After nearly five months of blogging, it's apparent my mothering skills make Joan Crawford look functional.
Playing Mommy-Dearest, I hit an all-time low, "dammit" and the occasional "shit" slip out of my toddler's mouth as if she's working in a newsroom. This…problem, is 50 percent my fault, 20 percent my career path, and 30 percent genetics (I'm aware it's ALL my fault, but I'm comfortable with denial). Some parents are carriers for various disorders that can cause physical or mental ailments; I carry the profanity gene, spurring severe ca-ca mouth. It was passed to me via the Musgrave DNA. Brian is just a carrier for a nerd chromosome, which explains Scarlett's penchant to wedgie herself.
I'm trying to cleanse my language so my child doesn't become the neighborhood pariah. While some may think it hilarious to have a child that's bad to the bone, I'm mortified she has the vocabulary of a 7th grader. Brian turns his head, looks me dead in the eye, and bitterly spits, "Great job."
He's honestly upset at me for teaching our innocent creature nasty words. It's not like I actually sat Scarlett down and phonetically broke down sh-it. She's just a really, really good listener, especially when mommy screws up.
Scarlett holds an innate ability to employ these words at the very moment mommy hopes she forgot. For instance, Kindermusik …when a group of two-year-olds are congregating around a tambourine; it drops, she swears, I turn red and say, "Scarlett! Did you learn that word from Daddy?"
So now I face the challenge of purging my tongue of swears so Scarlett doesn't belong in a rated "R" movie. The question is, HOW DO I DO IT!? After years in a newsroom, cursing is as natural to me as writing clichés like "blaze," "behind bars," "close call," and "alleged."
At least I'm not screaming about wire hangers …
