I said “dammit” in front of my 6-year-old this morning. In my defense, this is what led up to it:
12:30am–Griffin had a terrible coughing fit and demanded milk to drink. We told him that he could have water or juice but milk wouldn’t really help the cough. He loudly disagreed.
1:05am–Let Griffin convince us that he should get to sleep in our bed. It seemed reasonable at 1:00am.
4:02am–Harry had a coughing fit and woke himself up. I pat him and gave him a paci and he went back to sleep.
4:37am–Harry woke back up and had to be patted and paci’d again.
6:38am–Charlotte woke up disappointed that she could not both snuggle for 30 minutes with Mommy AND make the school bus.
6:57:17am–While trying to get Charlotte quickly and quietly dressed (since her brothers were finally asleep) I stepped on some horrible plastic toy that made noise, tripped over the doll house, and fell into the wall.
I’m not exactly disappointed that I cursed, but rather that I used a real curse word. Growing up, my dad had a whole host of curse words that weren’t quite curse words. Dadgummit. Dadnabit. Dadblastit.
I think they all meant “dammit.” I once heard him say shit, but that was while he was helping a neighbor cut down a tree and that tree landed on said neighbor’s above ground pool.
My mom just usually yelled “Ugly Word” with such force that it actually sounded like an ugly word.
I need to practice my parental-advisory-approved cursing before the next toy attack occurs.