It's the afternoon of Mother's Day.
While Maeve quietly naps in her crib, Bry has taken Mo up to the third floor playroom giving me the chance to curl up in my bed and nap.
Ah, sweet sleep.
It's only been about forty minutes when I hear the footsteps descending the stairs. Into our room they walk. Bry first, nodding his head, while Mo follows behind. Her own blue eyes failing to make eye contact, as she enters our room.
Pushing myself up into a sitting position, I lean against the pillow. Without words, we share a glance. That parental look where without words, the shared experience that something big has gone down.
I gulp as he begins, "Tell your mommy what just happened."
She fails to lift her head, as she whispers, "I don't wanna. You tell daddy."
"We were having a great time upstairs, right Mo?"
"Yeah, daddy", she mutters, still head downturn.
"We played with some toys, and then Mo asked if we could play a game. She chose Zinga. What a great game, right Mo?"
Her eyes lift for a second here, and meet mine, "Yeah daddy."
Her focus returns back to the floor.
"Well, we played a few games. Do you know that Mo is really good at Zinga? She beat me three times in a row! We started another game and she got a little messed up. She picked up a piece she wasn't suppose to and then she said something naughty. What did you say, Mo?" he has taken a seat next to me on the bed, as she has moved behind his body, trying to hide her eyes from my own.
"I don't know" she mutters.
"Yes you do" he says forcefully. "Tell mommy what you said."
"Shit" she says.
Biting the inside of my mouth I try unsuccessfully to keep the laughter from escaping. "Why would you say that?" I ask. "That's not really nice."
Bry cuts me off, "You didn't say 'shit'. Tell mommy what you really said."
"What did you say Mo? I promise I won't be mad, if you tell me the truth." I plead.
Bry continues, "It's alright right now to say that word. You won't ever get in trouble for telling the truth. Mommy needs to hear what word you said."
The tears fill her eyes as her glance meets mine. "I don't want to" she cries.
"You need to tell mommy what you said." he goes on. "I know it's not nice, but tell her anyway."
Shaking her head, she looks up again, "No. I'm scared".
Brushing her bangs from her hair, he pulls her into his arms. "It's important you tell her."
"Okay daddy." she says. Turning her face to me, "I said fuck."
There's only one person who made the mistake of saying this word a few times in front of Mo and Maeve.
This is all my fault.
"Well Mo, that is really not a nice word. It's wrong when Mommy says it, and it's really hurtful. I'm sorry I said it, and I really hope you don't say it anymore. It hurts peoples' feelings and is not nice." I stammer.
Bry chimes in, "It really is the meanest word you can say, Mo. We don't want to hurt people, right? So let's not say this again, okay?"
"Okay daddy. I'm sorry" she concedes.
"Okay babe. I need you to go play in your room for a few minutes while I talk to mommy, okay?" he asks.
"Of course daddy. I'm so sorry." she adds, skipping out of the room.
I'm at a loss here.
I know this is entirely my fault. The girls are with me all the time. I know my loose lips are too blame. All too often I have let these things escape, falling on their ears.
He doesn't have to say word.
I'm to blame.
I messed up.
"I feel like crap. I really messed this one up." I say. "Happy Mother's Day to me!"
"Well," he starts, "You do have something to be proud of. She knows how to use it in context."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"She had messed up the little plastic piece, and looking up, with an exasperated sigh, she said, 'ah, Fuck!'. It was in a totally appropriate context, I mean, if you're looking to use fuck in context, this was the place. That's one of the reasons I figured we should talk it out. It wasn't like she just randomly threw it in conversation. She used it appropriately. Our kid already knows how to curse the right way." he finished, nodding his head the same way he did when he came into the room a few minutes before.
"Well, I guess I should be proud, right? She's pretty damn smart then, right?" I sighed.
"Ah, we all mess up, and I'll be honest. It's kind of nice seeing that this is pretty much all your fault. You're not a perfect parent after all." he says.
I'm nodding now as I say, "hardly the case of perfect parenting here. Sucky mom, that's what I am!"
He leans over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders. "Not a sucky mom" he says, "just one with a potty mouth".
Linking up with Erica M, and the best little blogger challenge: Yeah Write.