No matter how hard I try not to curse in front of the kids, inevitably a naughty word pops out at least once or twice a week. Granted I'm not calling anyone in the carpool lane a motherfucker. Yet.
I find that it's usually when I smack my head on the car door for the 400th time or forget to put the stopper thingy in Margot's sippy cup and she dumps all her water out on the table.
"Damnit!" I'll say, obviously annoyed with myself more than anyone around me.
It's nothing major, really, compared to what I heard fly out of my dad's mouth growing up. But it's also nothing to be really proud of either, I suppose.
And while I'm generally pretty careful, since the kids have never called each other or worse, a friend or grandparent-like figure a "sunuvabitch," I figured that maybe I was flying under the radar- that apparently they were keying into all the very important things I was teaching them, like how to make underarm farting noises, and all the "shits" and "Jesus's" were going completely unnoticed.
Until a few days ago at dinner, Drew said "You're an asshole!"
I couldn't help but laugh. My husband hid it better than I could.
"What's an asshole?" Quinlan asked inquisitively.
They repeated it back and forth a few times, in a sort of weird, inappropriate version of "Who's on First?"
We finally explained to them that "asshole" along with a few other choice words that we shall apparently not be saying anymore are "mommy and daddy" words and aren't things that children should say.
That seemed to be enough to send Drew back to shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth with his hands, and for us to consider the words we use a bit more carefully.
Well that and investing in some ear plugs for the car.