Children Hunt Big Game

I can kick myself in the ass a dozen times for missing Jill here in town and also missing a potential swap of gumbo, peppers and pie and worse, leaving her to feel so greasy from Chicken in the Rough... YOW! Make that thirteen times now... OOF! Fourteen...

I do have a good story though.
I got to have my son for the whole weekend and we hung out and watched YouTube and listened to the Ramones and ate Ramen Noodles and chased the cats with flyswatters and it was just great.
He's in first grade and he still tells me what goes on in school. We were in the car running errands when he told me how somebody in his class said the b-word.
"Was it you?," I asked.
"No, I didn't do it."
"Then it doesn't matter to me so long as you're not the one saying these things and getting in trouble, OK?"
"I didn't - Billy* did!"
"Well, what Billy said is Billy's problem, not yours. I don't care if Billy said the a-word or the b-word or the c-word..."
Suddenly he shifted gears on me:
"What's the c-word?" he asked suspiciously.
"What?"
"What's the c-word?"
"What c-word? There's not a c-word..."
"You're making the lying face again..."

Anyway, I eventually told him (after he swore without being asked, never to tell his mother that I told him) that it was crap.
"What's crap?" he asked somewhat formally, knowing full well what crap is.
"Poop. OK?"
He just laughed triumphantly at the wonderful naughtiness of discovery.


*Names have been changed to protect guilty kids who say b-words.