Why the Frick Can’t I Cuss in Front of Kids?
It’s been said that people who swear a lot tend to be more honest, loyal and upfront with their friends. So I’m about to be a mother-effer’ up in here, m’kay?
When we lived in our pre-children state of marriage, I swore. A lot. I come from a newspaper background, and if you didn’t drink, smoke, swear, tell dirty jokes, you seriously did not fit in the newsroom.
When we had our first girl, I thought, what the heck? I’ll give up all of it. At once. Oh. Mah. Gawd. I might as well have given up food. But I was pregnant, so that wasn’t going to happen.
The second one came only 15 months after the first, so I didn’t have time to do any of the fun stuff. Oh, I’m kidding. I swore like a sailor. Because all the hormones that rushed out of me and then back into me quickly left me thinking, “What in the hell is going to happen next?”
And so….I try not to curse when the tiny little 2 and 3 year old ears are around. I occasionally say “crap,” and have heard the 2 year old say, “Oh, crap.” Never directed at anyone, mind you, but just a general state of her concern, usually over the placement of toys.
But these days, I get rattled. A lot. My anti-depressants aren’t always enough, and lately, I’ve resorted to saying “fuck.” A lot. You know, in its proper verb, adjective, noun, and/or adverb usage. It’s liberating, I ain’t gonna lie to you. But it turns out, the soccer moms, gymnastics moms, and
preschool/daycare moms don’t think it’s so funny. Whatev.
Here’s where I’m going: a trip to Walmart finally broke me. Not the first time that’s happened.
It was a Saturday, so Hubs was working a flea market, working his new business. My dad was in for the weekend, so when I said we needed to go to Walmart for a few things, he said he’ll help with the girls.
We walk in the store, he says, “I’ve got to get one thing. I’ll catch up in just a minute.” I didn’t see him again until the frozen food aisle, about 40 minutes later. Dude, he’s a slow ass on a good day, but what the fuck? The store is not that big. Seriously.
So this leaves me to tend to two rambunctious toddlers who: 1) love to touch every single thing on an aisle display, especially the endcaps; and 2) love to run away from me, giggling gleefully, for fun.
Incident #1: I’m picking up a 50 pound bag of dog food, with the girls in the buggy. It’s hard, I’m in some awkward positions. People walk around me, and one guy stops behind me, sighs, waits for me to move, then walks around me. What.the.hell? Turn around and go back? Help out a woman? Bastard.
Incident #2-72: The girls are allowed to walk as long as they stay nearby. They proceed to walk directly in front of the cart; in front of other carts; run into the outer aisle; run into each other; run away from me; and just in general, have a damn fine time at Park Walmart.
Incident #73: Who knows what it was, but I grabbed both of them close to me and said, “Listen to me. I am seriously tired of this shit. We are going to finish shopping and you aren’t going to say another word.”
Not my finest moment. But you know what? It worked. So, to sum up: a well placed swear word works better than any bribe I’ve ever used. I ‘effin swear.
After a career as a newspaper reporter, Melissa Swedoski thought she was well informed on the chaos of everyday life. Then she married a man 13 years her junior and later became a SAHM to two toddler girls. Now, she’s mumbling through the mayhem of marriage and motherhood in a small Texas town, turning her investigative eye on the mishaps and misadventures of parenting and the marathon that is marriage. Her work is included in the anthology, The Motherhood of All Meltdowns. You can find her living her big little life at Home on Deranged or on Facebook or Twitter.
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