You Never Forget Their First F-Bomb

Originally posted on November 2, 2011

So, I’m looking through the baby books. There is a spot for “first steps.” One for the first teeth and when the baby teeth fall out. Some even go so far as to document every birthday party through age 18.

I can’t seem to find the right blank to document the first time a child throws the F-bomb at me. Maybe I’m looking at the wrong section. We have had just about every other word spouted at us from this particular kid, but I really want to document and celebrate the big kahuna!

Have no fear. I’ll just staple in my own page. Perhaps I’ll decorate it with stickers and use colored pens to write in all correct terms for said cuss word: penetration, intercourse, etc. With hearts to dot the “i’s,” of course.

Ah yes. Things are stressful at home. We have some very big events coming up. They are wonderful and all things good. This also means they are horrible and all things whonky. For some of our kids, this is a big practice run for larger events they will experience in their lives. So, we’re riding the wave and teaching as we go. Being insanely patient (okay, fine – we are acknowledging that we should be patient, and making repairs all the time the few times we’re not).

You may be asking yourself, “What exactly does one do when their child sends a Hail Mary F-Bomb at you?” Well, I don’t know what YOU would do, but here is how it played out for me …

I started laughing. Like almost-peed-my-pants laughing. It was one of those times I could not stop myself. Just … lost it.

This came from a child who has grown beyond belief. I knew they were struggling. I knew they were stressed out of their mind. I was trying to be soft and therapeutic and give them words to state what was stressful for them. They were really just hoping for a fight. So miserable in their own skin and heart that they just wanted someone to join them, so they wouldn’t be alone in their own stress and pain.

I finally composed myself and said, “Oh, honey. That hurt part inside forgot who I am. I sweat f***. I have f*** for breakfast. When your big event comes up soon, I’m gonna’ make you a handmade card that says, “Break a f***ing leg! LOVE, YOUR F***ING AWESOME MOM!””

Cause I out-crazy the crazy. I dance with it. In our house, when a new word is introduced, the adults just assume it’s something we’re all supposed to be using in normal conversation, with our normal voices. What? It’s not?

(side note: it’s also super f***ing fun to f***ing use a word you would normally never spout in front of your kids … and we do it in a very sing-songy, Mr. Roger’s-esque voice. Seriously. A f***ing blast!)

This kid knew it, but when they are stuck in that fight/flight/freeze mode, the hurt part inside of them takes over. Well, this snapped them right back out of it, and I got a really big smile. I may have also received an, “Okay, that’s ENOUGH!” because I was still enjoying my license to say f*** about every single thing in the room. I LOVE when my kids cuss! This kid remembered, quickly, just how much. Done … and done.

Still. Going in the baby book. It’s a big day, yo!