Despite the fact that I spend an awful lot of time trying to input the perfect expletive into my blog scenarios, I actually don’t curse all that much in real life. At least not in front of my kids. So when I do, in those rare (ha. ha.) occasions of Mommy-freak-out-modes, it usually blows up in my face.
Today has been an especially bad day for some reason. Probably because I spent the evening not sleeping, but visiting the bathroom every hour because my baby boy (have I mentioned it’s a boy? IT’S A BOY!) thought my bladder looked like an inflatable jumpy. And maybe it does, I don’t know, but still he didn’t need to be so mean to his mommy. Anyways, I’m sleep deprived and a tiny bit nauseous and not entirely in the mood to put up with people…big or small. That’s a quick recipe for a foul-mouth mommy.
When I left this morning to drop my son off at Kindergarten, we were running late. I HATE being late for anything. Super huge pet peeve of mine. But to get him late to school is just kind of embarrassing. Especially if it’s because you couldn’t drag yourself away from a behind the scenes of Saved by the Bell t.v. show. To get him late to school because the ding-bat 18 year-old with the Justin Beiber bumper sticker on the back of her yellow Bug was driving UNDER the speed limit so she could text her facebook update on the way to her job at the mall (I’m guessing it said ‘On my way to work. I wish it was Friday :/’) was just…how do I say it…FUCKING ANNOYING!!! And that’s what I yelled to her and Justin. Well, not the annoying part. It was something more like, “Get off the fucking phone and drive, Idiot!”
Yeah, that’s right. I started my day off with the BIG curse word. The Egg McMuffin of curse words. The cuss that nearly cost poor Ralphie his Red Rider BB Gun.
Before I had a chance to feel bad about it, my 6-year-old yells from the back, “Mom it’s not nice to call people idiots.”
Whew! Got away with it!
“And how many times do I have to tell you not to say fuck?” I winced. It wasn’t so much him saying the word, but the ‘how many times do I have to tell you…’ line that got me. How many times has he had to tell me? Geesh, I don’t want my son to grow up thinking that that language is appropriate all the time or anything. I don’t wanna think about it, though. Just a mental note not to do it again and move on.
“Sorry sweetie. Mommy shouldn’t have said that word, but this girl in front of us shouldn’t be playing on her phone when she’s suppose to be driving. That’s dangerous.” He couldn’t have cared less about my explanation because at that moment that “Country Girl Shake it for Me” song came on the radio and he burst into song. Another mental note: go back to listening to the 80’s rock station in the morning.
Once he was safe and secure at school it was time for the 2-year-old and I to head to the store to pick up a few things. Probably not my best idea since I was already cranky, but when you need toilet paper, you need toilet paper. We were looking at the craft supplies when I made my next assault. My darling little girl grabbed a handful of paint brushes with cat-like reflexes and dropped them all over the floor. “Shit.” I mumbled to myself. Not so much for what she did, but because NOW I had to bend over and pick them up. I don’t do much bending now that I can’t even see my feet when I look down. But as I began my awkward squat, I noticed I was getting a dirty look from another mother. She must have heard my curse. “Oh. Sorry about that.” I said. She said nothing, but continued to stare me down as she haughtily turned her cart (and her babies precious ears) around and stomped off. What a bitch. (There I go again) I mean, we were at Wal-Mart. Not church. If you’ve ever seen the People of Walmart site, you can’t be all that surprised by what you see and hear in this place. Geesh!
The day got a little better, or at least my mouth did, as it went on. I spent it doing my regular cleaning and craft time and nap time and dinner time with the kids. When my hubby got home we actually got to have a conversation while the kids played in my sons room. Lately we’ve been so busy getting ready for the arrival of our baby that if our conversations aren’t about that, then it’s “Ready for bed? I’m ready for bed. Let’s go to bed.” But just when things started looking good, both kids erupted from the bedroom screaming incoherently and violently. Tears soaked my little girls face and she was pointing at a stuffed animal being held high above her head by my son, whose face was red with anger.
“Whoa, whoa!” I yelled over their shrieking, “What’s going on?”
Laurie continued to cry and moan (she doesn’t know what ‘whoa, whoa’ means yet, I guess) while Tommy explained that he wanted to play with the stuffed dog, but Laurie wasn’t sharing. Well the stuffed dog is Laurie’s IT toy. She’s in love with the thing and I explained that to him. “You don’t let Laurie play with your Dinosaur because you love him so much. That’s how she feels about that dog. So give her back the dog and find something else to play with.”
Instead of listening, he argued with me. I swear if the kid doesn’t grow up to be a defense lawyer, he’s really wasting his talents. I told him again to give the dog to her. And again. And finally screamed, “GIVE HER THE TOY, DAMN IT!”
Through all that, the only time she stopped her wailing was to point her tiny little finger at Tommy’s face and say, “Gimme my toy, damn it!” Plain as day…clear as can be. Baby’s first curse word. I was so proud. My husband nearly fell to the floor trying to stifle his laugh, and Tommy, handing the toy back in disbelief, said, “Did she just say the ‘M’ word?” Spelling’s not really his thing, yet. Thank God it was only a half hour away from bed time.
That night, as my husband and I lay in bed and recounted our day, I expressed to him how bad I felt about the cursing. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s cute to hear little kids cuss, but then you get some of those kids who say them far too often and you just can’t help but blame the parents. I don’t want my kids using those words liberally and I don’t want to get glares at the PTA meetings because my son taught all the other kids a few four-letter words. My husband, so sweetly, rubbed my belly and said, “Maybe you’ll have it down by the time this one comes along.” And I believe him. But I swear at that moment, from deep deep inside me, I heard the tiniest little baby voice exclaim, “Mother Fu….”
Thanks for reading!