I'll Filth Your Foul Filth...

Long ago, I thought my children became immune to swearing.  It's no secret that I have a blatant love affair with dirty words.  I just can't help myself.  They flow out of my mouth before I can even take the time to realize that I've even cussed seven ways to Sunday until it's already been uttered.  Well, f#ck me...

Anyways, I thought they were words that my kids knew as "Grown up words".  [words that grown ups can say when their mom isn't going to get called into the principal's office if they let leash upon the general population.  I mean, only I will get in trouble for my potty mouth.] Words that they scarcely paid attention to because they heard them soooo much up in here.

Boy, was I wrong.

Let's start with the most common offender other than myself: my father.  Hmmm, guess what they say about apples and trees and all that.  This man can hardly string together a sentence without invoking the Lord himself; at least three times.  And while I prefer to spread the love and use a litany of differing curses, good ole Dad prefers Goddamn and Son-of-a-bitch. 

And the kids have kept a tally!  We've had as many as four Goddamns in a hideously run-on sentence and a whopping 30+ vulgarities total dropped in a single visit [let it be known he's usually here for about 3 hours, averaging out to over 10 blasts an hour].  Whew, that's some $h!+ indeed!

But the most recent one was the most amusing to me.  See, my brother keeps a running commentary on my obscene vernacular.  And usually after I sling about three or so in general conversation he points it out.  [shrugs]  His pristine mouth is beyond reproach...that is; unless he's doing manual labor.  Specifically, in this instance - helping to remodel my powder room.

Imagine if you would a room that's 4'x4'.  A man's legs are hanging out the door into the hallway.  And for whatever reason I cannot even remember at the moment, the Hoover Dam broke open.

"F#ck this goddamned MFing piece of $h!+ cock-sucking MFing SOB..."

I laughed.  My husband looked at me and laughed.

My son however was concerned.  Very. Concerned.  He came running into the kitchen.  "Mommy, is he ok?  I think he needs help!  It's not funny!  He needs help!  WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!?" [...which incidentally made my laughing even more]  See, my son was terrified that something was wrong with his uncle who doesn't swear in his presence, to have caused something so alarming to happen.  I'm not sure what he feared - that a toilet somehow dropped on his head? I have no freaking clue.

Me: [shaking head]  No idea, baby.  He's frustrated.  Go play.  He's fine.

My brother: WHORE!  DIRTY FILTHY GODDAMNED...

My oldest runs in: Mommy?  He alright?  Should someone help him?

My brother comes out of the bathroom wiping his hands and glaring at us.  My husband and I lose it into a fit of laughter.

Brother: F#ck You.

Squirrel!

I have never shied away from the fact that I have the attention span of a gnat.  And never has it been more visible than since I've resumed my full-time responsibilities at FH Inc..

Every morning I make my daily To-Do List and attempt to get through it.  A To-Do List for a grown woman?  Every day?  Yes.  Because if I don't have this list...well, it's too terrifying to ponder.  Here is how the typical Friday runs down for me:

To-Do List:
Set Up This Month's Budget & Bill Pay
Change Bedding
Do Laundry
Get Stamps
Grocery Store
[this is about 1/2 my daily list...but if I can get through these items, I'll consider it a huge win]

Here is how my day actually goes:

I sit down at the computer to do budget & pay bills. I actually do set up the budget, but in my attempt to open a new tab to pay the bills, I'm sidetracked by The FB blinking that I have multiple alerts.  In the midst of checking the alerts the younger two children come downstairs bickering.

I get up, resolve their conflict and take stock of the kitchen.  I start wiping counters...which then morphs into picking up the items that don't belong in my kitchen and I complain to any living thing with ears about how crap gets left all over the place and I'm the only one picking it up, but yet strangely; none of the stuff is mine.

"I am dog.  It's not mine either, Mommy.  Can I have a cookie?"

I lean down to pet my dog.  Ugh.  She needs to be fed.  I open the pantry and scoop her food.  While in the pantry, I see nothing is put in it's 'Sleeping with the Enemy' perfect place.  I begin to shift items around and turn cans so that the label faces out.  Faces.  Gross!  I need to brush my teeth.

I head upstairs where, you guessed it, I do anything but brush my teeth.  Oh!  I'm supposed to change the bedding today!  Woohoo!  I strip my bed down.  Back down the stairs I go to put the sheets in the washer.  Great!  Something accomplished.  Man!  I forgot to bring down all the other laundry.  I go back upstairs and start in my room and see the hubs has things sitting on the hope chest.  I have to mend things.  I scoop up items and go down into the craft room.  There's mending to do!

I set his clothes that are in need of buttons replaced on the counter and stretch and turn around.  Whoa.  My yarn stash is looking a little off it's game.  I should put "Get some yarn" on my list.  Upstairs I go.  I sit down at the computer, where I left my list and write: Yarn?  Hmmm...let's see if I can remove anything off my list.  Bedding?  Nope...  Let's fix that.

I head back upstairs to put clean sheets on the bed.  Did I brush my teeth yet?

This continues all day long until the kids come home.  We sit down to get through homework and then I start dinner.  Usually about then, I'm recapping everything accomplished in a mental check and I realize that I've still not brushed my teeth.  But hey!  The house is insanely tidy and while I didn't check but one or two of the big ticket items off my list, I've done quite a bit...I've even...

I should go up and brush my teeth - "HEY!!!  Whose shoes are these piled up by the front door?!?!"