Yesterday was one of those completely cliche days. From sun up to sundown, everything we did was like squeezing the glue bottle as hard as we could with nothing coming out. Culminating in actually squeezing the glue bottle as hard as we could, with nothing coming out. It was one of those days where I looked around a lot, wondering if my day was unfolding on a hidden camera show. And I’m fairly certain I uttered the phrase “What the hell?!?!” at least a few times.
Which is why, it should have come as no surprise when, late in the evening, I heard (coming from another room) the glue bottle slam against the table and a little voice say “What the hell?!?!”
I walked in, knowing full well, that I’d be the one taking responsibility for the language. And I saw her sitting there, shoulders slumped, feeling defeated by a glue bottle. A very what the hell moment indeed.
I held back a smirk (impressed only that her use of the phrase was spot on for the context!) as I reminded her that neither of us should use that language. Then I offered my help, only to find that I couldn’t seem to make the glue budge from the bottle either. What the hell?!?! (I promise I kept that one in my head.) Some days are like that, I suppose, to remind us not to take all the excellent ones for granted. And maybe also to remind us that these little people we live with are always watching, learning and mimicking.