Remember The Great "Oh-Fuck" Incident of 2008? Yeah, well, after Buttercup's recent string of "Damn Gammits" this past week, I'm thinking I'm off the hook. I swear like a sailor. Always have. I got it from my mother. (Seriously...ask her.)
And I've been pretty proud of the fact that I've been doing a halfway decent job of monitoring my wordage in front of Buttercup because well, she obviously repeats everything because she's two.
The Husband, who has been giving me shit and looking at me sideways when I forget myself and drop an "Oh hell," or "Mother-fucker" under my breath don't judge cuz if you're reading my blog you probably do it, too, has finally fallen off that high and pristeen horse of his with an oops of a "God damn it" while talking to a friend on the phone the other day. It was loud. Very loud. And he'd been hoping that The Backyardigans would have drowned out what he said. So had I.
But after storing and processing the information for a week, Buttercup shared her new knowledge with guns blazing.
She's dropped her "Dam Gammit's" a few times now. Always with the right inflection and always in moments I would deem appropriate if I didn't have to stop myself from laughing and correct the situation. But it's really, really hard not to high-five her for proper usage and creativity and wonder at her grasp of the English language and wonder what would happen if I started swearing more in Spanish.
The first time was when kids were using that annoying walking path that runs parallel to our backyard. The dogs went wild and I almost dropped my breakfast on the way to the kitchen table when I heard a sighed, "Dam gam kids are on the trail again."
I know...I know...
And then another time she dropped a toy spatula on the floor while making pretend lunch at her toy kitchen. As she bent down to retrieve the utensil and straightened to resume the task at hand, she looked right at me and totally went there again.
"Dam gammit! If I drop dis one more time..."
Yeah. I know....
I was dying inside but turned on the Mommy switch, sharply called out her name, and gently told her that some words are not for her to say. She nodded. She knows. And I'm still dealing with her testing the waters. But that's only because she's a genius.
Go ahead and tell me that any adult in my house shouldn't be swearing at all and I'll mostly agree. But this is real life and I grew up knowing full well what I could and could not say. In English and Spanish, mind you. So I have no problem when something accidentally slips out and Mama steps in to teach a lesson in the limitations of childhood.
"Can I say "Dad Gummit?" The Husband asked me, referring to one of many made up swear-words his parents had pulled out of their asses during his childhood and still use to this day.
"Hell no!" I shot back. "Can you imagine when she gets to pre-school and lets that one fly when something doesn't go her way while a teacher is walking by and catches that? Do you honestly think she's going to think our daughter didn't say "God damn it?" No....so she either learns what she can and can't say or we have to turn into People Who Don't Swear."
Right. Like that's gonna happen.
Stay tuned for The Three-quel: "Mama says 'I don't give a shit' when she thinks Buttercup has her head in a Dora cartoon."
If that one comes to pass, that would make the score 30-15 in tennis speak, yes?