Spring has sprung, and since we have been subjected to a particularly brutal (by San Antonio standards anyway) winter this year, we are all breathing a collective sigh of relief. And as you inhale that long cleansing breath, you might suddenly realize that something smells a little off. Musty even. Well, that would be your house. And so begins that compulsion intrinsic to working and stay-at-home moms alike: spring cleaning. But I’m not going to lecture you today about cleaning your house because as anyone who knows me is well-aware, maintaining a sparkling clean house is not my forte. I am, however, going to advise you to begin an oft overlooked version of cleaning that should probably be undertaken by all parents at least once a year – cleaning up your language!
I’m here to affirm that the rumors are true: children’s brains are like sponges and their behavior like parrots. Anything you say or do in front of them can (and will) be used against you in the court of public opinion, so it is wise to speak and act accordingly. I once foolishly assumed that my two and half-year old daughter was only listening to me when I spoke directly to her, but recent episodes have proven to me that this is simply not the case. Words and phrases muttered in passing, probably to myself, have become an integral part of her vocabulary. In the best cases, this imitation is awesome because it makes her sound like a child prodigy with a vocabulary extensive enough to rival any fifth grade spelling bee champion’s. In the worst cases, it is an abomination because it makes me sound akin to a drunken sailor which I assure you I am not (the sailor part anyway)!
You may dismissively think your child is too young to listen to you or at least too young to log whatever you are saying into his or her permanent memory bank. Well, my recent experience tells me that you are wrong. Unless your child is a newly formed zygote, dividing and multiplying like a whirling dervish inside your womb, you must consider your cherubic wide-eyed, close-mouthed child to be akin to the pesky Russian spies of days of yore. They are silent observers, analyzing and memorizing your every move. And because you never know when those moves are going to come back to bite you in the tail, exercising restraint in all actions and at all times is strongly encouraged. Behold my recent experiences:
Several weeks ago my daughter was energetically and enthusiastically belting out every song from Frozen while twirling around in my bathtub as I was getting ready…or as I like to call it, preparing for battle. I smiled that smitten mommy “I have the best daughter ever” smile while attempting to make myself look like I was actually born with eyelashes and humming along as best I could to her broken and jumbled lyrics. Suddenly the tempo switched from musical to military as the twirling stopped and she started stomping forcefully in the tub. It was an interesting change of pace but not unusual for my little mercurial wonder child, so I continued with my wistful smiling in the mirror. And then I started listening to what she was actually saying, at which point I lowered both the mascara wand and the upturned corners of my smug grin.
“Anna,” I asked as I disengaged from the mirror and turned towards my little drill sergeant. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying the dammit song,” she factually retorted and recommenced her routine.
“Oh dear,” I thought.
You see, my husband is prone to an adult version of a temper tantrum that I have affectionately termed a huffy fit. Huffy fits involve the spontaneous but emphatic stomping of feet coupled with a loud exclamation of one R-rated word, usually repeated 3-5 times in sharp staccato with the aforementioned stomping of feet for emphasis. Any number of issues can trigger a huffy fit. It can be something as important as the realization that he forgot to drop an important document in the mail or something as trivial as encountering technical difficulties (like losing a few carrots over the edge of the bowl) while trying to stir dressing into a salad. Whatever the case, huffy fits are so ingrained in my husband’s modus operandi that they have proven very difficult for him to suppress. So when I first heard my daughter singing the dammit song in my bathtub, you can guess to whom my accusatory lifted-eyebrow stare was directed. (Are you listening, honey?)
youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=49Rmk29jMlg?rel=0&w=420&h=315
In another particularly sobering example of how words casually tossed around in your house can take on a life of their own, I present to you the “beer” episode. At some point several months ago, my daughter starting referring to all soft drinks as “beer.” If she wants to have a sip of Coke, for example, she will say “Mommy, can I have a sip of your beer?” which invariably solicits chuckles from whomever is around to witness the exchange, myself included. **As a side note, we are still puzzled by how she got the idea that a can of soda = a can of beer since we haven’t had beer in the house for over a year due to my husband’s Celiac diagnosis. Given this, we have come to the conclusion that her preschool teachers must be partying a little during naptime, and we are concerned. Very concerned.**
Anyway, fast forward to the Boerne Starplex Cinema on one cold day in January during one of the precious few completely silent moments in the movie Frozen. (Are you sensing a Frozen theme here? Yes, we too have a bad case of Frozen fever at our house.) The theater is quiet, everyone hanging on the edge of their seats, when suddenly my daughter’s shrill and outrageously loud voice cries out not once, but several times, “Mommy, I LOVE THAT BEER!!!!” after she guzzled half of my sister’s unattended Coke in one extended sip. I’m pretty easily embarrassed, and I have never been so grateful to be sitting in a dark room because I’m pretty sure my face was the color of Coca-Cola’s signature red for a good 30 minutes after the screeching had stopped.
In the end, after the mortification wore off, the dammit song and beer incidents have served as great reminders to us that we do indeed need to take a closer look at what we are saying around my daughter (and infant son) – particularly in those moments when we lose our cool and regress to our pre-children speaking patterns. If you’re thinking about having children, have some on the way, or newly welcomed some into your world, I highly recommend you start replacing each and every one of your R-rated words with their G-rated counterparts…like immediately. You may feel childish at first as you substitute cool Gen Y phrases like “that sucks” for the more kid friendly “that stinks,” but believe me when I tell you that this pain pales in comparison to the day when you have to start publicly saying words like “poo poo,” “tee tee, ” and “toot” and actually meaning them. So start making those replacements now and before you know it, you’ll be shouting “Goodness Gracious!” like the most seasoned parent of five. (Oh, and if your child comes home from school singing a melodious rendition of the dammit song, you’re welcome!)
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Well goodness gracious Shannon – you definitely have me beat in the war story department! We haven’t crossed the “big guns” bridge yet, but I’m sure our day will come. Thanks for sharing your story and congratulations on your second!!!
I have a similar incident that happened when my daughter, now 13, was about 3 years old. She was at my mother’s house playing in the living room. She turned to my mom and said, “Mamaw, I’m gonna but the damn car right here!”. My mom was like, “What?”. My daughter repeated herself, “I’m gonna put this damn car right here!”
The entire day, my mother lectured her on how bad that word was and that she couldn’t say it. She said told her that if she ever said that at school, that she would get in trouble. When my husband came to pick up my daughter, my mom said, “Now Kiersten, tell your dad what you said today.” Kiersten just stared at her with wide eyes–as almost to say, “But you told me not to say it.” My mom continued, “Go ahead, tell your dad what you said today and what we aren’t going to say again.”
Unaware of what had happened earlier in the day, my husband waits to hear what our daughter has to say. She looks up at both of them and says, “Well I didn’t say fuckin’!” The mouths of both my mom and husband dropped. She said that as if she knew THAT word was a bad one. With my husband already in shock, my mom had to explain what had happened earlier in the day. We quickly learned at that moment that we had to be more judicious about our word choices.
I am now pregnant with what I call my second only child–since my first born will be 14 when this second baby is born. I an hopeful that we have learned from our first child and will not have episodes like we did with my first. We shall see!!