I'm still cringe-laughing because, as is true for much of parenthood, you just can't make this shit up. You see, in Spanish club last term, Oliver developed a big, mutual crush on a 4th grader, P, who was assisting the teacher. I know the girl's mother pretty well so offered up that if ever her daughter wanted to play or get babysitting experience, I'd be happy to have her over as a "mother's helper." Ol kept asking, the dear girl felt equally enthused, and so yesterday P came over for two hours after the boys returned home from camp.

Though Jack ultimately left Ol and P to themselves, initially the three played several rounds of Spanish bingo. Approximately 22 minutes after P arrived, I was making roux in the kitchen and thinking to myself, "this is just a lovely situation!" when I heard Jack yell down, "Mom, Oliver just said the "f-word."

"WTF?!" I said to myself.

"Excuse me, what f-word?" hoping beyond hope that the answer was 'fart.'

Jack: "The bad one."

Oliver: "Fuck! Isn't that a Spanish word?"

People, I'm wracking my brain and can think of no Spanish word that sounds like 'fuck.' I suspect Oliver is quick on his feet in the BS department rather than honestly thinking fuck is a Spanish vocab word he learned, and I'll give him that, but good god. 22 minutes in?

In as calm a voice as I could muster through mortification and under-my-breath laughing, I reminded Oliver that what he said was really quite a bad word and that he would not be repeating it. I then texted a friend because this story had to be shared immediately. She was in the pit of hell with her tykes and seemed to appreciate comic relief.

"OK, Mom."

Naturally, I let P's mother know, as soon as she arrived, that should P mention that my five year old said 'fuck' during Spanish bingo, I really didn't know where this came from and had handled it. She laughed, I laughed, say it with me: "You can't make this shit up."

Fortunately, this cussing did not interfere deleteriously with my roux-making, a good thing since making roux on a hot day is fairly arduous and you'd always prefer to not make a second batch unless you have or want to. By the time we ate, it was actually really nice out, so T and I moved to the deck with steaming bowls of gumbo. Gumbo is one of my favorite dishes of all time. I love it so much. It is highbrow, lowbrow, home, comfort and spice all in a bowl.