There I was, coloring pictures with my 3-year-old daughter at the dining room table. Side by side we sat, taking turns with her new box of crayons. Typical American morning, eh?

At some point, though, she decided she picked up the wrong crayon. Blue, instead of brown, I guess. And clear as day she said it:

"Oh, F - - - !!!!"

At first I didn't say anything. Truth is, I think I've heard her say it before, but never was sure. This time, no escaping my daughter's F bomb.

"What did you say, honey?" Silence. Alarm. "Sweetie, what did you just say?" Panicked look on her face. "Honey, that's a bad word, but you didn't know it." Tears, face plant in the chair. "Sweetie, it's okay, you didn't know it, but that's not a word we say."

Only, I do. All the time. But never, ever in front of her. Never, ever in front of her. Unless I somehow slipped?

I picked her up and held her tight. She covered her eyes with her hands, afraid to look at me. I hugged her long and hard. Reassured her that she had done nothing wrong, inside knowing I almost certainly had.

Memo to self: Start talking in code or at least, "Oh, fudge!"

-- Amy Hollyfield

[That's Ralphie from A Christmas Story with a bar of soap in his mouth after he dropped an F bomb on his dad.]