My Kids Are Sometimes Potty-Mouths

Hey everyone! Today I’m also guest-posting at The Dwelling Tree! Check out her blog when you have the time– she’s a wonderful mom, rooting herself in her faith and all things important.


Some of you may remember Gregory’s struggles with pronunciation, back in his early days. Thankfully, he’s learned a thing or two.

But I still have AJ, who is as talkative as can be. From the moment I wake him up in the morning, he’s already chattering away.

And, just like Gregory, he’s also recently put two and two together– birthday = cake!

This past week was my father in law’s birthday. Gregory asked if he could call Poppa and wish him happy birthday, and the first words out of his mouth were, “Hi! Birthday! Cake! Icecream!” He’s also been going around the house talking about “cake” for days.

As the younger brother, AJ likes to get excited about whatever Gregory does. He, too, has been chanting, “CAKE!”

Only….it doesn’t sound like cake. He has the vowel all wrong. More like an “o”. So it comes out, ” C#&k”.

Yup. Loud and clear. Once again, it’d be hilarious, if it wasn’t my PRECIOUS BABY saying it.

But it got worse. As we all sat down for cake last Friday night, Gregory began asking me politely for a fork. When we didn’t bring it right away, he got impatient and started shouting, “FORK FOR CAKE! FORK FOR CAKE!”

And, as the younger brother, AJ started copying him.

But he can’t pronounce fork, either. He gets the vowel wrong, AND he leaves out the “r”.

Yup. He started shouting, “F#*k C#*k! F#*k C#*k! F#*k C#*k!”

A little part of me died inside. My baby, yelling obscenities across the dinner table. Thankfully, it was just family. And, of course, we were all laughing hysterically. Leave it to AJ to one-up his brother’s language foibles and “take the cake”, so to speak.

Other funny sayings as of late in our house:

Gregory: (whenever he wants to be held) “Can I carry you, Momma?”

Gregory: “Can I have a neck-a-trine?” (nectarine).

Gregory: “Momma! I go on adventure! Hey Momma, I back from adventure! I found all the stuff!”

Gregory: (whenever he makes a mistake), “Oh deary dear dear dear!”

Me: “Gregory, did you push AJ down?”
Gregory: “No, Momma, I BOUNCED him!”

Gregory: (whenever he finishes a meal) “Momma, I gobbled it all up in my tummy!”

Me: “Okay! Give me a hug goodnight!”
Gregory: “No, I’m sorry I can’t. I have to be big.”

Me: “Gregory, did you know you fell out of bed during the night?”
Gregory: “No, mama, I JUMPED out of my bed with a blankie!”

Jesse: “Gregory, are you chewing gum???”
Gregory: (gulps first) “No, it’s s-okay, Dadda, I swallowed it!”

Gregory: (after I told him I was going to work) “Okay, Momma, but you need to be CAREFUL in the world. Okay?”

Gregory sang to me, “you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you’ll never know, MAMA! how much I love you! Please don’t take my Ma-ma away!” When I teared up (he’s never done that before!), he said, “Don’t cry, don’t be scared, Mama. You’re not an engine, you’re a BOY!”

Me: “Time to go to the store!”
Gregory: “Yeah! Momma, Dadda and Gregory at the store!”
Me: “Dadda has to work. Momma, Gregory, and Anthony!”
Gregory: “No. Leave Anthony with Grandma”

And, my favorite from this past week:

Jesse: “Gregory, where’s my kiss?”
Gregory: “Where’s my dragon?”
Jesse: “Touche, young one. Touche.”



It baffles me how many times Jesse and I have been homeless in our 7 years of marriage. We are the kings and queens of homelessness.

1. Who can forget our housing saga this past year, where we had to move back in with my parents TWICE? With 2 kids in tow?

2. When we moved to Dallas, TX, we knew NOT a soul and had never even been there before. We were 50/50 about trying to buy a house as well, so we spent the first 30 days in a sub-lease situation, where we met the guy from Craigslist, got his keys, and paid him $500 in cash to stay there for a month, all utilities paid. We kept our stuff in boxes the entire month, living out of our suitcases while we looked for our permanent place. We ended up deciding to rent, but the place we really wanted wasn’t available until a week AFTER our sublease was over. We didn’t know anything about the area, so we picked the Extended Stay Motel nearest Jesse’s Grad School.

BIG mistake, turns out. They didn’t allow pets, so we had to hide our cat and her litter box in the bathroom for an ENTIRE week. Jesse was allergic to the detergent they used on all the sheets. Our smoke alarm beeped incessantly, but we couldn’t have them fix it for fear of them discovering our cat.

Not only that, but we had people knocking on our door at all hours of the night, looking to buy drugs! Turns out, the person who’d lived there before us was a dealer. We were smack dab in the worst part of Irving, and we didn’t even know it!

