S*#@!!!

The moment you first hear a swear word leave your child's darling mouth is nothing short of electrifying. There they are, wolfing down contraband goldfish and cheerfully playing with their dolls, and they drop the "S" bomb. It sounds so strange, hearing such a word leave the mouth of an innocent babe.

Your next thoughts are not really thoughts, but desperate questions; "Will she say this word again in front of other people? Will they judge me?"

I can answer these burning questions quite easily. To the first, she will indeed repeat the forbidden word in front of others in a situation so humbling and awkward it will seem as though it was a calculated act on the part of the child. To the second question, Absolutely. You will be judged. The kid heard it somewhere, and it was either from you, or some awful T.V program you allowed your kid to watch. BAM. Judged.

It happened to be in our case that Brad uttered the offending word while we were recklessly driving through downtown Louisville (lost! and late!) on the way to see our nephew, who was about to become also our Godson, receive the sacrament of Baptism. After thoroughly berating my husband, because of course *I* have never modeled anything but perfection for our children, I began wondering. Will she say it again?? And when?? And then a terrifying thought occurred to me. What if she repeats it at school?

Part of the anxiety of sending your child to school is wondering what it is that they do there all day, and what is it that the teachers are saying about your family. Does your kid look slovenly? Is your kid incredibly obnoxious, unbeknownst to you? Is it the talk of the school that you possess a tragic inability to arrive on time? And now that you have a swearing child, will the teachers be saying things to each other like, "Wow. Gianna's family huh. They must really be swearin' it up at home."

I tried to explain to Gianna, "We don't use that word, it's not a very nice word..." but she saw through me. As I explained she stared at me and I could see she was thinking, "Uh. Yeah. Pretty sure we do. Pretty sure I heard Daddy use it this morning." The talk was getting me nowhere. I had to do something else, something more drastic, to ensure that we stayed on the "good parent list" at school.

So. I opted for the preemptive disclosure. It's a ballsy move and involves a little bit of humility, but ultimately can make you look like parent of the year, which is what we're going for here. Pay attention, and you, too, can use this method whenever you desire to engender respect and awe from your child's teacher, whether or not you actually deserve it.

When we got to school the following Monday morning, I quietly and apologetically told the entire story to the teacher, adding humorous anecdotes and bits of human interest to lure her into a place of sympathy. Then I said, "So, I just wanted to you be aware that Gianna did repeat the swear word and she may repeat it here at school, but that we are fully aware of it, and are taking appropriate measures to handle it."

The preemptive disclosure produces a two-pronged effect. Firstly, it makes you, the parent, look at once conscientious and self-deprecating. Secondly, it lends your parenting a certain air of involvement in your child's life, regardless how much time you spend a-wastin on the Internet, that is guaranteed to win the hearts and minds of your kid's teachers and place you squarely back on the "good parent list." Easy game.

The Doing of the Self

"I WANT TO DO IT MYSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

What parent hasn't heard this impassioned cry, the huddled masses yearning to break free, the voice crying out in the wilderness? This one phrase has the capability to wrench forth many emotions; pride, fear, and on some days, a weariness that seems to seep into the bones. Oh, we know, us modern parents, that we should not stifle our child's independence. We must encourage his autonomy. We must never do for him what he can do for himself, lest he end up living in our basement when he's thirty.

I believe these things. It's crucial. Just not at 7:23 in the morning. At 7:23 in the morning, I am dying inside while Gianna puts on her socks in an almost leisurely fashion as the time is just roaring by and I am attempting to strangle my own shouts of agony; "We're late, LATE, LATE!!!!!! Just....give me that sock!" Ah, but in the beginning, it was not so. The first time the little tyke did anything for herself, I naturally reacted by throwing a small parade, dancing around squealing, "Ooooohhhhhh you put your shirt on all by yourself!!!!!!!!!! Genius!!!!" The first outfit chosen solely of her own volition, there was much picture-taking (well....there would have been if I were the sort of mother who took lots of pictures. I'm working on it) and indulgent smiling at the mismatching colors.

I promised myself before my children were born that I was not going to make an issue out of things that were not illegal, immoral, or dangerous. Despite my promise, many a morning I've found myself cajoling, wheedling, and advocating certain shirts over others, this dress over that one, these shoes instead of those....I should have been a lawyer. Or maybe a marketing executive. But I was an English major, you know, and so I've got a a way with words. Unfortunately, my words fall on deaf ears. (Pause to note the irony of that statement. Ok. Now we can move on.)

Most mornings, I begrudgingly end up allowing Gianna to wear whatever offensive combination of patterns she has come up with, and I move on, but gone are my triumphant shouts of, "You did self!!" These have been replaced with a mumble, usually uttered while I'm dropping her off (late, always late) at school, trying to avoid looking the teacher in eye, I hand over my garishly adorned child and say, "I dunno....she dressed herself...."