Before you go calling Child Protective Services, you should know that I don’t condone swearing.
Ok, that’s not true.
I don’t condone swearing around children.
That’s what my blog is for. And no, I haven’t figured out what I’ll do once Colt is old enough to read this online (which will be like next week.)
As a child, I don’t remember my parents cursing. Ever.
In addition to “bad” words, my sister and I weren’t allowed to say “negative” words like “stupid”, “shut up” or “give it to me”. If we asked for something, we said “may I” – never “can I” – and on and on….
I wish more parents required this of their children.
I vaguely remember my father saying “dammit” one time in the kitchen. I think he had spilled something, and I remember the word falling clumsily out of his mouth. Like it was the first time he’d ever said it.
I wish I could be so restrained.
Todd and I were driving with Colt to my parent’s house one afternoon, and a big black Hummer cut us off.
“Fu&K!” Todd yelled as we swerved off the road.
“Fu&K?” replied Colt.
And here’s where you don’t panic…
“Yes! Fox!” I recovered.
“Did you see that baby fox in the road, Colt? We had to swerve around it, so he could cross the road safely!”
Still raging, Todd chimed in.
“That was no baby fox.”
“That was a MOTHER fox!”
Here is a helpful guide in case you’re in a similar pickle:
Oh Sh#t! = Ahoy ship!
Crap! = Crab! Over there! A crab!
Ass! = …of water. Would you like a glass of water?
Bit&h! = Yep! Pack up your swimsuit. We’re heading to the beach!
Damn!= Yes, I think I saw a beaver. Over there, making a home!