The Boy Drops The F-Bomb

So my son dropped his first F-bomb over the weekend.

Yes, it’s my fault. I do have a pretty filthy mouth and try so very hard to keep it clean around the kids. But, we live in a small house and sometimes I forget my place and well…a word may sometimes slip out.

I have to say though…he used it absolutely perfectly.

Here’s how it happened.

The boy’s on a travel soccer team. This past weekend he had a tournament about 45 min. away from our house. After his first game we spent a few hours wasting time before he had to play game number two. And, what’s more fun that wasting time at a Mexican restaurant with an oversized margarita?!

While enjoying my beverage I take out the trusty phone and check out the radar (I’m one of the biggest weather geeks on the planet). That’s when I see a whole big blob of shit headed our way.

Me: “Dude, looks like you’re game is gonna get cancelled. It’s about to storm pretty bad.”

The Boy: “No way daddy. It’s sunny and nice outside. We’ll play it.”

Me: “I’m looking at the radar and we’re gonna get nailed by Mother Nature. Trust me dude.”

The Boy: “Whatever daddy. We’re gonna play.”

Me: “Wanna make a bet?”

The Boy: (After thinking for a few seconds he gets a grin and says) “Yeah! Let’s bet!!”

Me: “If you play even a half-second of your game, I’ll give you a NuttyBuddy every day for 5 days.”

At this point the boy’s literally bouncing in his seat with joy because how could he lose?! The sun is out for shit-sake!

Me: “If the game gets cancelled though…everyday next week, as soon as I walk in the door from work, you have to take my shoes and socks off and rub my feet.”

At this point he immediately stops bouncing in his seat. The daughter starts dry-heaving and the wife says, “oh dear lord, don’t do that to him. He’s just a boy!!”

The boy starts looking out the window at the sky, then at me, then at the sky, then…he puts out his pinky and says, “it’s a bet. Pinky swear it!”

With the bet now underway I sat back to let the day take its course. Literally five minutes later it starts to get dark outside and the sky opens up.

Ten minutes later the wife checks her email on her phone and reports, “oh no Grayson. The game just got cancelled.”

And THAT’s when it happened. Slamming his elbows on the table and letting his head fall to his empty palms in shame he says, a little louder than a mumble, “fuck!”

Shocked at the word that just came out of his mouth, he immediately looks up at me as his face turns beat red. He then looks at his mother and immediately buries his face in his arms out of shame.

And thank baby jesus he did, because the wife and I ask quietly as we could started laughing like hell.

It's not like he used it in a harsh way by including it in a verbal bashing to someone. He used it absolutely perfectly because having to take your old man's shoes and socks off and rub his feet after a long day at work is definitely a "fuck" moment.

A Day With Pink Ducky

So we have a ducky. A pink ducky to be exact. He’s a cool dude, hangs out, doesn’t really cause much trouble. The little bastard used to light up from within. When we first brought him into our crazy life he was a rock-star. The kids slept with him…the daughter held him on a pedestal. Mainly because his flashing guts made them feel like the owner of the most bad-ass piece of awesomeness that ever existed.

Then his lights stopped blinking.

He spent a week shoved between the mattress and the wall of my daughter’s bed until he was saved by the ole fashioned sheet changing maneuver. Then he lived on my daughter’s dresser and was there the day fishy died. A week later, the daughter rediscovered him and he was transported to the tub. Since that time, he’s become one of two dozen toys crammed in a bathtub toy baggy, rarely played with, constantly cold, damp, wet, and ignored. Until yesterday.

During a regular shower routine, I noticed pink ducky chillin’ in his bathtub bag. Sad. Angry. Depressed. I scooped him up and said, “hey little man!!! What do you say I make today, YOUR day?”

Three high-fives and a wing-bump later, we were on our way to live life to its fullest. And so….here’s our day….

He drove us to a pancake breakfast where he quickly scoffed one plate after plate after plate of yumminess. He carbo loaded like a master.

After we got home, well fueled pink ducky said, "all right bitches...let's go for a ride!" So the whole family hopped on our bikes and headed out.

Along the way we made a stop cause ducky got wood.

Knowing this would probably be the last time pink ducky ever has a day in the real world, he thought he'd make his mark and let everyone know how he feels about the war.

Worn out, pink ducky ate a quick little snack and setteled in for some TV time and a nap. I took off and took care of some stuff around the house. An hour later I went back to check on everyone and pink ducky was gone. I looked everywhere. Then...I found him.....and was horrified.....

I decided to leave them alone....and let them get done what clearly needed to get done. Lucky ducky.

  Then we headed out for dinner with our good friends, the @momomatic family. It was there that Pink Ducky decided to get his "drink on."

And that wasn't enough.....afterwards he hit the liquor store for more....

Pink ducky didn't just get drunk....he got stupid drunk. He took his clothes off. He streaked a Chuck-E-Cheeze. He got depressed and tried to cut himself open to remove his dead flashy light thingy. He told off-color racist jokes. He even made passes at the wifey. Then...like all good stupid drunk pink duckies do....he got sick.

He puked like he'd never puked before. We all got to experience his Mexican dinner all over again. A couple hours later, we cleaned him all up, laughed about the memories, gave each other hugs, and promised we'd do it again soon. I love that little pink bastard.

After I tucked him in to his cozy warm bubble bath for night time, I cried myself to sleep and dreamt of pink ducky and me running through fields of dazies, laughing, and being free, together, and happy.....

The End