The Bombing on Fannin

While flossing my teeth, I hear the crescendo of my sons' (aged 6 & 3) bickering. I have lately stopped refereeing their fights to find they often work things out on their own. Today's fight however would be different. The climax came when the 3 year old yelled to the 6 year old, "GIVE ME BACK MY F#$%ING CAR!". Something snapped in my neck as my head jerked towards them and in their eyes I saw unparalleled fear. They obviously hadn't realized I was so near. I had to have been a sight with the floss now dangling from between my teeth over my bottom lip, and of course the bolts of lightening shooting from my eye sockets didn't help much.
Knowing he had been caught, but not quite ready to resign himself to being in trouble, the 3 year old inched toward the 6 year old while chanting, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I shook my head slowly and said, "that's not nearly going to cut it young man. Come here immediately". Well, now he's already crying hysterically and screaming gibberish (something about please God why me or something like that). Since children walk SO slowly when they're upset, I "helped" him get to the bathroom a bit faster. "Stick out your tongue" and said through clenched teeth. "Abba doo bee lot mak yeahe nononono" he said. "Stick out your tongue" I said in an ever lower octave. On a side note, my 3 year old has taken to screaming "I WANT MY MOMMY" every time I get on to him....odd, but true. "Stick out your tongue" I said a third time. "I want my mommy abba glib (choke, cough, gag, sputter) mama mama mama mama". Finally, he sticks out his tongue. I rub it very liberally with the Dial Anti-bacterial bar soap that has graced the side of my sink patiently awaiting such an occasion. His horrified eyes looked up at me as he plotted my death. I let the soap soak in for about 3 minutes before I walked to the kitchen. He followed me screaming "blah bloom (gag cough sputter) mama mama mama mama blek" (this kid talks and he talks well but when he gets in trouble he turns in to Ricky Ricardo or something). I gave him a drink of tea and he calmed down. I explained to him that he knew f#$% was a bad word (he had said it twice before-I talked to him the first time and spanked him the second time. This would be the third and hopefully last time) and he knew he wasn't supposed to say it. I told him that that word was dirty and we use soap to clean all things that are dirty-including mouths. He slowly nodded (probably still planning on poisoning me later) and went off to play with his brother.
Now I sounded really bad and tough while telling that story, but the truth of the matter is, I had a hard time keeping a straight face. First of all, he sounded just like his father when he said it. Secondly, he used it correctly (in the grammatical sense, as an adjective), and thirdly the way both boys reacted when they realized I was standing there was priceless. Frankly, I found it hilarious but my parental duties prohibit me from allowing such an event to occur without consequences (it's in the handbook under "Events That Might Occur and Their Respective Consequences" Lame title I know, but I didn't write the book).
So after it all calms down, I call my husband. He's livid. He thinks I'm cruel. How could I do that to a 3 year old who doesn't possibly understand what I'm saying (actually it's the other way around-I mean who says abba doo me lak blak blooty farm?) and he thinks I've acted prematurely. I guess he thinks I should just "talk" to him the next time he F bombs someone? How did that work out at Hiroshima?
And for the record, my very soft-spoken patience of Job sister in law used to give her kids apple cider vinegar when they said hateful things. I could always 'pickle' my kids I suppose.