F - - -

Before motherhood, I swore like a sailor. I loved to swear. Coming up with creative curses is FUN (my personal favorite is "bumbling fuckbag" - how I described a former boss).

When the boy arrived, I realized it was time to clean up my mouth. This really hit me when he was two - it was winter and I had a close call on a slippery road when I was driving him to the sitter's. Of course, out came "Oh, fuck!" as we nearly slid into another car. As soon as we arrived at the sitter's, a little voice from the back seat started calling, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Sigh. God love the sitter - she told me that if he ever said it at church, I should tell everyone he learned it at her house.

So the f-word disappeared from my vocabulary, to be replaced by "nuts," "nutties," and "scheisse" (thank you Tricia P.!) among other exclamations. Yes, the occasional "damn," "hell," and "shit" would creep in. But I thought I was doing better.

Until recently, when the boy started up. "Damn" here and there ("That's a damn good apple, Grandma!") and "shit" at Thanksgiving when he was playing with his cousins. Just a few days ago in the car, "That's a damn good heater!" So we had a talk about why those words are unacceptable. And of course, Jim was happy to point out how often my speech is still sprinkled with those words. What can I say? I grew up hearing my mom and dad use those words, but knew that I'd better never say them (at least around my parents). My husband, however, grew up in a curse-free home. So I agreed to try once again to clean up my act.

Jump to Saturday - beer brewing day for Jim. I love brewing day - the house is warm and smells so yummy as the beer steeps. Jim was in the kitchen, Ben was playing, I was in the living room reading and enjoying one of Jim's previous brews. Just a few minutes before, I had moved the steeping grains and bag into our mini-compost bin. Jim yelled from the kitchen, "What did you do with the grains?" Immediately, I thought, oh no, he must need to steep them twice, I've messed things up. Unbidden, "Oh, fuck!" popped out of my mouth. Ben started laughing, then said, "Fuck! Muck! Hahahahahaha!" Oh, crap.

I admit, hearing him say "damn" was kind of funny but I absolutely do not want the f-word creeping into his vocabulary at age 5! So I decided on what I thought would be the best deterrent - I told him I would have to wash my mouth out, with his supervision.

We headed up to the bathroom and I put a bar of Dove in my mouth, "Christmas Story"-style. I kept it between my teeth until Ben told me I was done (only about 15 seconds, thank God). Blech, what a wretched taste - but it is good incentive to keep me from swearing. And, Ben knows that if he swears again, the soap is waiting for him.