Swears

Luca is going through a stage where he’s trying to figure out his temper.  Unlike his father, who prefers to hide his anger in little compartments in his heart for a future cardiac arrest, Luca unleashes his fury in majestic, eardrum piercing ways.

I feel sorry for our upstairs neighbors, who have a tiny newborn.  A newborn who must believe there are banshees living below her crib. 

Luca’s been steered away from physical manifestations of anger.  Because nothing will remove your Xbox privileges faster than an ineffectual tap on the bicep from a four year old.

Luca has now entered the world of swearing at the top of his lungs.  But to Luca, the greatest swear in the world is “Freakin’ frack!”  Oh how I love when he scream, “Freakin’ frack” when he’s frustrated with his brother or when we demand he actually eat one calorie for dinner.

I try to remain sober about his faux swear.  I want him to know swearing, even when it isn’t technically a swear, isn’t tolerated in our house.  But I know he’s caught Diana and I stifle our laughs when he freaks and fracks.

However, the other day Diana was wrestling Luca into his bed for a nap and he shouted, “God freaking damn it!”

Uh oh.  A real swear.

I ran into his room and put the hammer down.  We do NOT use those words in this house, mister.

I could tell that Luca felt his greatest offense was the “freaking.”  But I tried to explain what blasphemy was.  Which was tough to understand for a kid who has been in a church once since his Christening. 

It’s made him slightly more interested in God and Heaven, but mostly how the mechanics of getting anything you want to eat in Heaven actually work (magic) and if you die in Heaven (you don’t) and what Rescue Bots they have up there (all of them).

I gotta get that kid to church.