Say WHAT?!?!?

Though I have absolutely no recollection of it, I imagine that learning the English language is no small feat. There are so many sounds and so many different ways one has to work the tongue, teeth and lips to make words come out right. Of course, it also takes lots of practice. Teaching a child to speak can be tricky, too. I'm not even talking about complicated things like conjugating verbs correctly. I'm referring to the "spring cleaning" that one must do in order to "childproof" pre-parenthood vernacular.

I wouldn't classify myself as a total potty mouth. However, I'm also not expecting to have an invitation to the Sisters of Mercy's Bi-Annual Tea Social arrive in my mailbox either. The verbal editing has begun. Generally, it has gone fairly well although there have been a few gasps along the way.

An old household favorite of mine was "douche" or the more specific "douche bag." It's one of those versatile words that I find suitable for a multitude of occasions. I'd be lying to say I didn't miss it. But, the time had come to say goodbye. (I shall miss you "douche") One day Elly and I were reading a book together. All of a sudden my perfect angel child shouted, "douche". My first instinct was to ask "Who?" I breathed a huge sigh of relief when she didn't name someone. Then I redirected with "What was that, sweetie?" She quite happily pointed to the couch and once again proclaimed "douche!" Yes, of course, "couch!"

The next surprising blunder sounded an awful lot like "fuck." Once again, when she said it a cold shiver ran down my spine. I thought I had been pretty good about nixing that one. What could she possibly be saying? Let's see. Don't panic. Where are we? We're in the kitchen. I'm emptying the dishwasher. Ah. I hold up a fork and ask, "Elly, what's this?" "Fuck!", she proudly exclaimed. Phew. Maybe we don't have to kiss Montessori goodbye quite yet.

I've been fortunate in that Elly has had mispronunciations and not an official oops. As she continues to hone her skills, I'm working on getting my A-game on too. How, might you ask? I haven't invoked a swear jar (though that could be fun depending on the stakes). Instead, I've taken to the art of substitution these days as a way of curbing those knee jerk reactions that come up in day-to-day life. Instead of exclaiming "douche bag" when someone cuts me off, I opt for "dish rag", saving douche bag for only those hard to substitute occasions, like when referring to Ann Coulter or Nancy Grace. So far it seems to be working well.

Well, Elly is finally asleep. And, now that I'm done writing my column, I think I'll just sit on the "douche" and relax. Maybe I'll even have a "fuck" or two of something sweet.