Stink, Stank, Stunk

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care. The Jesus candle is blazing an orange glow near the manger. We sit at the dinner table discussing our noodles, broccoli and the most awesome 10-rule point sheet ever.  Bragging about report cards and growing up. 

When out of the blue comes, "Mom why can't I call people shit?"

"What?" I inquired as calmly as I could without bursting.

"S-H-I-T." Jake spelled out carefully. 

"Well, it's not nice to call names. Do you even know what shit is?" 

"No, but I heard a kid call another teacher that name when he got in trouble." 

"Oh, we don't use that language. Shit is poop. Do you think it feels good to be called a shit?" 

Now, Jake is wearing a sly little grin, I think he's proud and excited he learned a new word and were discussing it so frankly. 

I can see his wheels turning as the wires slowly connect.

"OOOHHH shit is crap!"

"Yes!"

Put it this way, "Jake you are such a shit!"

He giggled slightly. "Does that make you feel good? 

"No."

"Is shit stinky? Do you like shit? Would you like to be a shit?" 

I'm trying to use it as much as I can, so it's not such a big deal. He's still smirking, just waiting for me to crack up. 

We ended this stinky dinner talk with an agreement we don't call anyone shit  because that's not how educated young men speak. 

"So mom, what's so bad about calling people cracker?" 

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