About a week ago, for no real reason we can discern Ethan started using a particular name as an expletive.  It was very sudden, as all language ability expansions are with two year olds.  One minute he was grunting when angry and the next we would hear him shout "Jesus!" when he dropped a Lego truck and shattered on the ground.  It was pretty hard to ignore the first few times.  Eventually Bianca and I would have to hide our faces as a two and half foot tall little sailor walked through the house unleashing dropping "JESUS!" all of the time.

It morphed from an expletive to something he would just pop off.

Ethan: "Daddy you pass me ketchup?"
Me: "Once second buddy, I am cutting up Isaac's steak"
Ethan: "Jesus!"

Or

Ethan: "Daddy you wipe my butt?"
Me: "Sure, bend over."
Ethan: "I no want to bend over."
Me: "Then I can't wipe your butt."
Ethan: "Jesus, Daddy!"

For two days we were so struck by this little tiny boy saying Jesus all of the time that we could hardly focus.  Then Bianca decided to try to get him to swap out "Jesus" for "Geez Louise."  It stuck and since then, Beeth has been letting one "Geez Louise" fly after another.  This supports my long-held theory that if Beeth knew swear words we'd hear them A LOT.  

The last weekend of September was Uncle John's birthday.  He and Aunt Katie have finished their move and now live in Amherst, one of our very favorite places to visit, thanks to an awesome and free dino museum.  While the adults were chatting, Ethan, Isaac, Myles, and Colby and I went to a local playground.  It was pretty spectacular with lots of cool hiding spots and nooks and crannies. 

Here was a cool two story tire structure.  I was in the bottom looking up at the Beeth.  As the three big kids jumped and skipped around Ethan did a his best to follow.  After a few misses, Myles told Ethan "sorry, bud, your legs are too short." Over the hour or so we spent at the playground Ethan heard that a lot and did a good job with it, hanging back with Dad. 

As we were leaving the boys decided to fight some imaginary zombies. They took off and again Ethan was left with me.  At some point Colby paused, turned around, and said: "They are zombies" point to Ethan and I.  Finally tired of being left behind, Ethan yelled at them as they ran away: "My legs are too short for me to be a zombie!"

It was hysterical and even with his lament, Ethan was still pretty cool about the whole thing.  Its tough being the short-legged zombie chasing a herd of gazelles. 

So just before school on Friday, I was handling a new knife I had in for review and I cut my index finger on my left hand.  It was not a particularly bad cut, but it did bleed an unusual amount, given how shallow it was.  More than the cut or the blood, I was frustrated with the band aid packaging (as one usually is, band aid packaging is awful).  Among the bleeding and the torn band aids, I may have let loose a swear word or two.  Isaac stood there, mouth agap worried more than the cut warranted.

I patched myself up and we got in the car and went to school (in uniform and on time, mind you).  After I left him out, apparently I-man had a conversation with THE Sister Irene that went something like this:

Isaac: My Dad cut his finger off.
Sister Irene: Really?  When?
Isaac: This morning.
Sister Irene: Oh my goodness.  Did he go to the hospital?
Isaac: No.
Sister Irene: Well, who took you to school?
Isaac: My Dad.
Sister Irene: Was he okay?
Isaac: He was bleeding all over the place.
Sister Irene: Oh MY!

So that is not exactly what happened, but I can only imagine what Sister Irene thinks actually happened.  She either thinks I am John Wayne tough or a total moron, or a bit of both.  I am just glad Isaac didn't tell her I swore.  Even at 39, her nun stare scares the bejeezus out of me.