Potty mouth

Facebook has become the place to share the one sentence and one paragraph stories of my life with young kids. Like the time at Walmart when Cate was waving frantically at some man, and I realized it was a life-size cutout of the guy from Duck Dynasty. Or the time I explained to Blake that the game is called Minecraft, not Mind Crap (and then wondered aloud whether there's a difference).

And most recently, this: 

In between my unavoidable laughter, I commended him for his fresh-smelling breath, told him to please rinse his toothbrush in the sink next time, and to call Mommy if he needed help doing that. Then I tossed the toothbrush in the trash. 

Later, I found Cate (who loves playing in trash cans) walking around the house, chewing on a toothbrush. 

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Speaking of potty mouths, I secretly admire writers who can use the f-word effectively. I've never tried it and doubt I could pull it off. But when I read Edward Lichty's hilarious account of how his own daughter diffused an F-bomb in his house, I realized I could no longer contain my secret. Side note: Lichty's wife is Kelly Corrigan, who wrote one of my favorite memoirs, The Middle Place. Anyway, if you can handle a few four-letter words, go read it.