About, what the heck!

After work, I picked the girls up at the babysitter and if there is anything that can make me feel good after a long day, it's a couple little girls whose eyes light up when they see me and who come running towards me with open arms wanting hugs. Suddenly I don't care about that hour-long meeting that didn't accomplish much.
We load into the car and I'm wondering why Caroline has an empty backpack ("It's my new, Hannah Montana backpack!" she says in explanation) and why Taylor has two pair of shoes ("She wanted to bring them both," as explained by Caroline.)
So the conversation begins. ("Where Papa at?" asks Taylor.) (At the ballgame, where we're going.)
"We're going to see your Julian," I tell Taylor.
"My JULIAN!? Where he at?" she replies.
"At the ballgame," I tell her. "We're going to watch him [the player] and Papa [a coach]. Mommy and Daddy will be there too. Then we're going to eat."
"My MOMMY!" says Taylor (who really does talk in capitol letters).
"We're going to the pan-a-cake restaurant!" says Caroline. "I love pan-a-cakes! Do you like pan-a-cakes, Mommy D?"
[Is pronunciation hard-wired? Because Caroline's mom, my once-upon-a-time little girl, pronounced pancakes the same way when she was four.]
"Yes, I like them, but I probably won't get them." [This turned out not to be the case, as I did indeed get a couple of pancakes with my veggie omelet later at IHOP, by which time our team had won the game and we were starving.]
"What the heck!" suddenly exclaims Taylor. "What the heck!"
This was a new one from her, and just the way she said it made me laugh.
"Don't laugh, Mommy D," said Caroline. "That's a bad word. Don't say that, Taylor."
"What the heck!"
"Don't say that, Taylor. That's a bad word."
"No it's not, Caroline. It's not really a bad word."
"My mommy says it's a bad word."
"What the heck!"
"There's another word that sounds like it, that is a bad word. Not that word."
"What the heck!"
"I know what it is," says Caroline solemnly. [I have slight pause as to what she thinks is the bad word, and if indeed she will say it; while everyone tries to what one's language around the little girls, we are not always successful.]
"What the heck!"
"Tay-lor! Don't say the bad word."
By this time we are stopped at a light, at Dupont and Lima roads at rush hour; we all aged a little, there in the car. We were there so long the "What the heck!" faded and I reached backed and tickled their feet.
"This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went 'wee-wee-wee-wee-wee' all the way home!"
I did Taylor's feet first and then Caroline's and they both squealed with delight.
At the next stoplight Caroline said she wanted to say it, and she proceeded with her four-year-old version:
"This little piggy went to Wal-mart, this little piggy didn't, this little piggy ate beef, and went wee-wee-wee!"
I almost fell out of the car trying not to laugh about the piggy going to Wal-mart. I'll have to tell Angela we're spending way too much time there.
By the time we got to the ball game, I forgot I even had a job, or had ever been to a meeting: Caroline got herself out of her carseat and had to be guided out of the parking lot, Taylor threw a fit about which shoes to wear, and they both demanded snacks from the snack cooler.
What the heck! Maybe the piggy did got to Wal-mart.