This was one of my very first blog entries, 6 years ago. I tried to make light of a bad situation by writing about it. Enjoy!



So here we are at our little “Homeplace Inn + Suite”. What a lovely name. There were some major selling points in choosing this place, like the abundance of ants, the grubby neighbors knocking on the door at ungodly hours of the night, the low-on-juice smoke alarm that keeps beeping in a random manner, the room deodorizer that can’t decide whether wants to cover up the moldy smell or one-up it, their lack of tolerance for pets of any kind, oh, and the lowest price on the market. Get expert mould remediation with mould removal services.

One of their biggest selling points is that their rooms include a “kitchen-ette”. Such a lovely word. Like a dinnette, for instance, is a nice word for a nice thing- a small, cute, European trademark. Or Paulette. Reminds you of that sweet diner waitress who served your first Georgia waffles and called you “Hun”. Adding ette onto the end of a word should automatically imply that it’s fancy or wonderful in a modern way. It’s referring to the fact that precious things come in smaller packages. Things that have “ette” on the end should have unrealized, undiscovered potential.

Let’s look at the suffix “ette”. Here are the definitions that I found.



1. Small; diminutive

2. Female

3. An imitation or inferior kind of cloth

I would have to say that our “kitchenette”(let’s just call it this for lack of a worser name) takes after #3, minus the cloth part. Our kitchenette is just enough of an imitation that it feels like a joke, like it’s mocking us with its semblance of potential without any of the usual perks, like convenience or usefulness. We have just enough cupboard space to make me want to put stuff away, only to realize that none of it fits. There’s also enough counter space on which to rest a teaspoon, but of course, that would be exaggerating.

Basically, this kitchenette is like camping without the trees. Like a slip-n-slide with just a belly flop. Like Oreos without the lard.

But all in all, it will get us by for five days. As long as we can hide Mirabelle and keep her from sitting on our windowsill (THAT would be a dead giveaway). Perhaps we need to see the potential as it lies in the future- the promise of our nice, luxury apt. awaiting us on Friday. Perhaps all of this is meant to be dissatisfying to make sure that we appreciate what is to come.

And so, until then, we will continue to stuff all the food we can into our refrigerator. Or should I say, “refriger-ette” .

Under the Umbrella of: “This Conversation Really Happened”

Cayucous BBQ AJ and Gregory

Our recent foster care situation has forever opened my eyes to how many children are out there, waiting for a home. Through my research, I’ve also learned that the greatest need is for babies with ethnicity or disability. Even greater is the need for sibling placements– someone willing to take 2-3 kids from the same family in order to keep them together.

I truly cannot understand why there are more “minority” babies out there than “white”. Maybe people want a “cohesive” looking family, and it’s easier to pretend they are your biological kid if they look like you. But isn’t the beauty of adoption that it’s NOT biological? That it’s NOT cohesive, but it works anyways? That love breaks through the barrier that is blood and race?

As I’ve we’ve done more and more research, one thing has become clear– if we adopt someday, I WANT a baby of a different race than us. I will ignore all the white babies and go straight for the one with dark skin. Add some medical disabilities in there. I want THOSE babies. All of them.

The hubby has tried to gently inform me that my recent obsession with the less-wanted might, just maybe, just maybe, have to do with my grieving process over C, our last foster placement.

Whatever, I say. The heart wants what the heart wants.

We’d been talking about this for weeks when the topic came up at church, during coffee hour. With the hubby beside me, I was explaining to a fellow English teacher and our choir director that if the situation was right, we would love to adopt someday. I kept going, talking about how many babies are unwanted because of their race, and it was making me mad, just talking about it.

“I want an african american baby. Period.” I said firmly.

The English teacher smiled hesitantly, and said, “You mean, through ADOPTION?”

“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Because….” and he looked at the Hubby.

“Because there is a limit to what I can do for you” Jesse said.


“Well, I only make a specific breed of baby.”

And then I got it. They were making fun of me.  All 3 guys were howling with laughter.

“Yes, of COURSE, through adoption.” I said, irritated. “What else could I mean?”

Wrong question.

The English teacher smiled again. “Well, I just wouldn’t want you to go ‘looking’ for a different father….”

And then Jesse came in with the coup de grace.

“I mean, you do understand that I’m not a multi-ink pen? Click a different side and you get a different color?”

The analogy that took it too far. Forever mortified. Thanks, Hubby.


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Happy Monday!

I almost hate doing this to everyone on a Monday morning. But Monday’s kinda stink, and we could all use some cheering up, right?

This video proves that drugs exist in the world. If you’re at work right now, you might want to turn down the volume. But you will laugh until you cry. Promise.