The Katie Chronicles: Potty Mouth Edition

So we’re eating dinner tonight and conversing as we normally do. Katie says, “Mommy, I’ve been…um…f-word…” Wherever you were at about 6.20 Eastern time, you may have felt the distortion in the time-space continuum that occurred at this moment. The Earth stopped turning for a minute and the planets in the galaxy wobbled on their axes. Time actually seemed to slow down as Jerome and I heard that utterance from our sweet, innocent youngest child…”f-f-f-f-w-o-o-r-d.” I was the first off the dime: “WHAT DID YOU SAY??” She looked at us pretty placidly and said, “It’s an F-word…I can’t say it at the dinner table but I’ve been doing it more lately.” As my brain tried to compute this and Jerome’s eyes continued a slow exit from their sockets, it dawned on me. “Katie, is the f-word you’re talking about another word for ‘toot’ [meaning flatulence]? Fart?” She looked at me like I’d stated the obvious. And said, with a sheepish grin, “Yes, toot” and then she looked at us as if to say, “What did you think I meant?” Time sped up, the world began rotating normally, and I realized she had no idea what just happened. The adult version of the “f-word” is, I’m happy to report, not apparently anywhere in her consciousness. In her 8 year-old world, the “f-word” stands for something gross that her brother had been chided for talking about last night while we ate. Relief flooded me and I told her (again) we don’t talk about those things at the dinner table. I’m sure the adult version of the f-word will make its appearance sooner or later, but I’m happy to report it didn’t appear tonight. Unless you count “fart.”