Cussing: The Inheritance

I have tried not to cuss in front of the children. At first, when Caroline was just a baby, it was so easy to slip knowing that she wouldn't notice. But when David followed two years later, Caroline was really starting to be verbal, and I needed to try harder. Through reflux, milk allergies and RSV, I was able to just manage with an occasional damn or the shorter word for excrement. I'd try to wait until Caroline couldn't hear, but her little Gladys Kravitz ears were always there. By the time David was two, he was demanding to know where his damn tricycle was.

I don't cuss daily correction by Edwin: hourly. It just sort of builds in me until it pops. I'll be fine, and then I'll drop several bad words in a row. And sadly, sometimes people hear it. People I would prefer NOT hear it.

Caroline has always been like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, she's so cool. I don't know that I've ever heard her say anything. But we know that David has been getting reinforcement from somewhere, don't we? Just like that punch to the face I saw her give him when she thought I wasn't looking, I'm sure she was telling him beauties when I didn't hear. Reminding him of the words I would say when I slipped. I'm not blaming her for his cussing, oh no. I'm blaming myself for giving her ammunition.

Well, all of my sprinkled curses have born fruit this week. Not only was Mason talking about his freaking this and that, but David, totally provoked out of his mind by Mason's chatter, told him to shut the f-word up on Sunday night. Using the real f-word.

Sigh. Sooooo proud. ACK!