Confessions of a Scary Mommy: An Honest and Irreverent Look at Motherhood: The Good, the Bad, and the Scary by Jill Smokler Page B
Authors: Jill Smokler
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really have something to swear about.
Is there anything more curse-worthy than a peed-on topbunk on the night of the day you actually washed the sheets? Or a toddler thinking it’s fun to pour a full bottle of my expensive Moroccan hair oil down the sink? Or an attack of the black Sharpie marker on our brand-new couch? I think not.
“Oops!” just isn’t adequate for a middle-of-the-night step on a tiny Lego left on the bathroom floor. “Cripes!” doesn’t roll off the tongue when a child dumps his entire uneaten plate of dinner on the kitchen floor, and “Gosh darn it!” doesn’t quite cut it when the weather forecaster calls for a sixth snow day in a row. “Fuck! Goddammit! Shit!”
They’re all just so much more fitting. And so much more fun to say.
With children, I also have something to swear at . Though I would never dream of cussing my children out audibly to their faces, I find swearing in my head to be a highly effective parenting tool. When Lily is screaming that I ruined her life by taking away the hot-pink hair dye that came with her Moxie doll, which was staining the entire first floor of my house, I may just see the words “Shut the fuck up” float over her head in my imaginary commentary of the scene. When Evan is thrashing on the floor because I didn’t let him have a third bag of Goldfish before lunch, singing a little ditty in my head that goes “Shut the fuck up, you pain in my ass; shut the fuck up, my dear” somehow makes the moment more bearable. And Ben’s incessant whining can be blocked out by my silently asking, “Are you ever going to shut your little fucking mouth, you annoying child?” Logically, I know the answer is “not likely,” but just asking in my head always makes me feel better. It also makes me a hell of a lot less likely to lose it on them. I like to think of it as a parental coping mechanism. Truly, it works.
I’ve heard some parents say some pretty awful things to their kids under the guise of constructive criticism. “Don’t you think that shirt makes you look fat?” one parent asked her seven-year-old daughter on the playground. Then there was the time I heard a mother tell her son that he was “just like your father,” which wouldn’t have been a problem had she not kicked Daddy out of the house one month earlier. I even once heard a mother refer to her daughter as “not that bright,” while the kid played right in front of her. Personally, I find language like that far more harmful than an occasional “fuck” flown around my house. There are simply no circumstances when words like “fat” and “dumb” and “ugly” are acceptable when directed toward a child. A word like “shit,” on the other hand, is just another word for poop. Really, what’s the emotional harm in that?
So, from my perspective, a swear word here and there is no biggie. They’re just words, after all, not like the stinging judgments that these parents’ kids will live with forever. I like to think that I’m making my kids immune to four-letter words, or at least creative in their use of adjectives. In a few years, when the rest of the kids are swapping dirty words at the playground, mine will simply scoff. Giggling over the word “shit”? Amateurs, they’ll think. What’s the big deal?
And I’ll be so fucking proud.
Chapter 18
BIRTHDAY WARS
Mommy Confessions
• I throw my kids’ parties more for myself than my children. I really don’t care much what they actually want.
• I don’t even tell my kids they were invited to certain birthday parties because that’s how much I hate going.
• People who spend thousands of dollars on pony rides and bounce houses and designer favor bags make me nauseous.
• I regift for all of the school parties. I’m sure I’ve given a gift to the person who originally gifted my child with it.
• I hate parties where I have to stay with my child. I think that if someone is throwing a party where extra hands are
Is there anything more curse-worthy than a peed-on topbunk on the night of the day you actually washed the sheets? Or a toddler thinking it’s fun to pour a full bottle of my expensive Moroccan hair oil down the sink? Or an attack of the black Sharpie marker on our brand-new couch? I think not.
“Oops!” just isn’t adequate for a middle-of-the-night step on a tiny Lego left on the bathroom floor. “Cripes!” doesn’t roll off the tongue when a child dumps his entire uneaten plate of dinner on the kitchen floor, and “Gosh darn it!” doesn’t quite cut it when the weather forecaster calls for a sixth snow day in a row. “Fuck! Goddammit! Shit!”
They’re all just so much more fitting. And so much more fun to say.
With children, I also have something to swear at . Though I would never dream of cussing my children out audibly to their faces, I find swearing in my head to be a highly effective parenting tool. When Lily is screaming that I ruined her life by taking away the hot-pink hair dye that came with her Moxie doll, which was staining the entire first floor of my house, I may just see the words “Shut the fuck up” float over her head in my imaginary commentary of the scene. When Evan is thrashing on the floor because I didn’t let him have a third bag of Goldfish before lunch, singing a little ditty in my head that goes “Shut the fuck up, you pain in my ass; shut the fuck up, my dear” somehow makes the moment more bearable. And Ben’s incessant whining can be blocked out by my silently asking, “Are you ever going to shut your little fucking mouth, you annoying child?” Logically, I know the answer is “not likely,” but just asking in my head always makes me feel better. It also makes me a hell of a lot less likely to lose it on them. I like to think of it as a parental coping mechanism. Truly, it works.
I’ve heard some parents say some pretty awful things to their kids under the guise of constructive criticism. “Don’t you think that shirt makes you look fat?” one parent asked her seven-year-old daughter on the playground. Then there was the time I heard a mother tell her son that he was “just like your father,” which wouldn’t have been a problem had she not kicked Daddy out of the house one month earlier. I even once heard a mother refer to her daughter as “not that bright,” while the kid played right in front of her. Personally, I find language like that far more harmful than an occasional “fuck” flown around my house. There are simply no circumstances when words like “fat” and “dumb” and “ugly” are acceptable when directed toward a child. A word like “shit,” on the other hand, is just another word for poop. Really, what’s the emotional harm in that?
So, from my perspective, a swear word here and there is no biggie. They’re just words, after all, not like the stinging judgments that these parents’ kids will live with forever. I like to think that I’m making my kids immune to four-letter words, or at least creative in their use of adjectives. In a few years, when the rest of the kids are swapping dirty words at the playground, mine will simply scoff. Giggling over the word “shit”? Amateurs, they’ll think. What’s the big deal?
And I’ll be so fucking proud.
Chapter 18
BIRTHDAY WARS
Mommy Confessions
• I throw my kids’ parties more for myself than my children. I really don’t care much what they actually want.
• I don’t even tell my kids they were invited to certain birthday parties because that’s how much I hate going.
• People who spend thousands of dollars on pony rides and bounce houses and designer favor bags make me nauseous.
• I regift for all of the school parties. I’m sure I’ve given a gift to the person who originally gifted my child with it.
• I hate parties where I have to stay with my child. I think that if someone is throwing a party where extra hands are
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