"shit,"
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Tokyo, 2010.02.03
While I was preparing to take The Boy to the day care today, I was suddenly aware that he wasn't making any noise.
And that's always trouble.
I went into the living room and there he was dismantling an orange and a clementine. There was sticky orange juice on every available surface. I said something that he thought was worth repeating; "shit."
I've been trying to be good. I've even taken to saying, "rats" when I might otherwise say something worse. But it's clearly not been enough, and now I'm just waiting for the day that his journal will come home from the day care complaining of his language. Naturally Mari's not impressed and I'm back in the doghouse. Rats.