It had been a trying afternoon, the way it just is sometimes with kids, by the time I got them home from feeding a friend’s cats and laid June down in the living room for a bum change.
As I did so, one of the strings from my hoodie caught under her body and flicked me in the face when I sat up.
“Oh my god! For fuck’s sake!” I said.
June’s eyes went wide. “No make that noise!!” She fixed me with a hard stare. “No make that noise, daddy!”
Nora, calmly playing with Duplo off to the side, said, “No make the fuck noise.”
My anger turned to amusement. I couldn’t stop myself laughing, so I turned my head away from both kids. They still noticed.
“I just wanna say – fuck,” said Nora. “FUCK.”
“I just wanna say fuck too,” said June. “FUCK.”
Did I stop myself laughing even harder?
Did I fuck.
And that was how the fuck noise came to be made often, by the smallest voices in our house, for a couple of weeks.