Potty Mouth

Ok, I will just admit it.  My one and only flaw as a mother is that I have a potty mouth.  Ha!  Ok, I had a hard time even typing that with a straight face.  Let me start over.  One of my MANY flaws as a mother is that I have a potty mouth.  Bad.  Really bad.  I mean like really f$%@-ing bad.  I have tried to control it, I really have.  I am actually a fairly educated woman, with a vast knowledge of the English language, and yet, I still fall back on those naughty words.  Usually right in front of my children.  I know.  I'm totally f@$#-ing awesomely bad-a$$.

Sometimes, however, this totally comes back and bites me in the, ummm... butt.  Like, for instance this evening....

Allow me to set the scene.  We are having a lovely family dinner, sitting around the table, laughing and enjoying each other's company.  I decide afterwards that the kids can have popsicles for dessert.  I go to the garage, grab a handful, and tell the Goombas to pick their color.  "Orange!" says Mario.  "Red!" says Luigi.  "Pink!" says Peach.  I cut open the little plastic popsicle holders, and hand them to the kids.  Meanwhile, Peach's chair has been scooted too far away from the table, and none of us noticed.  I'm sure she probably asked  nicely 3 or 4 times, for us to push her in, but we were all absorbed in whatever other conversation we were having.  Finally, my darling little princess starts yelling, "Sh!t, Sh!t, Sh!t, Sh!t!!!!"  It took about 8 sh!ts before Bowser and I looked at each other like, "Wait, what is she saying?  No.  It can't be.  I think she is saying..."  "Sh!t!!!" Peach yells.  I could not even look my husband in the eyes.  Oh yes, she is her mother's daughter.

Alas, Peach is not the only child who has picked up on my nasty habit.  When Mario was about 3 years old, Bowser and I were having a small tiff.  When I am "tiff-ing" with someone, I like to use the f-bomb to solidify my points.  So, I dropped one here and one there.  The next thing I know, Mario is asking, with his sweet little toddler voice, for Mommy to "please make me a f-ing sandwich."  Bowser walked out of the room on that one and left me to deal with it all by myself.  What does a mom do?  I'll tell you what, I made him his f-ing sandwich and filed the moment into the "awesome forever memory" section of my brain.

Oh, and don't think that Luigi didn't follow suit.  Keep in mind that I found out I was expecting Peach when Luigi was a tender 6 months old.  I was pregnant, tired, very sick and annoyed with everything for nine months.  So, of course, when Luigi finally started speaking at about 2 years old, one of his first (and favorite) phrases was, "Oh, dammit!"  When he would drop something, "Oh, dammit!"  When he would fall, trip, or otherwise hurt himself, "Oh, dammit!"  When he didn't like what I made for dinner, "Oh, dammit!"

...sigh...

Hey, my pretty little @$$ never claimed to be f%&$-ing perfect, d@mn it!  But, I am freakin' working on it...

F-ing Cheers!
~Daisy