Is it June already?
My last post was in early April. I will spare you the phony self deprecating b.s. and say this: I worked my butt off on those darned revisions.
Which brings me to my point.
And how I have got to cut that mess out. I mean, over the weekend, a certain seven year old I know said to her sister, "That sucks ass." And while I do not condone blaming one's mother ad nauseum, I take full responsibility for my offspring's potty mouth. I get it. We reap what we sow. The apple and the whole tree thing. Monkey see, monkey blah blah blah.
Here is the problem. Swearing is so goshdarned necesary for a woman like me. First of all, it's ahem, making love funny. I think in part because the unexpected often is, and when a petite-mother of four-lady such as myself (stop laughing female dogs) sprinkles her discourse with a four letter word every now and then -- the result can be comical. And, well, let's just say, I'm a comedy lady of the evening. I will alter the truth (see best of craigslist) if it ups the funny factor. And, swearing often does just that.
But there's more.
Anger. Let's not forget that pesty emotion. Because, this little lady (insert evil laugh here) has a temper, and when a certain someone spills vitamin water (vitamin water, what the making love?)all over the couch where he/she is not allowed to consume anything other than saliva (his/her own) I have been known to let the expletives fly.
Plus, my husband and I, though we are a soft spoken people, we occasionaly irritate each other, and when that happens, I tend to clarify my perspective using emphatic language. Unfortunately, the emphatic language at my fingertips is often foul.
Moving on, let's not forget about the unexpected stubbed toe? Or fingers slammed in the bathroom door. When that happens over in my neck of the UES, those little making lovers come spewing out like a bowel movement storm.
Here's a thought. Perhaps it's genetic. Lots of bowel movement is. As I said earlier, I don't like to blame mothers; but perhaps a penchant for the profane is hereditary. I mean, have you met my mother? Though, truth be told, I've even got her beat. And my kids ... they're not far behind.
So the day is here. I must curtail my verbiage. And being one who likes to live in the solution, I have a plan.
On our month long trip down the west coast, I am going to give out nightly badges for the family member who swears the least that day. And since we Soodaks are slightly competitive, I am thinking this just might work. Though I do anticipate a problem; and it is this. Said legacies will want a prize (I mean other than the goshdarned badge) and I really don't want to go there. So I better brace myself for that discussion. Come up with a reasonable retort. Perhaps something like, I am concerned about our family's reliance on material possessions to make us feel whole. Often in life it is reward enough to know one has done a job to the best of her/his ability. Let's marvel in the progress we are making during this special family time that we are fortunate enough to be having. Because, when you think about it, family is so important. And how we speak not only reflects who we are as individuals but who we are as a collective whole. And I would rather communicate to the world a sense of gratitude and love. And that-- my beautiful children-- is better than any silly prize, don't you think? Don't you?
Or I can just tell them their attitude sucks ass.