Conversations with my Middle Child (Sh%*&t my little frat boy says)

A month or so ago, I received a call from the kindergarten teacher telling me my five-year-old frat boy, Cool J, took his friend Boychick into the bathroom to teach him the f-word. “The f-word!” says his teacher. “When Boychick told me your son taught him the f-word, I thought there was no way it was what I would call the f-word. In my 30 years of teaching kindergarten, I’ve never heard a child say such a word. So in front of the class, I encouraged him to share it. Was it flower? Or fantasy? Or was it a bad f-word–like frown–or fight?” Pause for dramatic effect. “But no, it was the f-word . . .”
Cool J: A picture of innocence

Cool J: A picture of innocence

I could hardly pretend to exhibit surprise (although I did my best). After all, only a short time before the call, we had been spending Shabbos dinner with my in-laws, Babi and Zaidy Frummy, when my brother-in-law, Master Notfatso, was slow in passing the hummus. Cool J turned to him: “Uncle!” he shouted. “Pass the fucking hummus!” (“Where did you hear such a word?” asked Babi Frummy. “Does your brother use that language?” Abashedly: “No.” “Does your mother use that language?” “No.” “Does your father use that language?” “Yes.” Saved!!!!)

PP and an abashed Cool J

At 5, Cool J is a real chatty cathy, with an answer for everything. Here are some snippets of conversation from this week alone:

Resisting his term of endearment:
Me: “Come here, my little angel.”
Cool J: “I am NOT an angel of death who slays the firstborn of every Egyptian!”
Resisting our (inevitable?) future:
Me: “Hey, since we’re thinking of moving to the UK, do you think we should we practice speaking British?”
Cool J: “Mama, I know Yiddish. I can say kiddush. But I DON’T KNOW BRITISH!”
Resisting my demands (and teaching mom a biology lesson):
Me: “Of course you have to listen to me. I am your mama! I made you.”
Cool J: “No, you didn’t.”
Me: “Oh, really? Then who did?”
Cool J: “You and Dada together.”
Me: “Yes, that’s true. Do you know how?”
Cool J: “Yes.”
Me: “How?”
Cool J: “He put it in you.”
Me: “What?”
Cool J: “His DNA!”
Grand birthday plans:
LL: “For my eighth birthday, I want to go back to the Tower of Power and go up the yellow elevator and the red elevator.”
Me: “That’s nice. I’ll consider taking you to the Empire State Building.”
LL: “Aww . . .”
Cool J: “Well, I want to go to India for my sixth birthday!!”
Me: “You do?”
Cool J: “Well . . . “
We all look at him.
Cool J: “Nah, I don’t really care where I go. So long as I get to drink alcohol!”
Good habits:
Cool J: “Can I have a bazooka?”
Me: “No.”
Cool J: “Can I have a bazooka?”
Me: “No.”
Cool J: “Can I have a bazooka?”
Me: “No.”
Cool J: “Can I have a bazooka?”
Me: “Ugh . . . fine.” (This is where a tiny part of me admits that Frank Bruni’s obnoxious I-know-better-than-all-you-parents-based-on-nothing-but-my-pomposity and I-am-just-writing-this-as-a-cheppener op-ed has a milligram of truth to it).
Cool J (breaking his teeth on the rock-hard K-for-P gum): “Oooh, I like chewing gum. I am going to do it all the time.”
Me: “No, you’re not. It’s a bad habit.”
Cool J (twisting his now softened gum into a cylinder and dangling it from his lips): “OK, Mama. Then I’ll just smoke instead.”

If this is childhood . . . I fear the teenage years


5 responses »

  1. Hahaha!!! I actually love his attitude, well maybe bc he is not my son and bc he reminds me of someone that used to be like that when a kid….. ME!!!

  2. Omg!! Too funny!! Really?!
    When my daughter was in kindergarten and asked to see the nurse, her teacher told her to “hit the road”…so my confused kid sat back down at her desk and told me the teacher wouldn’t let her go to the nurse. It never occurred to the teacher that five year olds might not understand figurative language.

  3. Pingback: One more nugget from my little nudnick | The Poor Princess Diaries

  4. Pingback: Potty mouth | The Poor Princess Diaries

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