Dial or Dove?

At the risk of sounding like a complete goody-two-shoes, here it is: I never said a single curse word until I got to college. Ever. I didn't even go near what my family categorized as "bad" words, like the other name for your derriere, or the more obnoxious way to tell someone to shush. Now that I'm a little older and not quite so wise, I slip up now and then, and I'm sorry to say that after 11 years of hearing words that would make my dad's eyebrows levitate off his forehead--mostly at my former position at a children's museum, of all places!--I've become a tad desensitized. But I'd never, ever say any of those words around Evan. Unfortunately, I can't control everyone else, and while I'm thankful he's learned a lot from listening to the more verbal kids in his preschool class, I could definitely do without the words: "I can't!" (I found out which kid regularly uses this phrase during last week's apple orchard field trip, and seriously contemplated paying him off in caramel apples if he'd promise to never again say it around Evan.)

Considering his amazing ability for memorizing movie dialogue and song lyrics, I should have known he'd pick up on something I'd rather he not know/say soon--something that was a little further out there than singing some lyrics about how rain makes corn, and corn makes whiskey. (So far, he's only performed that little ditty for his speech therapist, who fortunately found it both hilarious and awesome, since she could understand most of what he sang.) But like I've mentioned before, I've started skipping anything I wouldn't want him to sing in the check-out line at SuperTarget, namely Billy Currington's "I'm Pretty Good at Drinkin' Beer." But he must have heard enough of it at one point or another, because the last time I changed stations when it came on the radio, Evan immediately wailed, "I want beer!" Lovely.

I think Nate would agree that with Evan's sudden (and it really has been that fast) pick up of new words/phrases, we've changed a lot of what we watch around here. I'm not saying we plopped him between us on the couch and watched 24 when he wasn't talking, but I'm sure we weren't as careful as we would have been otherwise. Our entire way of thinking about what Evan hears has changed. It was only five or six months ago that I was watching a friend's daughter, who is pretty small compared to Evan. (But then, so are 99 percent of all 3-year-olds.) Nate walked in from work, saw the two of them standing together, and said, "Wow! She's a midget!" To which I replied, "You know, she understands what you're saying." For the longest time (and still), Evan couldn't answer basic questions, or tell us what he thought about anything. It was a shock to be around "normal" children and hear them talk--it still is.

Every other Friday, we leave school and pick up my sister for lunch. Then we drop her back off at work and head to Chick-fil-A so Evan can slide and burn off some goofy energy before speech therapy. Every session for the past two months, his therapist has asked him where he played on the slide, but he can't (or won't) tell her. His reply usually goes something like: "I have lunch with Allison. I eat chicken nuggets and chocolate milk! I play on yellow slide!" The "where" concept still eludes him, but I have been so, so encouraged lately, and I know he'll get there; maybe even tomorrow. Like I said, the words are just flying out lately, and it's crazy-exciting. I can't even describe how grateful I am when he jumps on me in the morning and says, "Good morning, Mommy! I wake up! I have sweet dreams!" Hearing that is more than worth a few bumps on the head and knees to the gut.

And yet...you'd better believe I was thisclose to slamming on the brakes last Wednesday when the words, "Shut up!" came from the back seat. We were on our way to the apple orchard, and Evan had just finished singing along to Aerosmith's "Dream On," one of his favorite Glee tunes. I quickly thought of where he might have heard "Shut up!"--said in that specific pitch and tone--and thought of Toy Story (seriously, Disney/Pixar?) and Glee. I kept my voice level and said, "Evan, we don't say that," then asked him where he heard it, but I knew before he answered: Glee. From the season premier, when snarky cheer coach and glee club enemy Sue Sylvester walks in on a Lady Gaga sing-off in the girls' restroom. It was the funniest moment of the whole episode simply because of its timing, and Evan had it down pitch-perfect--he has an excellent sense of comedy and intonation. Had Jane Lynch come down with a crippling case of laryngitis, Evan could have filled in her line, no problem.

Hoping to get away from a station that had already played one track from the Defense, I flipped to the next station, which is a country station in Indy...but, wouldn't you know it, one of those "the end is nigh" extreme right-wing Christian stations in lower Johnson County. I kid you not, the first thing I heard was the booming voice of a local Methodist minister, reading Ephesians 4:29: "Do not use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them." Said minister then described how today's parents are raising a culture of corrupt, foul-mouthed children. I couldn't make this stuff up. I fully expected to be struck by lightning or watch the road before me split in half...neither of which happened, but I got my warning--however drastic--loud and clear on FM radio.
 
Two hours and no more "shut-up's" later at the orchard, I heard plenty of second-grade field-trippers exclaim that their butts hurt as they flew down the slide, and it was like fingernails on a blackboard. All I wanted was for Evan to talk, and now he'd picked up on the wrong words, thanks to me.

His speech therapist tried to offer some consolation Friday when I sheepishly told her of Evan's latest phrase: First, it is something new (Oh. Great. Makes me feel much better.); and second, he is saying it correctly. Again, hip-hip...hooray? Of course, she's heard him sing about whiskey, twice. Par for the course in her book.

As for me, I'm not making a big deal of it, except to quietly remind him that "we don't say that," in which case he then whispers it, and I have to turn away to hide a wry smile. Because I'm so happy that he's finally talking. A lot. Because as much as I hate to admit it (and if you ask me, I'll deny, deny, deny), it's almost, kinda, sorta, dare-I-say...cute. Because I seem to remember my mom telling me a story about a little red-headed girl who liked to say a much worse word--who knows where she heard it--and eventually grew out of it.

And with any luck--and a firm grip on the "mute" button--Evan will, too. I hope.

Last year at Appleworks, when Evan was in no danger of having his mouth scrubbed with soap. :)