I have sweet little girls. They are delicate, and kind, and practically perfect in every way. They are also innocent. This innocence is endearing. People have commented to me on how lovely it is to meet little girls who are unaffected by the modern world. Right or wrong, I have worked hard to keep the "harsh realities of Life" at bay. I have protected them from violence on TV, rough games, and the commercialization of seemingly everything in our society (with the exception of Disney which has infiltrated our home like a poisonous gas!). With no exposure to Bratz or other shows/toys that have the effect of pushing little girls closer and closer to the adult world, my daughters seem as though they would be more at home in a historic English novel than here in the 21st century. Or so I thought.
Dan and I were having dinner with the children. After discussing our "favourite bits" of the day, I complained to Dan that I was tired. In fact, I felt that I was too tired to give the girls a bath. Since I had bathed them the night before, I figured that the world would not end if I skipped a bath. Dan, who had been working the evening before and had not been home for bath time, said that he didn't believe that I had bathed the girls the previous night. I was dumbstruck. Really? He didn't believe me? Why would I lie? Why wouldn't I have bathed my children? He baffles me!
Instead of arguing with Dan, I said to Bethie, "Daddy doesn't think I gave you a bath last night!". My little angel said "What the f***?". Dan gasped, and my jaw dropped. We didn't know what to do! This was horrifying! I asked her to repeat herself, hoping that she had said a rhyming word instead. Bethie complied, and clearly said, "What. The. F***". Dan was able to keep his composure. I was not. I turned my head, covered my mouth, and tried to hide my laughter. I laughed because I was absolutely shocked, not because I thought she was funny.
I quickly calmed down and told Bethie that she had said something that was inappropriate, and that we do not talk like that in our home. Bethie was cool with that, and didn't seem fazed. Katie, who had been discussing the finer points of being a princess to Sarah and had missed our entire conversation, demanded to know what the naughty word was. I refused to tell her. Why? Because Katie would have filed it away somewhere in her brain, and saved it for a special occasion, like entertaining the teacher at school or (worse) impressing my father.
After the children and I were in bed, Dan and I wondered where Bethie could have picked up the offensive language. We finally agreed that she must have picked it up in the 'hood because we (and by "we" I mean "Dan") would never, ever speak like that!