I have a bit of a potty mouth. Cursing, cussing, swearing, whatever you like to call it, I like to do it. I like to talk like a trucker. I like the feeling I get when someone who doesn't know me very well, who assumes I'm as pure as the driven snow, hears strong language come out of my mouth. It makes me chuckle.
However, I try not to swear around me kids, I really do. Harmless interjections like "Oh hell" and "Dammit" may escape my lips on a regular basis but I save the hardcore curse words for my husband. Or for the asshole who cut me off in the rotary.
But as a lapsed Catholic, my upbringing dictates that I use the Lord's name in vain often and regularly. I can't help it. It's like breathing. Spend any time in a good, God fearing Catholic's home, especially those of the old school variety, and you'll hear the God's name being used in so many interesting ways, you'd be sure Moses was going to walk through the front door and start kicking some serious ass with a stone tablet. That's how it was in my family anyway. Cursing is much more satisfying when you think lightning may strike you at any time. I may not go to church anymore, I may not believe in the teachings of Cathol, but old habits die hard. So if I'm going to hell I may as well make the infraction a good one.
I save the more colorful phrases containing the Almighty's name to myself but I'm not above a good "JESUS CHRIST" (Caps are important here. Stick with me, this is important) or "God dammit all to hell", or maybe even a "Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick", and I will admit that more than once
a day they've snuck through my lips in front of the kids. I'm not proud. I blame my mother. Now that woman could blaspheme with the best of them when you really got her going. Or if you stayed out until 3am without calling. I'm just saying.
For the most part those phrases are pretty tame in comparison to what could come out of my mouth when Chicky pushes my buttons, which she is inclined to do on an hourly basis. So I was feeling pretty good about my restraint until my husband shared a conversation he had with her recently.
Last weekend, first thing in the morning, she came downstairs and immediately noticed that the night before her father and I had made popcorn and popcorn means movies. Which means we watched a movie and had popcorn without her. How her head didn't pop off right then and there I'll never know.
"Daddy, why is there popcorn on the counter?"
"Because we watched a movie last night and we had popcorn while we watched it"
"What kind of movie?" Translation: If it was produced by Disney or Pixar I will unleash my wrath upon you and you will rue the day you ever dared watch a film with a CGI'd robot or cartoon fish without me.
"A musical." Okay, not really, but you explain this movie to a three year old.
"What songs were in it?" Translation: You'd better say there weren't any singing candlesticks.
"Um, there was a song about Jesus." Mr C. thought he was off the hook here. Chicky doesn't know who Jesus is. He may as well have said Cheez-its.
"That's what Mommy calls me!"
"Jesus. That's what Mommy calls me. She calls me Jesus."
Mr. C was perplexed, to say the least. But it took him about three seconds to realize that my blaspheming ways had struck again and this time it hadn't gone completely unnoticed by our daughter. But what she didn't realize was that I wasn't calling her Jesus, I was cursing at her.
Jesus, Chicky, stop beating on the cat. Jesus, Chicky, stop throwing your toys. JESUS, Chicky, your sister is trying to sleep and if you wake her there will be HELL to pay.
The poor girl thinks her name is Jesus Chicky.
Some people would see this as a sign to go back to church and throw themselves at the mercy of God or at the very least change how they spoke in front of their kid. I see it as an opportunity to write a new entry in her baby book.
To drive the point home (and to remind me that I'm not alone) SciFi Dad reminded me of this oldie but goodie:
And of course this one:
(go to about the 6:45 point)