Out of the Mouth of Babes

Would you believe me if I told you I never cursed until I had children? It's true. Anytime I used profanity before the birth of my first child, it sounded contrived-kind of like that cigarette in the mouth of a 7th grader. Not natural. 

Then something happened around the time my first child was almost 2 and his baby brother was born. Balance-I lost it. It fell from my hands like a fragile piece of crystal. It shattered. And with it the ability to control my tongue. I lost my equilibrium and with it the capacity to speak eloquently. At first I thought it was fatigue. Then I began to think maybe I have been this cursing sailor all along only masked with pearls and a monogrammed shift dress that literally restrained the truck driver in me. Ultimately, I discovered as in the revealing words of Andrée Seu, "part of what I thought was my personality is really just my sin."

My 12 year old relishes to remind me, "We learn all our curse words from you." And he is right. My dear boys are homeschooled-taught by this filthy speaking pirate who is their mother.  I cannot blame the carpool, the lunch lady or the shifty-eyed janitor. I am all those people at the school where my boys attend. But the next time the 8 year old says, "What the hell?" I will pull out the vinegar spray. I will swallow that bitter juice and try hard not to say it again. 

The Ruffians and their fearless leader