I curse like a trucker, a GD mother trucker. Growing up, my dad dropped the “B” words every once in awhile, but that was the extent of the bad words I heard at home, so I don’t blame my parents for my potty mouth. Instead, I blame it on the fact that I watched Eddie Murphy’s "Delirious" on VHS tape at least 1.4 millions times as a 9-year-old (Not sure how I got access to that movie, but that’s another post entirely).
Now, as a parent, curbing my cursing has been a challenge, one that I fail at a good 33.3 percent of the time. When I’m calm and chill I can manage to switch the “shits” to “shoots” and the “Oh for fuck’s sakes” to “Oh for the love of all that is good and holy.”
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However, a variety of situations can make me curse like I’m on an NWA album. I mean those words literally fly the fuck out sometimes, and I have no control over it. I try to backtrack and say, “I mean ‘fudge,’” but really, once the words escape, there’s no taking them back.
My girls are now at the age where they are starting to chastise me for using curse words, “Mo-om, you said a bad word!” so I know they are absorbing those words like sponges. And although they know they’re not allowed to say those words, I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time before they start letting a few choice words fly on the playground or on a play date.
A few weeks ago I had a vivid dream that my 6-year-old was on the playground, having an altercation of sorts over the tetherball pole. She looked her opponent dead in the eye and called him a fucker.
What’s good enough for P!nk and her daughter is good enough for me and mine.
I woke up in a sweat (though that might have been caused by, you know, the impending change). Anyhoo, the realization that it was only a dream didn’t make me feel better because I know it’s only a matter of time before the F bombs start dropping. My guilty mom complex started to rear its ugly head.
The very next night, however, I was catching up on my DVR’d Ellen Shows and almost peed myself when P!nk was announced as a guest (or again, that might’ve been because of my advanced age). During the interview, Ellen began asking about P!nk’s 3-year-old, who, guess what?! Curses!
I sat back on the couch, took a sip of my white wine spritzer, put my feet up on the table and felt a calm come over me as I watched this adorable video of P!nk’s wee one let the F-bomb rip as if it were as normal as a sneeze.
I thought to myself: What’s good enough for P!nk and her daughter is good enough for me and mine. Fuck it.
Right then and there I decided to be less critical of myself in the instance that I let some sailor language slip and to not worry about it if and when my girls decide to embrace the expletives (within reason of course).
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Besides, my kids are happy and healthy, well cared for and well fed. So what the fuck do I care if they say a curse word here or there? Cursing is something kids are gonna do, plus, it kinda feels good.
What about you? Do you swear in front of your kids? Have you heard them swear and if so, how did you handle it?
