Misheard, Mispronounced and misunderstood...stories like these are what you do in work when the internet is down...apolgies if it's a bit bitty, but it's just the product of a tired, idle mind...

As a side note; all of these are actually true events - obviously not in the Tracy household, but the words used (or misused :) ) are all things that I've overheard kids I know saying...and one of them is even mine!

WARNING: some bad words used...

"JEFFFF"

Jeff looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stared at Lucy with a puzzled look on his face. "Did Scott just call my name?"

Lucy sighed and rubbed her swollen belly; their second child was nearly there, and she had her swollen feet up on the couch with a damp cloth over her face. "Yes." The short retort made him frown even more, and he slowly closed his newspaper, looking up at the ceiling above him.

"JEFFF!"

"He's been calling me Lucy all day. You go; he's calling for you. Not me; you."

Jeff's puzzlement grew, but he got up and went to the kitchen, filling a sippy cup with water, and taking a bowl of melon chunks out of the fridge. The bowl was carefully balanced on his wife's belly, and he lifted the cloth to place a tender kiss on her forehead. "I love you." He murmured as she mock-glared up at him, and as his two year old's voice rose up once again, he headed up the stairs.

"Don't call me Jeff, call me daddy. Can you say daddy?"

Scott held out his hands for the sippy cup and drank thirstily as Jeff sat on the edge of the bed, caressing his curls. "Tanks, Jeff."

"Daddy. Call me Daddy."

"Night Jeff." Scott settled down beneath the covers, snuggling into the pillow.

"Daddy. My name is Daddy."

"Jeff..." Scott's eyes slid closed and Jeff's shoulders slumped tiredly. At least now it was his proper name. It had been bad enough when he'd been calling him 'idiot' after Lucy had shouted it at him a week before... who knew that raising a toddler was that hard.

XXXXXXX

"Akit."

"Attic."

"Akit."

"Attic, John. Attic."

"Akit."

"Mom is up in the Attic. Say it after me."

"Mom is up in de Akit."

"Attic."

"Akit"

"Attic."

"Jeff, let him alone. He'll learn how to say it properly when he's good and ready." Lucy leant against the door frame with a blankie in one hand and a rubber duck in the other.

"Come on, Johnny; just say it once for me. Attic."

"Akit."

"Fine. Your mother is up in the Akkit." Jeff grumbled, and John twisted around in his arms to look up at him.

"Nuh uh; mommy is there!" He pointed at Lucy who quickly hid her laugh behind a cough and covered her face with Virgil's blankie.

XXXXX

"Why is mommy in the hostible?" Virgil pulled at the leg of his father's trousers, worry plain on his face. Jeff paused in the middle of drawing the razor down his cheek and glanced down to his side, smiling at the earnest face staring up at him.

"Because you are getting a new little brother, Virgil. His name is Gordon, and he has red hair. He's very small, but he'll soon grow up nice and big and you can play games with him, just like you do with John and Scott." After a moment, he looked back down, putting down his razor. "Did you just say hostible?"

"No, daddy; I said hostible."

"That's what I..." Jeff frowned again, trying to work out if he heard him say what he thought he'd just say. "Say it again?"

"Hostible. Where the sick people go...and mommy when she's getting a new baby." Virgil announced seriously.

"Hospital, Virgil. There's a p in there, not a t."

It was suddenly time for Virgil to frown, and his little nose wrinkled up as he tried to work out what a 'p' or a 't' was. "What?"

"Hos-pi-tal. Not Hos-ti-ble."

Virgil looked confused and tried to sound it out like his father had. "Hos-pit-tble."

After 48 hours with no sleep, a lot of worry and trying to take care of three lively children under the age of seven, Jeff sighed and nodded, going back to trying to shave. "Near enough, Virgie."

"Hos-pit-tble."

"Ummhmmm..."

"Hos-pit-tble."

"Hos-pit-tble."

"Hos-pit-tble."

"Go tell your Grandma."

XXXXXX

"Sheeeit!"

Jeff froze in the middle of the grocery store; he knew that voice. He knew that voice very well. A small head of bright red hair appeared around the corner, and the impish grin on his sons face made him cringe.

"Gordon?"

"Sheeeit!" At two years old, Gordon had a pair of lungs on him that would put a seasoned Drill Instructor to shame.

"Gordon, what did you just say? Indoor voice, please."

"Sheeit. I foun' sheeit." Gordon's grin went away, and he earnestly held up a packet for his father to see.

"Cheese, Gordo. Not Sheeit; cheese."

"Said sheeit. Sheeit, daddy!" Gordon waved the packet at him and Jeff sighed heavily, taking it from him and putting it into the trolley.

"Ok, now where is Scott? You're supposed to stay with him."

Scott rounded the corner at a run, his cheeks bright red and his eyes darting around the aisle wildly as he looked for the little tearaway that had disappeared in a split second. "He was gone before I knew-"

"Just take him outside onto the grass and let him play with his tractor." Jeff patted Scott on the shoulder. "And next time, we leave him at home with Virgil and John." They both nodded decisively, realising why Lucy usually left Gordon at home when she went to do her shopping.

XXXXX

"Bitch!"

Jeff froze in the middle of taking his mothers fold-away chair out of the back of the large mini-van. "Alan...what did you just say?"

The three year old pointed at the long stretch of white stand and grinned up at his daddy. "Bitch. We goin' to the bitch!"

"Beach, Alan." Jeff set down the chair and knelt in front of his youngest. "Not bitch, Beach."

"Thas wha' I said daddy. Bitch."

"Beach."

"Bitch."

"Beach."

"Bitch."

"Just say sand. We're going to the sand; don't say beach any more, understood?"

Alan frowned, not knowing why his daddy was getting so het up about him saying beach, especially since Scott had nearly laughed himself sick that morning the first time he'd said it. "Ok daddy...why?"

Closing his eyes, Jeff sighed and shook his head, handing over the small bucket and spade. "Just go down onto the bit- onto the sand, and ask your mommy why you have to say sand instead of beach, ok?"

Alan's face brightened and he hoisted his bucket and spade over his head, a big grin on his face as he hared down the sand towards his mother and brothers.

"Nicely dealt with, Jefferson." His mother murmured with more than a hint of sarcasm, picking up the fold away chair.

"I learnt it from dad." He grinned up at her, and ducked quickly to try to avoid the swat of her hand on the back of his head.