I have a mouth like a sailor.  This is not conducive to raising a socially acceptable child.  So, I have changed my go-to phrase from “mother f***er” to “come on” (which actually gets drawn out so it sounds more like “coooommmmmme ooooonnnnnnn”).  Last night, as M was trying to slide my phone open to no avail, he said, “Coooooooommmmme onnnnnnn!”  At that moment, I felt AMAZING relief at my decision to give up my potty mouth for something a little more tame.

I have a very distinct memory of being 4 years old and going to see Santa at the local mall.  I was in line with a million other children dressed to the nines in their winter best while I was wearing a white button down, jeans and rainbow belt.  Foreshadowing? Perhaps.  Once I got the chance to sit on that strange man’s lap, I took as much time as I wanted to tell him all about my brother and my toys and my just about anything else I could think about.  When I was finally done and beginning to walk away, I realized I had forgotten something, “Oh shit, Mama!  I forgot to show Santa my new belt.”  Audible to all the parents in line and their little girls in their frilly dresses, my mother must have been just a little mortified.

That memory, along with my mini-me repeating everything I say, has solidified my decision as the right one (though I miss saying a good ‘mother f***er’ when the appropriate occasions arise).



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