An Actual Conversation: The Irish F-Bomb

Ireland sent us several of their best. Effing right!

My friend Jane’s awesome sister moved here from Ireland last December and is moving to California this week.  She and her Irish husband have a brand new angel of a daughter and two adorable Irish little boys around Pumpkin Pie’s age.  Pumpkin Pie, Ian and Pixie enjoyed wreaking complete havoc and peeing in the back yard playing together this past Summer.  They are super-funny boys who have awesome Irish brogues that I can’t get enough of.  They say things like ‘Biscuit’ for cookie, ‘plaster’ for bandaid and started Sweet Pea eating Weetabix for breakfast.  We are so international now.

Evidently in the part of Ireland where they lived, the way that language is used is more… um… profane colorful that the way we use it here.  As a result, 6 year-old Ian has evidently been dropping the occasional F-bomb for years.  As a toddler, he referred to our purple PBS friend as Fu**ing Barney.  Classic.

One time I had Ian’s little brother, Pixie (Pumpkin Pie’s good 4 year-old buddy) in our car and he and Pumpkin Pie were discussing things they aren’t allowed to say.

Pixie: I hate that!

And when the swear pot fills up, Mommy buys wine! I mean we go out for ice cream!


Pumpkin Pie: That’s a swear pot word, Pixie.  You have to put money in the swear pot because you said that.

Pixie: What’s the swear pot?

Pumpkin Pie: It’s a cup and you have to put in a dime if you say a swear pot word and when it is full we go out for ice cream.

Pixie: You can ‘t say hate?

Pumpkin Pie: Nope.

Pixie: I know another word you can’t say-

Me (Sensing immediately where this was going): Hey!  Look outside!  A unicorn!

Pumpkin Pie: What word?

Me: Look!  It’s Thomas the Tank Engine!  Right over there!

Pixie: The F word.

Me: Hey guys, here we are almost home!  Yay, home!  What should we play first?!

Pumpkin Pie: What’s the F word?

Me: Hey!  My hair is on fire!  Look!  Whee!

Pixie: You know!  It’s-

Me (leaping out of the van and flinging the side door open): Hey Pixie, let’s go find Doodle Dog, he is waiting to play with you!

You, too can wear your f-bomb proclivity. Available at!

I managed to get them out of the car to go play with the dog, which is Pixie’s favorite thing ever.  He loves to feed him treats.  Doodle helped us avoid a public lesson in the f-bomb.  Knowing those two, they just waited until they were out of earshot to finish their chat.  They probably taught Doodle, too.  Those little stink pops.




Photo Credits:  Buy your own Wine Jar Swear Pot at Tumbleweed Pottery Gifts, Flag of Ireland from Wikipedia.

About Adventures From Cloud 8

I am a stay at home mom who now and again sneaks away to be an in-home family therapist. My husband and I have 3 boys: Sweet Pea (12), Pickles (9) and Pumpkin Pie (4). Oh yeah. We have Doodle Dog, too. You guessed it! He’s a boy. At least he pees outside.
This entry was posted in Brother Rivalry, Friends, Funny Parenting Blog, Mom-Friends, Parenting Boys and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to An Actual Conversation: The Irish F-Bomb

  1. Pingback: An Actual Conversation: Irish Brotherly Love | Adventures From Cloud 8

  2. Beth says:

    Jeeezzzz those are perfect distractions hahaha
    i’mma keep those in mind

  3. Pingback: The Dog and Pony Show that is Student Led Conferences | Adventures From Cloud 8

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