I wouldn’t say that I was a potty mouth, but dropping an F-bomb in conversation — when needed, of course — rates right up there with oxygen. Since becoming a mother, I have significantly curbed my usage; I’m downright Puritan, even when the children are out of earshot.
But, I wouldn’t be writing about this if there hadn’t been one time when I slipped. We were out running errands, it’s hot, they’re tired, I’m tired. I’ve gotten them in the car, I’m wrangling the stroller in the back and all the while, Co is bleating for juice.
“Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause.”
I get it, kiddo. You’re thirsty. Let Mommy get into the car, please. And I do. In my seat, doing a pre-flight check for keys, cell phone and seat belt when the bleating continues.
“Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause. Juice, Mommy? pause.”
And before I even know what I’m doing, I whip around in my seat and say, “Co, give me one friggin‘ minute. PLEASE.“
—>> Sidenote: I did self edit and actually used friggin‘ instead of the other, but either way, it was a bad move on my part.
Co simply says, “Okay, Mommy,” but Mo’s eyes are as big as dinner plates and I realize, “Oh, I really stepped into it now.” Immediately, I’m in damage control mode, explaining to her that Mommy made a mistake, Mommy said something she shouldn’t have said, Mommy is sorry, and Mommy never wants to hear either of them repeat that, ever, ever. EVER.
Let’s face it; kids are like sponges and they choose to wring out what they’ve absorbed at the most inopportune times.
We were on our way to the YMCA one morning and I had on the local radio station as we cruised along. The morning show was talking about some celebrity having done some scandalous something or other that involved licking and naked bodies. No sooner did the dj get the words “licking”, “naked” and “body” over the air waves does Mo’s little face float from the back seat, “Why were they licking the naked bodies?”
To which I promptly reply, “I don’t know what that means. Hey, isn’t that a mermaid over there? “
There is only so much Baby Einstein MusicBox you can take, but the radio can really get you into a jam. I mean, there are certain songs that you know you need to spin the dial when they come on — hello, “Birthday Sex” — and yes, I must be getting old when all I can do is think, “C’mon, dude. Can we get a little mystery here?” Mo had been humming the hooks from “I Kissed a Girl” and “Wake Up Call” before she wrapped her little mind around the words and belted out the lyrics on the way to church one Sunday. Yipes!
I thinking of changing all of the pre-sets to the classical music station. Mo caught wind that our neighbor knows all of the words to Fergalicious and I think she’s about to have a rap battle with him on the front stoop.
Word to ya motha!
