Washing My Mouth out with Soap

I have no one to blame but myself. It is amazing to me how our children can so easily latch onto the least favorable qualities within ourselves and adopt them as their own. Some of these "qualities" must be ingrained in their DNA. For example, I think Isabelle must have come out of the womb possessing no patience. (Of course, after going through a forty-plus hour labor, one can hardly blame her for being tired of waiting!) She gets this impatient streak from her father who has been known to quickly lose it when things do not go perfect the first time.

However, the latest not-so-lovely "habit" is most definitely my fault. You see, despite my efforts in the last several years to, shall we say "tame my tongue" I, nonetheless, still maintain a tendency to swear. Especially when watching sports, specifically hockey. Watching a ref make a bad call against the Red Wings, can launch me into a tirade of language that could most likely make a sailor blush. I am also known to get a little irritated at what passes for journalism these days when I watch almost any evening news program. Unbiased? Please! My colorful vocabulary stems largely from a beloved friend of mine who in high school dropped f-bombs like a thunderstorm drops rain. She was as unconscious of it as one is of breathing, and I soon became the same way. In college, the swearing diminished considerably, but I confess I did not work very hard to eradicate it completely. Now, as a mother, I am once more painfully aware of what words I say, and I try very hard to clamp down on the trailer trash side of my vocabulary.

Although, it would seem not completely. Last week, Clay and I set up an Easter egg hunt in our house for Isabelle. The eggs were scattered in our downstairs family room, and Isabelle quickly got into it, racing around with her basket and piling the colored eggs inside. At one point she momentarily stopped and surveying the room stated excitedly, "They are "friggin' everywhere!" Clay and I, sitting on the couch observing, turned simultaneously to one another and he mouthed, "friggin?!?" I shook it off, determined to believe we had misheard until a few minutes later she said the offending word once more. Despite being rather alarmed by my beautiful daughter's utterance, I found myself not quite capable of keeping a straight face. There was something completely hysterical about watching this small, angelic picture of innocence say something that should be coming out of the mouth of a character like Rizzo in "Grease." Now, though I am rather chagrined and determined to do better in curbing my wayward tongue. In my defense, "friggin" is a much better substitute then the other "f-word!"