Profane R Us

So, I have been working my fingers to the bone in this house rearranging, cleaning, sorting,etc. And for the past few weeks, there has been stuff all over the dining room table, so we have been forced to eat in front of the TV. Which I HATE. So, today, one of my goals was to get all the stacks of books and things cleared off the table so that we could have a nice family dinner this evening. I planned ahead and put chicken in the crockpot this morning, freeing up my afternoon to clean, sort and organize.

I was feeling prrretty good about myself come dinner time, as I served up lovely platefuls of chicken caciatori over rice, side salad, and lightly toasted garlic bread. Little did I know what was in store for me as I sat down to partake of this lovely meal with my three children.

Let me just add right here: I am SO, SO, SO, sorry Mom. Yes , you DID raise me better. And I am SO, SO, So sorry Grandmama (Race's mom). No I will NOT be the ruin of Race's offspring.

At the dinner table, as I have mentioned on here before, we play a little game called "high-low". We have done this ever since the kids were little. After we ask the blessing, each person says the very best thing about their day(their high), and the very worst thing about their day,(their low).

We went around the table as usual and finally came to Jackson. Now, let me stop here and quote him directly:
"My high was being able to play "line rider" today on the computer. My low..(and here he paused for emphasis, and spoke in a deeply, overexaggerated, dissapointed tone)"My low....was finding out.....that....my mother curses."

Of course the other 2 went absolutely wild with gut-splitting laughter while I tried to figure out from whence this ambush came.

Apparently my youngest son had been listening in on a phone conversation that I had earlier in the day with Race. I was lamenting the pathetic fact that we have no back-up heating system in place and I was forced to go out and pick up a kerosene heater....just.in.case.

This was all fine and good, except that I am an idiot, and I seriously had NO IDEA that you actually have to PUMP kerosene into your OWN little blue can. OR that you would have to ASSEMBLE the kerosene heater yourself.(All the while reading about the dangers of explosion or carbon monoxide poisoning if you should screw it up!) OR that you would have to let the wick SOAK for an hour BEFORE you ever light it!!!(Shyeah...imagine reading THAT by the light of your headlamp in 8 degrees) All of these revelations today, had combined to create quite the difficult and humbling day for me.

The man at Lowes actually laughed right in my face when I asked him so innocently, if they sold kerosene. He laughed right.in.my.face. I wanted to scream, "I DON'T LIVE IN A TRAILER PARK, O.K.??!! I SHOULDN'T EVEN HAVE TO USE THIS!!(and then in a smaller voice),"we're gettin' a woodstove next year."

So anyway, Race called right about the time that I had locked myself in the bathroom reading about the whole "wick-soaking" thing.

In the course of explaining to him the whole ordeal, I said, "And...THEN....I mean...who KNEW you were gonna have to ASSEMBLE the damn thing!"

So, Jackson chose the dinner table tonight, to tighten the old screws on his mom, in a somewhat humorous manner. He had me. He KNEW he had me and he was enjoying it.

I started back-pedaling.

"O.K, O.K, you're right. *I* shouldn't talk like that. But sometimes, when I am under a lot of stress--"

And Jack in total sarcasm interrupted-"No, noooooo mom. It's perfectly O.K. for YOU to talk like that. I get it.Or- hey- maybe you have tourettes"
(thank-you "What About Bob").

Me: "O.K-NO. I do NOT have tourettes. And I shouldn't talk that way, but keep in mind kids, I grew up in a house with PAP-PAW as my dad."

They all nodded knowingly, as they had all heard the expertise with which Pap-paw sprinkled profanity in his speech, that made it sound as natural as a babies cry.

But then one of them interjected, "But Mam-maw was your MOM!"

They had me once again. My mother has never uttered a curse word. EVER. She once said "dang it!" and it was as if you could FEEL the arctic blast from hell freezing over.

So. I accepted defeat.

My children have a mother who uses profanity.(Even though I *try* not to).

A swearing, cursing, card-carrying member of the Profanity Club.

But you know the thing that really struck me??

I can't believe the little guy is just now hearing this.

I mean he is ELEVEN and he has never heard me swear before??

Damn. I'm a better mom than I thought!

Cheers!
Melissa