"Fork, please."

Continued . . .

The latest in a series of Screech Monkey antics just so happened to make quite a scene in front of the entire Sinterklaas party. We all know that the jungle brings with it it's own amusement where ever it goes and Screech was determined that this party should be no exception.

Lately our little two-year-old has had a fascination with forks and requires the use of one whatever the meal in front of her consists of. If she finds her place setting void of one of these required elements she will let the household know of the mistake by yelling out, "Oh, f__k!" as that is her best attempt at forming her little mouth around the word. Usually the incident occurs within our earshot only and we giggle it off, even as she repeats the word in utter frustration if we take too long in fishing one out of the silverware drawer, "F . . . ck! Fu . . . k! F. . . ck!". It made several giggles during Thanksgiving with family and friends durning which she was so happy to have received an adult size fork resulting in, "Look! Big fu . . . k!" Or maybe you can imagine the times when she drops it on the floor and while longingly reaching out for it exclaims with an long, drawn out "F . . . . k!"

This continued to be pronunciation disaster even into yesterday. As mentioned, she's fascinated with the particular utensil and not only requires one for eating, but refuses to let it go even when she's done. Not restrained to her usual highchair at the party, she took to running off her sugar high in circles around the room with her favorite "f__k" between bites while I desperately chased her down and either stole the said item out of her grasp or returned her to her plate. In the process of reaching for the dangerous utensil during one of these attempts one of my flailing appendages strait-armed her in mid stride. My other hand thankfully acquired its target before the child was flung flat on her back onto the hardwood floor. The damage was more shock than pain and would have been forgotten if she hadn't realized her beloved "f__k" was MIA. Amongst her screeches of pain she began mourning the sudden loss by reproachfully calling out for her lost implement . . . over and over again in the midst of concerned onlookers, including Grandma. If you can imagine the sight my swearing child made at that moment than you've got an acute sense of humor and are worthy of reading the adventures and scrapes Our Blooming Jungle can get itself into. A mispronunciation for the baby book indeed.

For the record: we are working on correcting this obscene behavior, it's just taking a bit of time.