You Dropped A Bomb On Me

Aaahhhh... memories! I'm specifically thinking about when my oldest daughter was about one, maybe a little over one, all strapped into her car seat in the back of Jim's Mazda. We were in the front seat, headed home from somewhere, and another driver apparently did something that I found egregious.

"What an ass!" was my natural response to such an offense. I still wasn't used to little ears at that point.

"Asssthh!" came the echo from the back seat. And boy, did she look proud.

"Asth, asth, asth!"

Oopsy-daisy.

That, of course, was only the first of many offenses of the tongue in our house, both on the kids' part and ours. In fact, the little Asth herself grew up to be a nine-year-old with quite an impressive and extensive vocabulary from her love of reading. Yet despite all that book-learnin', we still had this noteworthy exchange recently:

Jim: "Nanny, I told you to clean up this room."

Nanny: "I did clean it up."

Jim: "Bulls**t, Nan! Look around you!"

Nanny: "No, Daddy, you're bulls**t. I cleaned it already."

Ooooooh, wouldn't have said that if I were her! Her asth got a little popping after that.

Even thought it's quite obvious where she learned the word and its proper use.

One of my friends has a similar tale. She is the mother of three boys, the youngest being seven and the oldest being somewhere in adolescence. The middle one is, shockingly, somewhere in between the other two.

Anyway, the older boys have a penchant for certain word usage - and who doesn't in middle school? So one afternoon, when they had been playing video games for a while, the youngest approaches his mom.

"Connor's saying cuss words."

"Like what?" She's going through the expected list in her head - crap, butt, hate, etc.

"Well, for example, f**k."

Boooooooommmmmmmmbbbbbbbbb...

Yeah, he dropped it. And so did my friend - her jaw, I mean.

But I'm no better.

Last summer I was at a friend's house with the girls, and the kids were all playing Rock Band. I love Rock Band!

But I didn't know the songs were, uh, censored. I don't actually have Rock Band.

I'm gathering the kids up to leave because it's nearly dinner time, and the kids who own Rock Band start a new song - Beastie Boys' Sabotage. Awesome!!! I love that song! And did I mention I love Rock Band ?

So I drop my purse and grab the mike from one of the kids (though I wouldn't say I exactly shoved her out of the way). I don't even have to look at the words on the screen, because I know each one like my own name. They start to flow from my mouth organically, because I wake, sleep, and even shower to the Beastie Boys all the time.

You can only imagine how much this impresses the other kids.

They start playing their 'instruments'. I'm rapping like Kathie Lee Gifford. We're all getting into it. And then, without thinking, ...

"'I got this f**king thorn in my side!'"

Bbbbbbbboooooooommmmbbbbbbb........

Oopsy-daisy.

The instruments stop. The kids look up.

At least I screamed it into a microphone.

"Uh, I know 'sucking' is a crude word, kids. I shouldn't have said it. So sorry! Well, come on, girls - time to go! Now! Now! Now!"

I hate it when I act like an asth.