blogs
My Sordid Life of Crime
Up until Thursday morning, I considered myself a relatively law-abiding citizen.
Relatively because last week I was thinking about what to cook for dinner and drove through a red light, realizing it only when the truck that was attempting to turn into my path (so he had the green light!) honked at me. He honked politely…this is Fuquay-Varina, after all.
OK, so Thursday morning I’m drinking coffee and reading the paper when I see that a man was arrested for cussing! I spat my coffee onto the front page, sputtering, “Holy s***!”
I mean, calmly declaring, “Oh my goodness!” I am so busted. My kids have reached the age where I don’t even spend that much time worrying about what I say in front of them. The other day I was playing golf with the sweetest Southern lady you could ever meet. Her last name is one of those “old Fuquay” names that they name streets after. She’s been playing golf longer than I’ve been alive. And I missed a short putt for par.
I’m surprised the cops didn’t spring out from the trees surrounding the green. It just slipped out. It slipped out because it’s been allowed to run free for so long that it doesn’t know when to restrain itself. It’s a BAD WORD! (Little joke: Why is it called golf? Because all the other four-letter words were taken.)
Did you ever wonder who got to decide what constitutes a “bad word?” Many of the bad words from my childhood are now regular fare on 8 p.m. TV shows. One time a friend’s kid was at my house. My son was whining about something and I good-naturedly said, “Rory, you are a pain in the butt!” The other child said, “Butt is a bad word.” I brightly responded, “Not in our house, it isn’t!”
But seriously, the rules keep changing. My son told me that if a student pronounces that far flung planet’s name with the emphasis on the second syllable and pronounced with a long “A,” they can get sent to ISS (in school suspension for those who are still in the time-out stage.) In case it’s not clear, I’m talking about Uranus (insert giggle if you mentally pronounced it to sound like a reference to a body part). There was never any question as to how it was pronounced when I was growing up and saying it now would result in consequences, and maybe even arrest!!!
And then there is the foulest of all curses. Sh*t Up. I can’t even spell it out here in a family newspaper. I have seen parents who don’t even blink if their kids says that word whose homonym is that thing that beavers build, but if they dare utter “Sh*t Up!” they are sternly reprimanded or sent to their rooms.
What is a Mom to do? I guess for me it comes down to two choices. I either have to give up golf or find a good lawyer.
Di appears every Saturday on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Di at Live and Let Di.
Diane Neer
Diane is a TriangleMom2Mom featured blogger, appearing every Saturday.
She did the whole "stay-at-home Mom" thing the
smart way ... worked when they were small and would have required lots
of effort on her part and "retired" when they were in school so she
didn't really have to "stay-at-home" and didn't have to devote a ton of
time to the "Mom" stuff. This allowed her to devote her life to
reading, blogging, playing golf and being Special Personal Assistant to
her husband, Hurley, a role that requires her to be available 24/7 to
provide information like the expiration date on the credit card, his
driver's license number and their home address (the family has moved a
lot, so he doesn't consider this information worthy of committing to
long-term memory). Her daughter Haley, 14, is "majoring" in Drama in
high school ... seriously, she is TAKING Drama ... which in Diane's
opinion is redundant. She firmly believes that her parents were put on
Earth to drive her places and is indignant when they actually have
(horror of horrors) their own plans that preclude them from doing so!
Her son, Rory, 12, has outgrown his maternal devotion, thinks Dad walks
on water and spends his days crossing his fingers that Diane won't do
something totally embarassing like breathe or do Sudoku at his baseball
practice.
Up until Thursday morning, I considered myself a relatively law-abiding citizen.
Relatively because last week I was thinking about what to cook for dinner and drove through a red light, realizing it only when the truck that was attempting to turn into my path (so he had the green light!) honked at me. He honked politely…this is Fuquay-Varina, after all.
OK, so Thursday morning I’m drinking coffee and reading the paper when I see that a man was arrested for cussing! I spat my coffee onto the front page, sputtering, “Holy s***!”
