I'm going to tell a story that doesn't paint me in a terribly terrific light, so try not to think too poorly of me. I'm human, with a limited vocabulary and a sparky temper on lack-of-proper-sleep days. One of my friends has taken a vow to stop cursing, and he does a great job. I am in awe of his ability to so easily strike offensive words from his daily life, but then again, he doesn't have a swarm angry toddlers circling his ankles like rabid termites on a daily basis like I do. Mostly I swear out of laziness, because I can't be arsed to expend extra energy thinking of a less toxic, more creative word to express my frustration.
And there you have it. I'm a lazy, swearing slob.
Back when I was low on energy, (at the peak of my undiagnosed thyroid issues) by the time Brian would get home from work, it was all I could do to walk from the couch to bed, much less watch the kids all day, clean up after them and make dinner. I was exhausted all the time, not thinking clearly and in a lot of pain.
One particular evening, I was making dinner while childypants screamed in agony over the color of air, the brother who "WON'T STOP LOOKING AT MEEEEEEEE" and the fact that peanut butter is OMG! BROWN, and "WE DON'T EAT THINGS THAT ARE BROWN!" I had opened the freezer door three times, and every time I opened it, the ice cube tray, freshly filled, would slide off the shelf, soaking me with SHOCKINGLY cold water
Every *bleeping* time it fell, I refilled the tray and secured it in place. Or so I thought. Normally I'm extremely good at paying attention to EVERYTHING, but when you're so exhausted that it hurts to keep your eyes open, you tend to forget things. In fact, you forget EVERYTHING. The fourth time I opened the door and covered myself in ice water I screamed in frustration, "DOGDAMMIT!"
I immediately froze in my tracks, expecting child-of-two to begin parroting my words. Fortunately, she was too busy obsessing over her inside-out-sock that was slowly destroying her will to live. I picked up the ice cube tray, threw it back in the freezer, empty and walked away. I forgot the incident, like I was forgetting everything else in my life during that time.
(I am so thankful my doctor was able to figure out what was wrong with me.)
Three weeks later, I was giving Elizabeth a bath. I'd been given medication and was starting to feel human again. My patience and energy level had increased dramatically. Elizabeth splashed a bit, and in true "TWO" fashion, began to push the boundaries to see what she could get away with. Each splash was a little less controlled and a little more mommy-soaking.
"Elizabeth, please stop splashing so much."
SPLASH!
"Elizabeth, if you can't stop splashing, bathtime is going to end."
SPLASH!
"Elizabeth! What did mommy say?"
She blinked twice, scanned her memory bank to find the perfect reply for my question. Without missing a beat, she looked me square in the eye, and hissed, "MOMMY, YOU SAID DOGDAMMIT."
It was one of those instances where the world blindsides you with a hot cast iron skillet , hammering a "EUREKA!" moment into your skull.
"Must change that!"
Since my thyroid problems have been diagnosed, my swearing (and frustrations) have decreased quite a bit, and now I save them up for Brian, who sometimes enjoys it when I talk dirty to him.