He has trouble with the "C-K" combination, too.

"Mama? Why is B-I-C-H a bad word?"

My head snapped up to look across the counter at Spence who was having his after-school snack. All the while "Logical Ali" is screaming inside my head, "Be Cool! Be Cool! Be. Cool. You want him to come to you with all his questions and concerns; and he won't if he thinks he's going to get in trouble."

So, I say, "Wow. That is a bad word. It's a very, very ugly thing to call a girl."

"Why?"

So, we discussed it (during which time I craftily discovered who taught him this word, too - now, I've got my eye on you, potty-mouthed kid...). I also told him there was a time people might use it when it wasn't a bad word - if they were talking about a female dog. But, I emphasized, people might not know what meaning he was using if he said it, so it would just be best if he never used the word. Ever.

He understood. I answered all his questions. I felt like the lines of communication were open and healthy at the Johnson house. Parenting Win!

And, then I said...

"But, it's spelled b-i-T-c-h."

As soon as it was out of my mouth I thought, "Wow. Did I just correct his spelling of a cuss word?!" I think I forfeit my Parenting Win.

Who knew a sprinkler head could be holding back SO MUCH water?

When your seven-year-old comes running in from where he was playing outside and calmly says, "Um. Mom? Could you come here? Quick," you should be alarmed.

I was when it happend to me yesterday. I dropped everything, trying to quell the terror I felt at the fact that his little sister was nowhere to be seen. But, before I got out the back door, she came rounding the corner of the house exclaiming, "Brother kicked the soccer ball into a stick and now there's water everywhere!"

Come again?

By this time, I had rounded the corner of the house to see the neighbor's (that's right! the neighbor's) two-foot tall sprinkler head had been broken off and water was shooting like a geyser at least twelve feet in the air.

I ran over and rang their doorbell. No one was home. Of course they weren't. Thank goodness we had exchanged mobile numbers when they came to welcome us to the neighborhood.

I called the missus. No answer.

I called the mister. He answered. And, with more patience than I can conceive, he walked me through turning off the water. (My description of this would be that I lifted a manhole cover and reached my hand into the sewer to turn a dirty knob with a hole in it. I know that's not what happened. But, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

He said he would fix the sprinkler when he got home; that he needed to put some kind of guards around those heads; that kids were going to play with balls - that was a given. I told him to please tell us what it cost to repair it. He said no. I live next to the nicest neighbors EVER.

I got off the phone and turned to the kids - who were splashing their feet in the river of water that was making its way down the drive. I told them to get their balls and come inside. New rule: when you break the neighbor's stuff, outside playtime is over.

I told Spence, "You need to write them an apology note or drawing." He sat down and made this:

Note: There was no dog involved. That must be artistic license. Look at everyone's serious faces - that just cracks me up. And, notice the ball at the top of the fountain of water (not to be confused with the sun that is also up in the sky).

I texted Shawn:

We texted back and forth as I told him the story and he concluded with:

We saw our neighbor out (fixing the sprinkler!) as we went on our after-dinner walk that evening. Spence did a good job of apologizing. By that, I mean he spoke loud enough so the man could hear him (seriously, a feat for this shy child). The mister was very kind to him. And, the missus called me later to say how much they loved the picture and she really admired how we were raising our children. Are you kidding me?! Nicest. neighbors. EVER. I think I'm going to have to make them a banana cake.

So, I tried to make the whole ordeal a "learning experience." I told Spence that we will make mistakes. What's important is how you react after you make a mistake. No excuses. Just do what you have to do to make it right.

He agreed that he understood and then said, "Mom. It was really kinda cool. That ball shot straight up in the air on top of all that water!" Awesome. It's a trick he'd like to see again!

Living a Little More Erma Bombeck

Alright. Some of the comments to yesterday's post made me think of "The Rest of the Story." Here are the annotations.

Yes. As Amy noticed, I served Sloppy Joes to the guests in my house. But, you know what? I was having an Erma-Bombeck-don't-wait-for-the-carpets-to-be-clean moment. I was making Joes. We had plenty. We called up the folks. And, I gotta say, people probably enjoyed it a lot more than if I was running around like a maniac, stressing over whether the coq au vin* was just perfect.

Also, as Danny wondered (and for those of you who know me or have been reading this blog very long), you might be surprised to know that I did not flip my OCD, who-left-the-dinosaur-at-the-table lid when this occurred either.

Shut up. Get off the floor. Close your mouth before you swallow a fly. May I proceed?

As a matter of fact, I was so zen about the whole situation that I got up off my a$$, set down the (unspilled!) fruit bowl, marveled that the Sloppy Joe bowl (half-way across the room!) hadn't broken, surveyed the mess and said, "That'll keep. Let's have dessert." Then we all ate cake.

As I said, I like to believe in moments like this that I'm living "Erma Bombeck-esque." So, here. For a reminder to us all:

If I Had My Life to Live Over

by Erma Bombeck

If I had my life to live over, I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the 'good' living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television - and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's"... More "I'm sorrys"...

But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute... look at it and really see it... live it... and never give it back.

Here's to having a lot more of these moments (less the Sloppy Joe).

*I don't even know what coq au vin is. But, it sounds fancy. Doesn't it?