The F-bomb.

Whilst on the subject of parenting, here is a little gem from the boy. Aged almost 4.

The boy has been known to let a few unauthorized words fly from his precious little mouth at times.

Once, it was slipping a ‘dickhead’ in at the grocery store. At his father. Yep, a good old “Dad you’re a dickhead” does great things to my husbands temper. Which is not helped at all by me, pissing myself laughing, not able to get a word out, almost rolling on the floor in the toilet paper aisle (appropriately as I swear I almost pee’d a little, damn you pelvic floor), and getting in more trouble than the boy did because I should know better and my behaviour isnt teaching him anything!

*NOTE* My husband is the one who taught the boy this word in the first place. Which just added to the humour! Nothing like a little Karma Darling Husband.

This however is mild. Compared to recent standards.

 

 

If you aren’t familiar with swear words, or are offended by them, or you are my grandmother, I do advise you turn off your computer right now. Redirect yourself from this post by clicking here where you will be taken to a warmer, happier, friendly place that doesn’t drop the F-Bomb and you can learn how to cope with this situation when it isn’t in the toilet paper aisle. Nothing like working on your pelvic floor ladies!

The boy, last week, was sitting on the step putting on his boots, happy, ‘Oh mum, it’s a beautiful day, something something Fucking Mice’! (yes we are in the middle of a ‘fucking mouse plague’).

!!!!!!!!!! was about all I could manage. When I thought that maybe I misheard him he kindly repeated it for me. I heard correctly the first time.

Fast Forward a few hours, and a few hundred km’s, to a small country town that I grew up in, and that the hillbilly side of the family still live in.

I ducked off the nearest airport another few hundred km’s, whilst the kids stayed with the family, awaiting the arrival of their dad. Apon his arrival, he thought a trip to the local watering hole to catch up with long-lost gossip   friends, was in order. Again the kids stayed with said hillbilly family.

My lovely aunt, bless her soul, took one for the team and looked after the kids for a few hours, and as the ‘men’ walked out the gate, at about 4.30pm, she clapped her hands, looked at the kids, and said ‘Right, it’s time for bed’.

The boy, astonished at such a statement, turned to her and replied ‘ it’s not time for bed, it’s not even fucking dark yet’!

Oh My. Yep. Twice in one day.

I’m unsure how to parent this behaviour. He gets in trouble when he tells one of the girls he hates them and that we don’t even love her anyway, because he is outrightly being mean, and rude, and he knows it. But this. This dropping of the F-bomb, while used in context, he doesn’t quite understand the meaning behind it.

I simply told him it wasn’t a nice word for nice boys to say and he will make people sad. In my nicest mum voice.

What I was really thinking was, You fucking little shit, I am going to fucking strangle you if I hear that come from your mouth one more fucking time! Fucking fucking.

unfortunately this blog does not come with a ‘bleep’ sound. Just add where you feel it is needed. I suggest over the word Hillbilly. 🙂

Have your children let some ‘unauthorized’ words go? Or did you raise them correctly.

 

Blogging Anonymously

I like to write.

It’s my out. It’s my ‘in’. It’s my meditation. It’s my focus, or sometimes gives me focus. It is me.

I have been writing for years now. Published pieces all over the place, spreading a thin layer of me across the world, like a sweet raspberry jam, or most of the time it’s sweet. Other’s not so much.

I love it. I love picking up a magazine and seeing my name there. Looking on a website and finding me, my words.

But I gotta say, it can be tough. There are always critics. I get that. And I’m cool with that. Critics and I, we go way back. But I always wished that I could write as pleased, be as politically incorrect as I wanted, without copping the very personal backlash that comes with it.

Or maybe I’m just copping out. But I prefer to call it mellowing.

So that is why I am here, blogging anonymously behind shades, letting my hair down so to speak. Being anonymous. With the ability to write anonymously. About whatever I please.

I mean seriously, the world is full anonymity, why does my name to have to go on everything? And lets face it, the public eye, especially the eye behind a computer screen, can be pretty damn nasty in their critique!

At the end of the day, it’s all words. No biggy, yeah?