Don't Tell the Kids Mom's Got a Potty Mouth

If you take enough time to read what moms say on social media, you're likely to see a lot of them joking about how they're the kind of parent who swears a lot. It's regarded as humorous because generally speaking, parents are expected to maintain a certain image to their children, so of course a mother who drops the "F bomb" is going to be funny, edgy, and cool. I respect that kind of parent, and I find them great to have around as friends. In our home, with our four children, we tend to censor our language a bit; either way to live is okay, but I save my most colorful language for when the kids are in bed. That's just how we operate, and it works for us!

However, we all know that nobody is perfect, and words do slip up sometimes. I'm pretty good about not slipping up unless I'm on some angry tangent about one subject or another. In fact, one of my personal favorite things about myself is my ability to be creative enough to avoid a swear word. Unfortunately, my brain and my mouth enjoy a random disconnect every so often, and I lose entire control over what's happening to the words I speak. This is probably why I feel I'm better at written expressions over spoken ones...there's no backspace for verbal comments.

Around here, Mom's known for doing pretty well at keeping her verbal skills in check, but I have (not one, but) TWO identical situations that happened to me because of this brain-to-mouth wiring issue.

In the first instance, I was pulling a dozen pumpkin sugar cookies from the oven while my oldest daughter stood nearby watching. All of our children and my partner were in the kitchen, waiting for me to finish up.

My daughter asked about a generalized time frame for events of the day. As a family, we plan goodies and holiday viewings, so the plan was to choose a Halloween movie to enjoy while we had the sugar cookies. I had a dozen cookies left to bake, so I began trying to give my kiddo an idea of how long to wait. I pointed to the unbaked cookies.

"Well, first I'm gonna bake this bitch."

I literally felt the blood leave my face and lips as my pointed finger dropped in a defeated manner to my side. The entire kitchen fell dead silent as all sets of eyes pierced me fiercely, the force of childlike judgment weighing me down so heavily I thought I might sink through the floor. The silence rang louder than bells in my eardrums for a solid eight seconds. That's when the laughter suddenly burst out from my oldest daughter, and I heard my partner get out a quick, "WOW, Mom, calm down!"

Well, at the very least, they found it funny after they got over their shock. The kitchen exploded in joy, and for several weeks, I heard little jokes come out about, "They're being a real BATCH of cookies right now."

I still can't decide if I'm proud or horrified by that.

But wait, there's more!

A few months down the road, when that instance seemed mostly forgotten, we were having dinner together and playing a game called, "I'll Take a..."

For those who don't know, the game requires each member playing to alphabetically add something to "take." So if the first player says apple, the second says banana, and the third says charm bracelet, the fourth player needs to recite all of those plus something new to "take" that begins with the letter "D."

The game had barely begun, and I was just sitting down after finishing serving all of the food to the table and trying to catch what everyone had said before my turn. I got in my seat and as I was just situated, my turn arrived, and I was finishing a quick bite of my meal. I thought for a moment so I could recite the list of items I'd heard so far, starting with apple.

"Okay, I have the letter D. Ah...okay, got it. I'll take an ASS."

Silence. Eternal, deafening, torturous silence. The same sets of eyes laid their judgmental blades upon me in those exhausting moments. I felt the blood leave my face before it rushed back to my cheeks only, wondering what in the actual "F BOMB" was going on with me! Seriously, how does this happen two times?!

The laughter began, and my partner was incredulous. "Listen. Some of us actually like apples. That was uncalled for."

Everyone laughed even harder. Then I laughed until I cried.

From that moment on, I spent several months hearing all about batches of apples.

I was mortified. Honestly, it was absolutely shocking that I could even allow myself to slip up without being anywhere near trying to say any swear words. For a while, I cringed internally whenever the jokes were made, but it's become two fond memories of mine that make us all laugh when brought up again. My slip-ups may not be very becoming of my motherly image, but they sure make for a hearty chuckle and unique family "slang."