I pulled back from Savannah’s head. My hands covered in sudsy shampoo and looked at him.
That for sure sounded a lot like… “Bucket.”
But… without the B.
Trying not to react too much I asked in a casual voice, “Hey bud. What did you just say?”
Again. There it was.
Something very, very, very similar to “bucket.”
I blinked at him.
I wanted him to say it again to just be 100% sure, but I also didn’t want to make it game. I pretty sure I knew what he had said.
But, how?
That wasn’t from me.
Honest.
And, no. I am not in denial or being self righteous.
I just don’t cuss much… if at all. There is no prude, shy, or pretentious reason. Cussing just isn’t a habit I ever picked up. It doesn’t bother me. It can’t because I would have never made it in kitchens… Or, with Adam as a husband.
Adam is more of a fan of… oh gosh. How should I say this? Strong words.
He is particularly partial to the one that rhymes with “duck.”
This could be from him. But, really, he has done a good job keeping it in check with the kids around. Maybe it’s not him.
Could have been a friend or two of ours that we saw recently. Even family could have let it slip.
And, my mind also went to the next obvious place: School.
Theo mentioned another boy was angry and sent to the office that day. Could that child have said this word and now Theo was testing his own boundaries and trying it out? Wondering if he said it, would he get the same reaction as the boy?
When I was three months pregnant, I started touring daycare facilities. Being the anxious first time parent I was, I considered all of my options. Many churches, the YMCA, the local school system and independent childcare facilities.
When trying to find the best fit for me and my unborn child, I asked for recommendations from local parents and people close to me. I was told to visit outside of nap time. To look for evidence of artwork and activities versus just kids sitting in a bouncy chair. And, be aware of things like the other parents. To note their professions and the local neighborhoods because “It’s not just the teachers they will be learning from, it’s the other kids. And, you just don’t know what they will come home with.”
This seemed so valid as I faced the seemingly impossible task of handing my precious, untarnished, innocent bitty offspring to someone else.
But, today?
It’s rude.
It’s stereotypical, sizing people up like this. And, even phobic because there was a little fear of “others” in that statement.
But, most of all, this statement was unimportant and completely invalid.
No matter what I did- besides keep my kids at home forever and ever- they would eventually pick up something not so great outside of our home and bring it back at the end of the day.
Eventually and easily, Adam and I chose a wonderful church, complete with my pediatrician’s recommendation and endorsements from friends and friends of friends.
In the last three years, my children have come home with great, new knowledge of numbers and the alphabet. Theo recently surprised me with writing his own name in chalk on our driveway- something I had not taught him. They have come home with adorable artwork featuring their growing hands and feet. Stories from their new friends and the games and songs they made up. Knowledge of Jesus, good hand washing, fire safety, respect for grown up’s and so much more.
But, they have also come home with sugary treats I would never purchase. A desire for Ranch dressing on everything. The awareness of Power Rangers and Peppa Pig. So many boogers and one case of hand, foot and mouth. An ability to make toy “gun” out of anything from a finger to a letter “L” magnet as well as an affinity for all things “poop,” “fart,” and “but, why?”
Oh. And, though it is yet to be confirmed, there is the possibility of “Bucket” too.
While, I could have gone without the week (… on vacation, no less) of hand, foot and mouth, it’s okay.
I wish I could tell the woman who gave me that advice, the one who was scared of the world and what it might do to my child: “Thank you.” But also, to not be so afraid.
I wish I could tell myself that too.
Because the last thing I want for my kids is for them to be afraid of the world.
I want them to go out into it. I want them to see and learn from their peers. Even if it’s not all good. Even if, at times, it’s messy or scary.
I want them to see all kinds of people. People just like them and people nothing like them. I want them to learn from them just as much, and if not more than, they learn from me.
I want them to bring the wild world back to our home and have them teach me things. I want to have good, real conversations about what they see and hear. I want the world to mark them and have their experiences out in it- good and bad- help shape them, guide them and fuel their dreams and passions.
I want all of this because what I now see clearly is that I am not raising a perfect, precious, sweet, little, innocent children. I am raising adults.
That’s the goal.
Full stop.
To raise real, kind, great adults.
So, I am raising two adults that will be open, not fearful of the world. Adults who are excited and eager to try new things and take in all it offers.
They will know that our home is safe; but, also know that it doesn’t hold all the answers, so they will be curious and never stop learning from the people around them.
I hope, pray and cross all my fingers that the world doesn’t steal their innocence and jump the gun on the ideal timing; but, I am raising adults so when the time comes, we are going to talk about shootings, sex, drugs and words like “bucket.”
They only tip the scales at 34 and 28 pounds respectively, but in real time, I am raising two adults. I am raising two tiny humans- adults in training- that go out in to the world every day. Little sponges that see, taste, hear, experience all sorts of things and bring it all home.
That’s scary, of course.
But… “Bucket.”
It’s so, so good too.
Lauri S Sullivan says
ROCK it! Rhymes with bucket! You two… four…are just doing that!