It’s quiet in the house. A rare occurence. Everyone is asleep, well except for Maggie – she’s staring at me wondering when I am going to move the laptop from her sleeping place which is right at the top of my head. Even Maggie is having a hard time keeping her eyes open.
I am often heard saying that when I die I want to come back as a fat house cat. Ours, Jinx and Maggie, have life pretty damn good. Sure, there are the three babies who chase after them chanting “meow” and the bossy 4 year old who demands they sleep on her bed in the afternoon plus the moody 10 year old who claims that they are not her cats because they don’t love her (at this stage in her life it seems no one does, which makes me sad). Still, they get to nap all day and eat when they please. If they’re especially cute I might even turn on the tub faucet for them so they can get their drink on.
In reality, I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation or heaven or any of it. There’s nothing tangible for me to grasp on to that I can believe as fact. I know, I should have faith that there is something else out there. After Ethan died I lost what little faith I had. Some people, after they lose a child, find religion. I went the other way and told God to go fuck himself.
If you are religious, I don’t look down upon you or laugh at your blind faith. I am happy that you feel you can find comfort in your God. Just so long as you don’t spend your time trying to convert me, chances are we’ll be great friends. I warn you, I swear – a lot.
I’ve been really working on the whole not swearing thing. It’s hard, yo. My addiction to swearing began when I was in the 6th grade. I was finally out of elementary school and got to ride the bus with the middle and high school kids. Add to the scenario that my sister was a senior and a bunch of juvenile delinquents lived down the street from us. This was my pass to the back fo the bus.
The back of the bus is where you learned about the world. You learned how to throw stuff out of the window without the bus driver seeing – although we never had that issue since our driver then, Eddie, was nearing 90 years old. I am not joking either. The guy drove all of my mom’s kids to their first days of kindergarten and there’s a 15 year age difference between the eldest and the youngest. He drove like an old man too, often having to pull over on the shoulder to let traffic pass by.
On those slow rides home I heard every swear word known to man and how to use it in a sentence to convey the most meaning. There were kids who just swore to swear and those who could insert a good four letter word into their conversation with great ease. You could easily spot the newbies from he seasoned swearer. Newbies would litter their sentences with expletives while an expert would save them for when the time was right.
The first time I swore in front of my dad I was fishing with him and my soon to be step mother. I had a fish on my line and as I reeled it up it got away. I, without thinking, said “shit!” under my breath. My dad immediately asked me what I said. I was afraid to tell him not knowing what sort of punishment he could give me out in the middle of a lake.
I should post a little aside here stating that my parents were and are swearers. My mom once got after my brother and I for swearing while we were fighting in high school by saying “I wish you guys would stop with all that goddamn swearing! Jesus Christ!” We soon came to an agreement that swear words that were unacceptable to her were “bitch” and “fuck” so we stopped those. Still, my brother can be a real shithead. Not swearing! See!
Where was I? Oh yeah, fishing. I reluctantly told my dad and my soon to be step mom (who is a big church person) that I said shit and then I flinched. My dad? Laughed.
The first time Emma swore was when she was telling me I swore too much when she was all of 4 years old. The conversation went something like this:
Emma: “Mommy, you swear too much.”
Me: “I do? What so I say?”
Emma: “Stuff like ‘shit’ and stuff.”
I laughed.
Abby’s first and favorite swear word is “dammit.” She picked that gem up from James. Totally innocent with that one! She would toddle around the house chanting “dammit” and giggling when we asked her to stop. It didn’t help things that we were also giggling. Soon, we stopped making a big deal about it and soon she stopped saying it. Every once in a while I’ll hear her say “dammit” when she’s coloring and goes outside of the lines.
Me? Totally proud she can use it in the context in which it should be used.
The babies haven’t sworn yet. I am sure I’ll blog about it when they do.
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