EJ is seven and in first grade. Each day, the teacher starts a sentence, and the kids finish it and illustrate it in their journals. The other day, the sentence was "I feel sad when..." and my daughter finished it with "My mom makes me stand outside in the rain," and drew a picture of her outside in the rain and me in the window of the house, laughing.

"EJ," I said, "I don't remember a time when I made you stand outside in the rain."
"But," she pointed out, "that was the saddest thing I could think of."
Her teacher must think I'm great.

When EJ was three, in preschool, she told her teacher that Daddy kicked her. I don't know where it came from, but at least the teacher was laughing when she told me about it, so hopefully she got the joke, or whatever.
Oh and then, one day, EJ and Daddy were picking up toys in the bedroom, and Daddy threw a big stuffed bear into the closet, except it kind of bounced off EJ's back. She didn't even react, really, except the next day she told that same teacher that Daddy threw a big toy and it hit her.

Now, Four, on the other hand - she likes to say things that completely shock the adults in the room. For about a year, she loved the word 'poop' and said it constantly, so much so that we became completely oblivious to it. Not Grandma, though, and when Four was in the backseat of Grandma's car, she took the full opportunity.
It all started when Four (who was then Two) kicked EJ. Grandma told them, "Girls, we don't hit each other."
"She didn't hit me, she kicked me!' EJ yelled.
"We don't hit each other with our feet either."
"Then can I hit her with poop?" Four responded.


And just the other day, Four was mad because I told her to change her socks. She had on EJ's socks, and they were so big that her tennis shoes wouldn't fit. She was mad and stomped into her room and screamed, "You a fuckin' we-tawd!" (In case you can't tell, Four is my drama queen.)

This is where I totally suck at parenting. I laughed.

"I'm a what?" I said, and she looked me in the eye and said, "A fucking. We-tawd."

"We don't say those words," I reminded her, laughing hysterically. "Retard isn't a nice word, and only grown ups should say 'fucking.'"
She said it again.

"Four!" I said (except, of course, I used her real name). "Four! I do not want to hear those words come out of your mouth again, do you hear me?"

At this point, Daddy heard what was going on, and he was laughing too. "Four, what did you say to your mom?"
"Nothin'."
"No, I heard you say something. You called her a name, didn't you?"
He came over and sat on the couch next to her, and she pulled his face down really close to hers. "Daddy?" she whispered.
He smiled smugly at me. "Yes, sweetheart?"
"You a fucking we-tawd too."