I mean, calmly declaring, “Oh my goodness!” I am so busted. My kids have reached the age where I don’t even spend that much time worrying about what I say in front of them. The other day I was playing golf with the sweetest Southern lady you could ever meet. Her last name is one of those “old Fuquay” names that they name streets after. She’s been playing golf longer than I’ve been alive. And I missed a short putt for par.
I’m surprised the cops didn’t spring out from the trees surrounding the green. It just slipped out. It slipped out because it’s been allowed to run free for so long that it doesn’t know when to restrain itself. It’s a BAD WORD! (Little joke: Why is it called golf? Because all the other four-letter words were taken.)
Did you ever wonder who got to decide what constitutes a “bad word?” Many of the bad words from my childhood are now regular fare on 8 p.m. TV shows. One time a friend’s kid was at my house. My son was whining about something and I good-naturedly said, “Rory, you are a pain in the butt!” The other child said, “Butt is a bad word.” I brightly responded, “Not in our house, it isn’t!”
But seriously, the rules keep changing. My son told me that if a student pronounces that far flung planet’s name with the emphasis on the second syllable and pronounced with a long “A,” they can get sent to ISS (in school suspension for those who are still in the time-out stage.) In case it’s not clear, I’m talking about Uranus (insert giggle if you mentally pronounced it to sound like a reference to a body part). There was never any question as to how it was pronounced when I was growing up and saying it now would result in consequences, and maybe even arrest!!!
And then there is the foulest of all curses. Sh*t Up. I can’t even spell it out here in a family newspaper. I have seen parents who don’t even blink if their kids says that word whose homonym is that thing that beavers build, but if they dare utter “Sh*t Up!” they are sternly reprimanded or sent to their rooms.
What is a Mom to do? I guess for me it comes down to two choices. I either have to give up golf or find a good lawyer.
Di appears every Saturday on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Di at Live and Let Di.
Diane Neer
Diane is a TriangleMom2Mom featured blogger, appearing every Saturday.
She did the whole "stay-at-home Mom" thing the smart way ... worked when they were small and would have required lots of effort on her part and "retired" when they were in school so she didn't really have to "stay-at-home" and didn't have to devote a ton of time to the "Mom" stuff. This allowed her to devote her life to reading, blogging, playing golf and being Special Personal Assistant to her husband, Hurley, a role that requires her to be available 24/7 to provide information like the expiration date on the credit card, his driver's license number and their home address (the family has moved a lot, so he doesn't consider this information worthy of committing to long-term memory). Her daughter Haley, 14, is "majoring" in Drama in high school ... seriously, she is TAKING Drama ... which in Diane's opinion is redundant. She firmly believes that her parents were put on Earth to drive her places and is indignant when they actually have (horror of horrors) their own plans that preclude them from doing so! Her son, Rory, 12, has outgrown his maternal devotion, thinks Dad walks on water and spends his days crossing his fingers that Diane won't do something totally embarassing like breathe or do Sudoku at his baseball practice.
Comments
I never even knew there was another way to pronounce Uranus until I started taking my son to the planetarium about a year ago and the cartoon characters emphasized the UR in the word, rather than the rear end of the word. And, sure enough, on dictionary.com, the word is listed as being pronounced "yoor-uh-nuhs".
Didn't know you could get arrested for swearing either. I'd better be careful or Guillermo, Maya, and I will all find ourselves in jail.
Is your friend's kid Canadian? It's taken me seven years to get used to "bum" instead of "butt." But now, I have to admit, it does have a better ring to it :)
Too funny. I had to train myself to say my own name on the tennis court instead of an expletive 'cause kids might be around. So now, at least everyone knows my name--because they've certainly heard me yell it.
I am one of those cuss word vigilantes. My kids would come inside and tell me a neighbor kid had said the "s" word--"Stupid". I'm glad they thought that was the "s" word. Unfortunately, those days are long gone.
I did recently refer to one punka$$ kid in our neighborhood as a punka$$ kid. It was a cuss, but it was also accurate.
I wonder if I should get ncwriter's name so I can use it as an epithet on the golf course!