I have a dirty little secret.
I like potty words.
Okay, well, “like” is a very strong word.
But it happens. Yes, I said “it,” not that, you know, other thing.
I have always struggled with swearing. And I hate to out her, but she’s probably never going to read this post anyway because a firm understanding of technology is on my side, buuut my mom definitely used the mandatory/casual swear word in her day.
Within earshot of her children, no less.
I remember one time in particular where she hit her thumb with a hammer. I heard that ish from allll the way across the house. It was a two-parter, too. Way to go, mom.
Seeing as how this is something I grew up with, there are times where a swear word is the first thing to come to mind and the first thing to pop out. And since kids are in the mix, it’s oddly sometimes the only thing that seems appropriate.
I will say, my children have never heard me swear. Or at least they have never replicated my extremely poor choice of words. That is called God’s grace, people.
Here are a few times when it’s okay to swear, moms:
When you drop your lunch on the floor
I mean, honestly???
It’s Monday and all you’re trying to do is eat the cold leftover pizza that somebody had for lunch the other day, and sit down in a chair for 13 minutes.
You don’t even bother to reheat it because, let’s face it, pizza is only acceptable once reheated. It’s never as good as the first time.
And there is just something about cold pizza. I can still usually feel the cold grease saturate my blood vessels, only just a tiny bit slower than hot pizza.
Oh, and your standards for what constitutes a lunch break are very much nonexistence. It’s badically, “please, somebody, just put some carbs into my mouth and leave me in peace.”
So, naturally, when you have your cold, day old pizza on your plate, and you turn to answer the “MOM!!!!” being bellowed at you by your child who needs their bottom wiped, and you let the edge of that plate tip forward ever so slightly, and onto the rug your lunch goes….
There is nothing left to do but let it out.
Especially since that rug is most likely covered in dog hair.
Because of course it is.
Acceptable words: s***, d***it
When (this happens) and your kids get woken up.
Garbage truck outside?
You accidentally slipping on someone’s pajama pants that were left in the kitchen and tumbling to the floor?
Your husband stubbing his toe on the basket of laundry that has been there for four days?
Yes, any of those instances will do.
It’s usually when you’re trying to be the quietest that things go to heck very quickly, and suddenly, you hear tiny feet or the rustling of a tiny body in their bed.
You could just act like you don’t hear them when they call for you, or do what I do and close your eyes and pretend that you’re still asleep because, “yaaaawwwwn, it’s very early still,” and try to coax them back to bed.
Even though the sun is completely up.
They know. They don’t know where their shoes are or how to talk without yelling sometimes, but they know it’s time to get up. They just know.
Acceptable words (but shhh! only quietly): d****t, son of a b****
Stepping on Lego’s
I mean, this is pretty much self explanatory. It’s mandatory that you swear, your mangled foot won’t feel better til you do.
Acceptable words: s***, son of a b****, what the h***
Locked the keys in your car? Awful. Locking the keys in your car when you have a cart full of groceries and two children with you and somebody immediately pipes up that they need to use the bathroom?
Maybe potty word worthy.
Burnt dinner? Terrible. Burnt dinner and, that was definitely your last bit of rice and you don’t have any other meat thawed and you all need to be out the door to t-ball practice in 35 minutes?
You know what you need to do.
I try to hold it all together. There are so many things that go awry that I am able to bite my tongue with, or that a potty word doesn’t even come to mind.
But at the very end of a very long day, sometimes, the pressure is trapped inside of me, and there is nowhere for it to go.
Acceptable words: son of a b****, d*****
You’re finally enjoying (that thing) and then the kids find you
No, not THAT thing. But that could also qualify in this scenario.
You know that chocolate you have hidden in the back of the cabinet or behind all of the laundry soap?
The dark, chocolate with sea salt and caramel that you just don’t want to share? I’m looking at you. I know you know what I’m talking about.
And you think that the kids are in bed or upstairs playing, so you fetch them from whatever special spot you have given them? You sloooowly start to unwrap one, convinced that this is it, the day is looking up! It’s the tops!
When, suddenly, you turn around slowly. And from who knows where, silently and terrifyingly, there is a child behind you.
“What are you eating??”
“Can I have one??”
You’ll want to play every trump card.
“No, you can’t. Because I grew you for nine months and you gave my indigestion and cankles, and then you were cut out of me, and I had to wear mesh underwear and have a catheter and hobble around fora bajillion weeks afterward.
But you relent, and you share. Because you’re a great mom.
Acceptable words (just not out loud): d****t, h*** no!, what the h*** has my life come to??!
So, in all honesty, though my swear words are very much apart of myself, it isn’t my favorite part of myself. But it’s there.
It was a beast that I had tackled long ago, but since children have come into the mix, I find them sneaking their way out on occasion (go figure, right?)
Cautionary word of advice: I never swear AT my children or anyone else for that matter. I don’t believe calling your children names is permissible, no matter if you’re trying to be funny.
With great power comes great responsibility. Use your words cautiously, dammit.