever listens to me” look about him but happily chimed in about who was sitting and standing, who was awake and asleep. I guess it boils down to what I’ve known all along… that now I have to start watching my language so that my little Myna bird doesn’t pick it up. Because there is nothing more attractive than a kid in a stroller in Target hollering, Oh Shit! each time we get near another cart. Yeah, that’s be great. Hi, my name is Janice… and we live in the trailer park up the road.