About a week ago, whilst perusing a magazine (I don’t have the time or patience to read a magazine, just to looky-look, and yeah, I totally said whilst and perusing- so what?), I was approached by a ghost. How did I know it was a ghost, you ask? Because it said “Mom! I’m a ghostie. GRRRRRRR! You are scared of me!” Then the white and pink flowered ghost went about it’s business, scaring everyone else in the house. Ghostie growled at baby Stella, which lead to lots of giggling and rolling around on the floor; Ghostie growled out the window at the neighbors, etc. Only Buddy the dog wasn’t falling for it, so Ghostie stepped it up a notch.
“I’m scary, Buddy! Be scared!” Nope. Buddy wasn’t scared. So the ghost ripped off it’s blanket (it was Bananie– surprise!) and started to chase Buddy around, growling and laughing as she went. Finally she caught up to Buddy, threw the blanket over his back, and, still laughing, said “There you go, ya fudger.”
“Ummm. What did you say?” asked I.
“I said he’s a fudger. HAHAHAHAAAA!” said my 2 year old.
“Don’t say that. That’s a naughty word. Don’t use that word again.” I pulled it together quickly, using my very best ‘I’m very disappointed in your using that language, young lady’ face and voice. Satisfied with my performance, I went back to my magazine.
‘Good job, self,’ I thought. ‘Way to be the mom!’
“Ok, mom. You fudger.”