Mommy Says

"You have a mouth like an eighty year-old grandmother." My husband utterred these words very calmly and matter-of-factly to me and yet they stung like he had slapped me across the face. "I sound like what?!?!" A comparison to a truck driver would have been more expected and more appreciated; I've let the F-bomb (and other smaller, less significant, bombs) drop more than my fair share in my lifetime. Not something to necessarily be proud of mind you, but I relish my ability to use it when necessary in mixed and perhaps inappropriate company, only sparing my grandmother out of respect, of course.

And so, what had changed? My mind struggled to remember the expletive I had blurted out only moments before which had solicited such a comment from my husband; and then, there it was, in all it's glory, at the forefront of my brain with all of the other recently uttered "curses" I had resorted to using in front of my children: "Lordy be!" What exactly this means, I do not know.

I do know that since the birth of my first child I have had to become highly creative with my choice of "cuss words", if you could even call them that. When my husband accused me of sounding like someone's grandmother (surely not mine; I'd never heard her swear a day in her life, not even something so tame), it struck a chord. I was disappointed in myself. What had become of me? Had I completely lost my edge in the midst of wifedom and motherhood? Was I softening in my old age? Was dementia slowly creeping its way into my brain? No. I had simply realized that any word that came out of my mouth would surely come out of my son's, and I realized only too late the harsh repercussions of this.

One evening, long after I had put my son to bed, as I was gracefully trying to pull the leg of my boot-cut jeans over my stilleto (surely I had been to happy hour this particular evening? Otherwise, I can't explain the logic here), I (surprise!) lost my balance and fell forward into the dresser. It hurt. Upon impact, I apparently blurted out, "Shit!" I mean, who wouldn't? I say 'apparently' because in the moment, I did not realize I had said it and continued getting ready for bed. Little did I know that tiny ears were awake and listening in the next room. Actually, I am not convinced he was indeed awake, only that somewhere in the remote corners of his dream he heard his mother shout a very new and interesting word, one that his kid radar had locked in on.

So much so, the next day in the middle of the grocery store, he proceeded to whisper, "my mommy says...", followed by a long pause (so all the kindly shoppers could look our way in antiticpation of what darling phrase would escape from this child's lips), and then, "...SHIT!!!!" Jaws dropped, children fled, and many a heel was turned upon. I quickly clamped my hand over my son's mouth while assuring myself and anyone within earshot, "I most certainly do not!!" (Granny speak, hmmm?) My son proceeded to repeat this same phrase over and over and over again, giggling all the while. Despite my protests, there as no stopping him. He was 2 1/2, if that explains anything.

I decided then and there that I would have to watch my mouth, whether or not he was around, because certainly at some time, he could overhear my filthy, filthy language and repeat it for all the world to hear, to my credit. My master plan had a major loop-hole, however. I had not counted on my child overhearing other people's filthy mouths, or more importantly, the filthy mouths of their children. My son started daycare shortly thereafter, ironically for socialization with his peers. To my relief, his experience at daycare had taken his focus off repeating the word "shit" over and over again. To my horror, on the first day he came home toting the F-bomb. He was armed and dangerous, and more significantly, he was smart. He substituted his new favorite word into his favorite phrase: "Mommy says FUCK!!!"

Now, "shit" you can pretty easily get away with. Other mothers laugh and shake their heads; they can commiserate with you. "Fuck", on the other hand, means you are a low-life piece of white honky trash who needs to be reported to DFACS immediately. I hung my head in shame while trying in vain to cover my son's mouth.

Eventually, the novelty wore off, and he stopped saying it. It had a permament effect on me, however. Thus, I have the mouth of an eighty year-old grandmother. Well, Lordy be!! It could be worse. I've yet to get a call from DFACS.