I’m Popeye the Sailor Mom…

I have never tried to paint myself as perfect.  I have a few pounds to lose. I am crabby. I procrastinate.  I’ve made mistakes with money.  I’m a great idea person with lots of starts and few finishes. And here comes the big admission. My name is Cin and I cuss like a sailor.

I suppose I am really not like Popeye at all.  He is in great shape.  I did rearrange my whole basement by myself, huge weight machines, steel filing cabinets and all, but it took me three days to do and a week to recover.  Popeye would have pushed it around with his pinkie then gone out with the boys when he was done.  Coincidentally, the girls did invite me out for dancing and southern comfort/diet coke that weekend since Hubby was hunting but my back was out and I was doing a nutritional cleansing so I could neither dance nor drink.

But Popeye is a sailor and I have grown comfortable in my practice of swearing like a sailor.  I am here today to confess and to tell you why I am okay with it.

Like many others probably, I went through my stage in middle school of experimenting with swear words.  I have never tried any kind of drug, although I did drink half a bottle of Southern Comfort at a party my senior year just to say I did because I was tired of being called a goody goody. I didn’t actually have to say it though.  My head in the toilet spoke volumes for me, while my friend Chris F. stole my bottle and finished it off for me. I’m still kind of sore about that. ;-)  Anyway, where was I? Yes, I got liquored up one time in high school and I spent a good part of middle school creating and spouting off interesting swear words, but beyond that, I was clean. I would never use such language in public, around boys, or in the company of adults.  it was a respect thing.

I have heard so many people say that they quit swearing once they had children and I don’t get it.  I never had the urge to swear UNTIL I had kids.  I’m a life time user of phrases like, “mother hubbard!”, “Sugar nuts!”, “Oh fudge!” and “Geez Louise”. Now remember, I didn’t have any time to get used to a baby and “grow” into trouble. We brought 2 cases of fully formed trouble home from the adoption agency and frustration was born over night! I mean, one day I’m meek and quiet and the next day I felt like my head was going to explode. “G*d d*%^ it! I know there’s no use crying over spilled milk but you’ve tipped your glass over three f$&*ing times since we sat down.” I didn’t cry,  but I exploded with words I didn’t know I had in me.(that was a fictional scenario by the way since most of the first couple years of the experience is a blank). (No, not because of too much Southern Comfort, but because I went into a little survival shell and may have gone temporarily insane. That’s a different story for a different day, though.)

Of course I do my best and have gotten progressively better at not cursing in front of the kids. But just today, I got a little fired up talking to Mama Mary on the phone and my daughter said, “Whoa take cover, there’s an F-Bomb coming!”  Seriously, I don’t drop F bombs in front of my kids. Much. She just learned the phrase “f-bomb” and thinks it’s funny.

Here is the thing, though. I was raised in a perfect environment, the way I remember it. Very “Happy Days”. No language, no yelling, respecting the elders, and so on. And I held onto that into adult hood. I never said a bad word in front of my parents or even took a sip of alcohol.  It just wasn’t right. But then real life hit. A couple weeks after Mom passed Dad and I were at the karaoke bar having a beer together. And it WAS right. At the time.  Since then, my Dad has found himself ducking my curse bombs and watching me drinking mojitos on a regular basis.  He knows I respect him.  But it’s hard being perfect when everything seems to be going to sh*t all around you.

I have struggled with it a bit, though, and I had a revelation last night talking to Mama Mar.  We were swearing together and laughing about how much we liked it and how it relieved the day’s stress.  And it hit me.  Trying to stop swearing all together is just one more thing that I am failing at, causing me worry, along with fitting into my skinny jeans, selling houses, writing my book and so on. So I quit!  I am embracing my potty mouth and simply using it responsibly. They are just words, after all, and only  have as much power as we give them. If anyone has a problem with that I may just have a few choice words for you! Ha!

So that’s me.  What’s your vice? What gets you through the tough times at home and in the big bad world?