I swear I don't swear at my kids!

There are two things to share tonight that are definitely blog worthy, but I know most of you out there are going to be thinking, "Uh huh, sure....we believe you Denett..." But it's true, I don't remember swearing at my kids. Anyway, with that being said, this video is for your appreciation only for what I go through on a daily basis with Max. For those that know and hear my little Max talk, it's amazing that we can even understand him sometimes. I told my sister this story, and what she said was DEAD on. Listening to your kids tell you something is like playing one crazy game of mad gab. Except sometimes, there are no winners, and there are no answer cheat sheets. Just one extremely frustrated little boy, and one laughing or frazzled momma (depends on the day!) So this is the story, for those who haven't heard it already.

Max came and got my hand a few days ago and said, "Get dressed momma." No problem, we walk into his room, and we start getting him undressed. And then the drama starts. For 5 straight minutes, all I keep hearing is "boa sh**!" out of his mouth over and over and over and over and over again. I KNOW what I keep hearing, but I KNOW there is NO way he is saying what I am hearing. And I couldn't keep from laughing - even though I had NO CLUE what he was saying. He finally got mad enough to climb up his dresser, only to pull out his BOAT SHIRT, which is what he had been screaming at me the whole time, if I would have only had a cheat sheet for that one...

My other story is about Jackson, and I don't know how these stories both happened to fall in the same week. But it too deserves a laugh that comes slightly out of embarrassment of where he could have heard it. (In my defense, I did ask him where he had heard it, and he could not remember!!) Anyway, this morning, we were reading scriptures in bed, when Max decided to go and grab his stuffed animal from his room to hear scriptures too. Jackson jumped up to go and "help" him, which Max did NOT want, and started melting down screaming, "Max do it, Max do it!!" The next thing I hear is Jackson screaming at the top of his lungs, "What the freaking hell??!!" at Max, and then comes into my room, shaking his head. Again, I repeat, I SWEAR I have not said this to my sweet son, but who knows...I'm sure I have blocked that one out of my memory if I did.