Readers who haven’t spent much face time with me may not realize that my wholesome online persona is merely a facade. Though I rarely use blue language in my writing, in my everyday life I swear like a sailor. This inevitably rubs off on my children, with results that are sometimes mortifying, sometimes entertaining.

This evening after dinner, Olof, Helena, and I were sitting around the table chatting. Tage was sitting in Olof’s lap, chattering on and on about who-knows-what and Helena and I were discussing important social issues. Our conversation wasn’t of much interest to Olof, apparently, and he tried to divert our attention.

“Listen to what Tage has to say about that,” he told us.

We stopped talking and turned to Tage, who–bouncing up and down with barely controlled glee–declared, “Dinosaurs are fuckers! Dinosaurs are fuckers! Dinosaurs are fuckers!”

I have no problem stepping up and taking responsibility for his use of the F-bomb, but I can’t in good conscience let slide his assessment of the mighty terrible lizards. I think we’ll have to give that boy a good talking-to.