Long before I was a Momma, even before I was a wife, even before I graduated from high school, I could out-cuss George Carlin. True.
I had one of the worst potty mouths I have ever known! I'm not entirely sure why I felt it was so cool to cuss. Maybe it was the one thing I did that was rebellious - despite what my own momma would say. I do remember being in high school, dropping a few curse bombs here and there and my bestie giggled thinking I was pretty dang funny, so maybe that was it. Whatever it was, I had a mouth ... a dirty, filthy mouth. At the time, I was proud of it!
When I graduated college and became a teacher, I had to learn to reign in my mouth. Apparently, while middle school students use such language all the time, when their teacher says something as innocent as "What the hell?" the entire class comes to a screeching halt. Not that I ever said that. It's what I was told in my Teaching 101 class.
By the time I became a Momma, I had a fairly reformed mouth, with which I did kiss my own momma with, thank you very much. I still let a few curses slip my tongue every now and again, but Daughter 1 was a baby! What could she really be hearing?
Well... let's see what she could be hearing: One day as I fixed dinner and she sat in her high chair with a little blue fishy plate on her tray and little green beans on her plate, she pushed and pushed and pushed the plate in pursuit of those slippery beans until she knocked the plate right off the tray and onto the floor. Without a pause whatsoever, she recited her first word: Damn. Without any hesitation or stuttering, my baby had said her first word. Of course, if you read her scrapbook, it clearly states that her first word was Duck and if anyone tells her otherwise ... well, damn you!
After that, I pretty much cleaned up my language and the worst you'll hear from me is dang. If it's a really passionate response I'm hoping to give, I might say dang it all. The Dad, on the other hand, is not a cusser whatsoever - the goody, goody. He has been known to drop the fudge bomb every now and again. Seriously, he says "fudge". And it kind of cracks me up as I envision him as a little old man sitting on a porch who has just dropped his newspaper and he mutters, "Oh, fudge."
Recently, The Daughters had their friends, M and M, over for a sleepover. Their momma, FloJo, thinks I am a total nut for taking on all four girls at once. But the truth is, I am a total nut regardless of how many kids are in my house!
When dinner time rolled around The Dad and I made a lovely Italian meal - spaghetti and Ragu with cheesy bread - and served all the girls a candle light dinner. When the waters had been refilled (and then wiped up and filled again), The Dad and I retreated to the next room with our own plates and settled in to enjoy a little grown-up conversation.
Just as we were sharing a bite of spaghetti, a la Lady and The Tramp, I heard one of the big sisters say, "So that's F-word? Huh. I never knew that."
I slurped the lion's share of the spaghetti, because I do love me some good Ragu, and then whispered to The Dad, "Did you hear that? Did they say 'F-word"? What could they mean? Friggin'? Freakin'? Fart? Floatsom? Fudge? {snicker, snicker} Surely they don't know THE F-word, right? RIGHT?"
The Dad just kept eating. Probably trying to figure out exactly what the F-word is, the innocent little man!
Now, I'm not so sheltered that I believe The Daughters have never heard such language. Hell - I mean Heck, we'll hear most of those words standing in line at The Walmarts just trying to buy a loaf of bread! I was a bit shocked and a lot saddened that they felt it necessary to actually discuss it with their friends, though!
Then one of the younger sisters said, "I know all the bad words."
ALL? Does she really know ALL? I put my fork down and leaned toward the room. The Dad stole my cheesy bread.
"I know the A-word. I know the C-word. And I know the D-word."
The big sisters challenged her. "You do NOT know the C-word! There's no C-word!"
"Ya-huh! There is a C-word and I know it!"
"Then say it." The big sisters had double dog dared her. And I sucked in my breath. My palms were sweating as I relived every HBO comedy hour I'd ever sneaked in at my friends' houses whose parents were not too cheap to get cable! The flood of C-words running through my mind made me nauseous.
"CRAP! The little sister shouted out to which all the other sisters sitting at the table responded with a resounding, "SHHHHHHHHHHH!"
I kicked at The Dad and he put back the rest of my cheesy bread.
Then Daughter 2, who I am pretty sure didn't know the C-word or the A-word or the D-word, much less the F-word, said, "I know the S word!"
My brief glimpse of utopia where Daughter 2 remains pure and innocent was shattered. And it was shattered for The Dad, too, because he stopped chewing my cheesy bread and tilted his head toward the round table of naughty words.
Daughter 1, being the epitome of a big sister, quickly called her bluff.
And Daughter 2, being the consummate little sister, argued back. "I do so know the S-word! It's STUPID!"
This brought a round of laughter from the big sisters and a big sigh of relief from The Dad and me as we found ourselves back the land of innocence.
When the laughter died down, Daughter 1 said, "Stupid is NOT the S-word!"
"It is so!"
"It's not. To think that 'stupid' is the S-word is just stupid!" And the laughter erupted again.
"OK, then," Daughter 2 called Daughter 1 out, "Go say it to Momma and see if you don't get into trouble!"
There was no laughter following that. And really, who could argue with that logic?
Hell, I always knew I liked Daughter 2 best!
