Couple of days ago Della started saying “f***”. Over and over in the living room. She finally pointed to a picture of a frog in a Christmas catalog, and we all had a good laugh. Later, wrapped in her froggy towel, she started chanting what sounded like “f*** it”, but she was just meaning “froggy,” bless her heart.

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But it’s been awhile since Della has seen any frogs, or pictures of frogs, or frogs on TV. So why does she keep saying “f***” and “f*** it”? I think she kind of knows what she’s saying, and she knows, like we do, that “f***” and “f*** it” are becoming our household themes.

F*** (I care enough to be annoyed)

George spit up in my hair.
George is projectile pooping.
Two is not enough adults to hold Della down for diapering and dressing.
Della is about to fall off of something and hit her head.
Della is about to run into the corner of something with her head.

F*** it (I don’t care anymore)

George doesn’t need a new outfit every time he spits up.
Della can watch TV and drink juice.
We’re having McDonald’s hash browns and chicken and biscuit for breakfast.
Della can play with markers and draw on her face.
I’m done hiding that big thing of pens and markers. I’m throwing it away.

From Della’s perspective, it’s: Frog! The Caterpillar Club is closed for a teacher work thing? WTF am I going to do all day? Be gentle and wear clothes? Frog that. Frog no I’m not going down for my nap. Oh froggy. I’ll just curl up with my duck and dream I have a different family.

Etc., etc.

Here she is getting tortured before paying a visit to Lee District’s soft playroom. You can tell she’s definitely thinking some four-letter thoughts. 

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