10 Times I Refrained From Cursing

Man, am I good. You don't even know how good. I have only said f---ing in front of my children once. One time. In a restaurant. In the midst of telling the adults at the table a story. I just forgot the kids were there! Oooo...it did not look good. But that was once. ONCE. My friend Bonnie was there. She was thoroughly aghast. But she, of all people, ought to know what a challenge it has been for me, this parenthood-induced clean language thing. I like the F word (sorry, Mom). It's a good word. I like almost all of the other words, too. But now that I'm a parent, I don't use them anymore. Even at night, when they're in bed, I'm so used to being clean that I forget to cuss. I just carry right on with the "darns" and the "dangs," and for no good reason. I call that reformed.

And if that doesn't impress you, here are some recent occasions on which I did not curse:

1. When dinner was really, really late because the dog ran away and we had to chase his ummm... doggie buttocks... all over the neighborhood, and then I dropped the entire pepper mill into the pot of boiling pasta water, thereby splashing scalding water onto myself -- and then, like an idiot, REACHED INTO said boiling water to retrieve the fudgety-fudge-fudge-fudging thing.

2. When the same dadgum dog ate three pounds of home-made BLUE play-dough and vomited NINE TIMES throughout the house. Yes.

3. The most recent of approximately 678,499 times that my 5-year-old has grabbed my breast as if it were a doorknob. And yes, it was during my period. It's as if she 'd like to check first: "Mommy, are your breasts tender today? Great! Let me at 'em!"

4. When I mistakenly shampooed with hand lotion at the Savannah, GA Marriott. And then had to spend the day -- sporting my fetching aloe vera and lanolin hair -- with Steve's family.

5. When they bumped Desperate Housewives for the olympics, and then it turned out to be pairs ice dancing, of all things. Pairs ice dancing all by itself is enough to bring a person to cuss. And if you don't watch Desperate Housewives and do watch pairs ice dancing, get off my blog. I've had it with you, Missy.

6. That time George Bush opened his mouth -- pick one.

7. When I saw that huge pile of horse poo-poo at Historic Williamsburg MILISECONDS too late, and Carly stepped squarely in it. Then, she grabbed my breast to steady herself while she lifted her foot in order -- not to scrape the sh-t off, but to gleefully smell it. It was, after all, the best flirking thing that happened to that child all day.

8. When our premium got raised because of those people who I rear-ended on Reisterstown Road back in October. At about -2 miles an hour. We were STOPPED at a red light, and then the light changed and they started to go and then they stopped. So really, they front-ended me! In their piece of ka-ka car. And puh-lease. There was no damage to their car. Their was no damage to their persons. (If you're reading this, you mean Reisterstown Road people, shame on you! It's not nice to lie. God was watching, and I pretty much hope you burn in H-E-double toothpicks!) And our insurance company PAID OUT seven THOUSAND dollars to these people. (See how FLAT that is?? You really need the F-word in there, just between "these" and "people.") (And come to think of it, you really need one between "thousand" and "dollars," too.) Okay, this whole jerks-who-I-rear-ended-and-why-I-should-have-left-the-scene-
of-the-accident is a blog post for another day.

9. 2:30 PM, one kid sick, other kid waiting at school, and the car won't start. And nary a cuss from me. I know. I have already ordered my halo from Amazon.

10. I have to strike the following dirty words from my vocabulary as well: don't spill it. Why? because when I utter the words, "Don't spill it," THEY SPILL IT. Most recently, blue gatorade, strategically spilled on the couch in such a way so as to hit not one, not two or three, but FOUR cushions. Four. Flippin'. Cushions.

Now, enough with the words about dirty words. Here are some nice words. You know the four cushions with the blue gatorade? Guess who took care of that mess. Steve. What a giving, thoughtful, selfless, rockin' thing to do. Makes me think of another F word I like -- one that really looks good on my dog chasin', shoe-poo scrapin', gatorade scrubbin' guy: Father.