For Mature Readers

Yesterday, I flubbed some part of the dinner process. I needed the water to boil, but I turned down the heat when it started to boil over, then I forgot to turn it back up... and before I knew it, I had mushy potatoes. (It happens frequently. We almost always recover.)

When I discovered my mistake, I lurched for the stove and muttered, "Oh, crud."

In response, I suppose, Tucker smacked his forehead and said, "Oh, fudgers."

Only he didn't say fudge (if I may borrow from Ralphie's classic moment in The Christmas Story). He said the real deal. Again and again and again. He pranced around the house, mocking frustration, and chanting this word, again and again.

I do not know where he got it. I don't say it, and Robb doesn't either. (Although I do have to say it's a pretty funny way to use that word, if anyone's going to.)

We chose the Ignore-It route, since that which we acknowledge seems to settle in for the long haul. We let it pass us by, and we'll hope it doesn't come back to visit.

And to think, I longed to hear him speak. Now, he does. With profanity. :)