F*CK

As I've mentioned in the past, Brian and I are not big swearers. We'll slip with an occasional 'G_d Dammit' here or there, but that's the extent of our expletives around the kids. This has not been an easy transition for me as I love to swear, especially when I'm driving.

The boys know that Mommy is the best driver and everyone else is simply wrong and a hazard on the road. Nothing gets my point across like a good 'Fuck you buddy! Try to come into my lane without a signal and I'll ram you up the ass.' So satisfying, or at least it was.

If I really stretch it out beyond the point of recognition, maybe I can get away with, 'Jeeeeeeeeeeeesus, old woman! Give up your license for the love of Pete.' Charlie's catching onto me. He'll say, 'Mommy, I heard that bad word and who's Pete?' The atmosphere is a bit more forgiving when it's just me and Gregory in the car. I can sneak in a 'Dick wad' or 'Asshole', and he's none the wiser. But even now that little vacation to potty mouth land is coming to an end.

The other day when a woman cut in front of us on the highway, I scoffed, 'Jeez, lady, watch where you're going.' From the backseat I hear Gregory, 'You douche bag, lady.' Fortunately I was able to turn the radio up to muffle my laughter.

The other night we went out to dinner when my Mom was in town. We were finishing our pizza when the boys started asking about ice cream. Brian said let me check my wallet to make sure I have enough money. 'Yup, $26 ought to do it.' When she visits us, my Mom likes to pretend she's a high roller and not the first person to graduate college in a family of a sheet metal welder and factory worker from Schenectady. She tries hard not to let her jaw drop to the floor when we show her a million dollar, 3 bedroom, 1500 square foot house on a piece of land about the size of a postage stamp.

So of course, the contents of Brian's wallet begs her to ask, 'What kind of ice cream is this that's going to cost us $26?'
He jokes, 'Well you know, the boys like to get gummy bears and gold coins on their ice cream.' At least that's what I thought he said.

Charlie all of a sudden yells, "Fucking gold coins. Fucking gold coins." He is hysterical as we all stare shell shocked, trying not laugh ourselves. Gregory immediately picks up on the fact that his brother is getting some attention.
He starts in, "Fucking gold coins. Ha ha ha. Fucking gold coins."
The people at the next table are GLARING at the bad parents with the misbehaving kids. Not the first time this has happened folks so keep moving, nothing to see here.

Brian is pissed and embarrassed, 'Charlie! Gregory! We don't talk like that.'
They're both crazed as they sing in chorus, "Fucking gold coins, fucking gold coins."
'I guess you guys don't want ice cream?'
Silence.

Meanwhile, on the side Brian whispers to us, 'Did I say the 'f' word'? I don't think I said it. Did I say it?'
My Mom is insistent that he did not. But her specialty is agreeing with you no matter what you say or how wrong you are. She doesn't want to disagree because that could lead to confrontation; the 8th and lesser known of all the deadly sins.
I am personally not so convinced Brian hasn't said it. But my attention span these days, especially when my husband is talking, is about 2 seconds before it's in one ear and out the other.

Brian is now adamant that he has not dropped the f-bomb, shaking his head, questioning how our kids could even know this word. My Mother is equally as flabbergasted and fawning all over Brian's protests, 'I know, it's not like you to ever talk like that. I don't know what's going on.'
I'm kind of quiet and still unsure about the whole thing.

The debate rages on until Charlie interrupts, "Excuse me, Brian. You did say 'Fucking Gold Coins'."
Well, I guess that settles it. It's Brian's fault.