You Say That?

I make a concerted effort not to swear around my children. Well, actually I have made a concerted effort not to swear around my children since they were old enough to repeat what I say. It’s been difficult, however, to curtail when there is a fair amount of swearing done in my office and sometimes swear words are just the perfect expression you need in a situation.

I often slip when I am tired or distracted. My daughter excels at catching my slips and whenever she does, I explain, "I know . . . Mama said a not nice word. Sometimes mamas need to say those words. But those words are not for you to say, okay?" She agrees and, so far, I haven’t heard her say any of my not nice words. Now, when she catches me, she says, "You say that?" meaning, "You can say that and I can’t, Mama?" Pretty soon, however, she is going to forget that I have told her not to say certain words and say something really inappropriate in front of someone. So, I have been trying extra hard not to swear.

Well, last night didn’t help things much. At 2:30 this morning, she started screaming, "MAMA! MAMA!!" The scream was so sudden and high pitched that I thought she had lost a limb or was bleeding from the head or something. When I arrived in her room, she was in her bed, apparently fine and all in one piece . . . still screaming. I said, not so nicely, "WHAT?!? What is your problem?" (I’m not the most nurturing person at 2:30 in the morning.)

"I got boogers."

"Jesus Christ! Can’t you wipe them on your sheets like every other normal child?"

She responded with, "No . . . you say that?"

I groaned and went and got her a box of Kleenex. I tucked her in and kissed her good night again. Then I went to my room and went back to sleep. I was exhausted. I hadn’t gone to sleep until past midnight and I thought I would be able to get at least another four hours of sleep.

Wrong.

At 6 am, I become barely conscious of a thumping noise and a weight on the end of the bed. Glancing at the clock, I assumed it is the dog wagging her tail while sleeping on my bed. I whispered, "Knock it off, dog," and closed my eyes. After a short silence, the thumping started again. I mean-whispered, "STOP it, dog." Another silence and then . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. In my regular mean-mommy voice, I said "STOP. IT. RIGHT. NOW."

A longer silence followed, which allowed me to close my eyes and almost get back to sleep. But then it started again . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Before I turned over and sat up in bed, I said:

"GOD DAMN IT, dog, KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!!"

Then I turned over and sat up. There, sitting on the end of my bed was my daughter. Predictably, she said, "You say that?" Groan. My head hit the pillow again and I asked her, "What are you doing?"

"Patting my baby and reading my book."

I looked up at her again and saw she had her baby doll face down on the bed and covered with a blanket. She was patting that baby’s back within an inch of its life. On her lap, she was holding a book open with her other hand. I noticed she did not have a picture book, rather she was holding a medium sized adult paperback. "What are you reading?" I asked her.

"This book," she said, holding it up.

She was "reading" A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.

It’s really hard to be mad at her for that.