Out of the mouths of BABES

I am a good mom, I promise. My last post deserves a slight explanation for all my wonderful friends who have never before uttered a slightly off-coloured word. I don’t swear on a regular basis, I promise; only on very rare, extremely off-colour moments where the world is exploding and I too along with it. It’s something I’m working on eliminating entirely, however, it’s difficult to change something which I am genetically inclined to do. Let me elucidate (that’s for you Chris!).

With five children underfoot my Mother was beyond an extraordinary mom, but I recently shared with her a memory I have of her not quite filling that description. I will never forget my mother threatening us that if she did not take an afternoon nap (a habit that she has stuck with to this day) she would become a witch with a wart and broom and all. We believed her and were more than quiet because, well, we’d seen that witch. When Mom had a broom in hand, that was the only time we heard THAT word. THAT word and the mumbling, grunting and complaining that erupted when cleaning had to be done was more than a little disheartening. I remember having my very own child-size broom and dust bin (perhaps an attempt of a wise mother to pass on the job to her children) and uttering THAT word in precise copycat fashion.

When I told my mom this, she was shocked to pieces that she had ever done this! Being the person she is, it is a little shocking, to say the least (I love you Mom)! More than disappointed at her own behavior, she was appalled that she had continued the family legacy. You see, Mom grew up hearing OTHER words from her own mother’s mouth when she cleaned. OMA? My Dutch, beyond cleaner than clean grandmother? Not only was I outraged that Oma swore, but the fact that she may not enjoy cleaning was just as scandalous. Mom shared that, as a child, she’d confronted her mother about THESE words and Oma swore (pun intended) that she didn’t know what those words meant in English (as she was an immigrant and just learning the language). I’m not so sure.

A couple of months ago, before I had a maid for the summer, Julia asked me how I could be having such a good day and then suddenly get so angry. I was cleaning the bathroom at the time. My husband was wondering the same thing, as I hollered with my head stuck somewhere in the toilet with comet up my nose “Because cleaning makes me angry!”

I suppose it’s not so bad. From THOSE words to THAT word to simply ANGRY, each generation is getting better. And from the looks of my little Cinderella, one day my descendants may actually enjoy cleaning and even sing while they do.

The point being, in all of this, is that I come from a long line of absolutely fabulous women, remarkable mothers who have taught their children well and made me who I am. And while I have faults and sometimes say things I shouldn’t, I am a good Mom. (I just write about all of my faults on the internet for everyone to read!)