Cover your ears!

I was at the grocery store this morning with both of the boys in tow. Two little heads poking out of the Mack truck-sized race car grocery cart that was invented by someone who thought it would be fun for kids, but never took the opportunity to test drive his invention between shopping displays and in the maze that is the produce section.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that my kids have a secret pact. To convince anyone in public, particularly at the grocery store, that I'm teaching them to say appalling things.

The first of many of these occurrences was when Alex was about 18 months old. He loved eating Saltine crackers (such a quality diet we provide at our house!), but he couldn't say the word. Every time we got to the checkout line Alex would yell in the loudest voice possible,

"Mommy, cockers. Cocks, cockers, big cocks, Mommy!"

I kid you not. How do you explain this to the general public. And why did he have to add the "big" part? I didn't add that for comic effect. Alex has always been convinced that he must receive the biggest portion of something possible. Not little, big apples, Mommy. Not slices, big strawberries, Mommy. And yes, Big Cockers, too.

In 2008, I read a great article about biodegradable products for Easter baskets. In an ongoing effort to support my eco-friendly and slightly eco-crazy husband, I bought a bag of Pirate Booty to use in place of cellophane Easter grass at the bottom of the baskets. If you haven't had it, Pirate Booty looks (and tastes) similar to those biodegradable packing peanuts made with corn starch. The only difference is that they throw on a little green powdery stuff that is supposedly made from kelp and spinach to make it more palatable.

The boys loved the stuff. Especially Ben. He scarfed it down and we were buying Pirate Booty for weeks. The same week, however, Alex had his three year check-up at the pediatrician. The nurse asked him if he got anything from the Easter Bunny. Alex very simply replied,

"Oh, not much. Just booty!"

The nurse loooked at me like my son had just stepped out of the junior version of MTVs "Cribs." "Oh not much, just some fine weed and some late night booty." Booty (and all of its rich meanings) is a hard word to explain to a 3 year old...and to a pediatric nurse!

Today, the linguistic monsters struck again. Ben has two recent favorites in life: applesauce and Bob the Builder. Both pretty benign, right? Wrong.

Once again, at the grocery store, as we're passing through the canned fruits section, Ben starts screaming for:

"Ass-elsauce! Ass-elsauce!"

Now at least that one, within the context of the canned fruit aisle, is understandable. The asselsauce rant didn't turn too many heads. Then again, there aren't that many people buying fruit cocktail at 9:30 on a Monday morning. I drove on, we steered past the batteries with no mishaps. But next to the battery endcap is a section of DVDs. Anytime, Ben sees anything that looks like a DVD box, he starts singing. The Bob the Builder theme song. Repeatedly.

But pronunciation can be challenging for an 18 month old, so Bob the Builder comes out as,

"Bah Da Dildo!"

And Ben, like most Americans when faced with a non-native speaker, believes that if I don't respond the first time he says something, he need only yell his sentiment more loudly and slowly so that I will comprehend.

"Mommy, Baaaaaaah Daaaaah Dildo!"

All heads turned. I had no way to explain that one. I bravely took a step forward, raised my hand and said,

"Hi. I'm the mom. And we love asselsauce and dildos!" I'm afraid to find out what will come out of my children's mouths next.