Must Be Genetic Part 2

I had to look back in my archives to make sure I hadn't already told these stories in this post. Fortunately, they weren't there, so we're clear.


Several years back, my mother's side of the family had a reunion in Star Valley, Wyoming, where my grandparents raised all of their children. My Uncle Lloyd was, at the time, still running the ranch. My mom decided she wanted to take some of her grandchildren out for a tour of the ranch. While walking along, pointing out the sites, Mom said, "See those animals over there? Those are boy cows. You call them bulls. Now, see these things on the ground? These are called little bullsh!ts."




When my sister was about 3 years old, Dad overheard her expressing her frustrations over a broken doll thus: "Hells bells, Matilda! Can't you fix this?"

Dad asked, "Now where in the world did she learn that kind of language, Leah?"

Mom was curiously silent as she washed up the dishes....



And one of my own, that I know I've told many of you already:

When A-- was about 2 or so, Phil was called to be a Ward Clerk in our church. He needed to be set apart, which they wanted to do in a very tiny office in the building. After our church meetings ended, we went to the designated room. Phil and the two men who were assigned to set him apart took their places. I sat on a chair, holding A-- in my lap. During the middle of the process, right when things were quiet, A-- dropped his sippy cup. Imagine my horror when he said, "THHHit! Thit, thit, thit!" (He had a lisp.)

I quickly revised my at-home vocabulary. But A-- had (still does) a long memory for things we don't want him to recall, and the next time I dropped something at home and said "shoot," A-- piped up and said, "Mommy, you uthed to thay thit! But now you thay thoot!" Yes, thank you, son, for remembering my faults and shortcomings. Lovely.



And now you know the rest of the story...or at least parts of it.