Profanity 101

In my spare time, when I’m not blogging, browsing the internet for sales or creepy-stalking my other favorite bloggers, I have a job. It’s running a daycare out of my home.YES, that IS a real job.

I know, don’t tell the parents what a loser I am in real life. The only great thing about this is that I get to make money without having to pay someone else to watch my brats. Well, that and the fact that I get to wear sweats and flip flops to my job.

There are a few downfalls to this gig. The one that bugs me most is the constant microscope my kids are under and not just by parents but by the other kids.  Now, I don’t pretend to believe my kids are super great kids. They can be bratty and disobedient just like the next kid.  But they are overall decent kids.  They might have a few small hang-ups according to the average overachieving mom: burping at the table is an art they are trying to master; they say “fart” rather than other more acceptable terminology for passing gas; and they are confident and independent children that don’t like to take shit from other kids.

Apparently, according to the 8 year-old phenom that was at my house today, my daughter also has a “serious potty mouth.”  HUH?!  The kid that yells at me for saying Dammit has a potty mouth?  Thank God!  Maybe she’ll get off my back now!  Unfortunately, I had to  keep up appearances and feign concern.

“Please, dear child, tell me what she said that was so offensive to your darling ears?”

“The ‘C’ Word.”

Hmmm???  Is there a C word?  I mean, there’s that C word, which not even her mother would dream of uttering in the light of day(but at night around a campfire it’s perfectly acceptable!) … What the heck???  Moments pass… the tune from Jeopardy begins to play in my head.  And then it hits me!  “CRAP?!  Are you talking about crap???”

Yes!”

And before I could even think about something reasonable and Good-Mommy-ish to reply I just blurted out “Oh honey, that’s not a swear word in this house.  Sorry.”

What the hell kind of daycare provider am I if I’m giving other people’s kids permission to say crap?

But seriously, CRAP?!  I mean, I know it’s not the height of intelligence or something Ms. Manners would advise folks to allow their children to spout off,  but seriously?  In the day of bj’s in the middle school bathroom are we really going to sweat it if a seven year old says Crap in the sanctity of her own home?

I mean, Dammit! I’m really going to have to watch my p’s and q’s around here.  It’s a good thing none of them read my brilliant blog.

Now that I look back on it, I wish I’d said something more creative in response.  Pretentious people really just piss me off.


they that camp together…

“So hey there, have you been missing me?  Yah, I know.  I’ve just been suuuper busy.   Uh-huh.  I’ve just had stuff.  Super Important Stuff.

That’s code for, I’ve been such a loser and can’t get my shit together so I’ve just been hiding out on my couch eating a lot of cheetos and that squirt cheese from the can.  It’s been super awesome.  Seriously, I don’t know what my deal is.  I have never had writer’s block in my life, but lately I just plain suck ass at trying to put a sentence together.  But enough about me.   I really need to tell you about CAMPING.

So the Hubbs and I haven’t been camping together in  ummm… forever.  We certainly haven’t been camping with JORDAN.  Dude, that kid would take a dirt shower then roll around in the dirt to dry off and then try to clothe himself in a dirt wardrobe.  He was made for the dirt.  Camping… totally his gig.  He had a blast.  And Elle, she just hid out in the camper and did girl stuff and then roasted marshmallows and went back into the camper.  Whatevs.  She was hanging with her gal pals.  Both kiddos LOVED the tubing on the lake and all the usual boating activities.  They had a blast.   That’s totally not important.

The real fun came when the kiddos fell into a sun and marshmallow-coma induced sleep and the grown ups finally got to play.  There is just nothing like the crisp mountain air and smell of a campfire to make grown ass people lose their freaking mind. This is why I love my friends.  And am highly entertained by their friends.

Our first night in the great outdoors, we so pissed off the skinny bitch librarian “next door” that at half past quiet time she marched her happy ass over to our site and proceeded to inform one of our bunk-mates {ummm yah, I have no idea what that means.  It’s Swedish for “we camp together”} that it was indeed past quiet time and our fire was too bright.  She was being forced to move her tent to escape the bright light of the fire.  ERRR… WHA?  Quiet Time = No Fire Time???  I so did not read that on Smokey the Bear’s hat.  And really, it’s a camp fire.  Not the Burning Man.  Close your eyes.

{What is up with me that I am constantly pissing off my neighbors?!?  At least this bat-shit crazy woman got up and moved the next morning.}

Night Two:  The whole evening can be summed up by watching the following video.  I realize this is crappy videography or whatever but it’s shot with an iPhone, in the middle of the darkest of nights, being spot-lighted by a drunk with a flashlight.  The hero of our story is sporting a head lamp (AKA head lice),  purchased at our local sporting good store (AKA Tri-State) {when you see the video you’ll understand why you might care about this.  or not.}  We spent the entire dark time of our weekend having our retinas burnt out by the LED-ness  of this damn light.  It was only befitting that a song be sang in its honor.  Ladies and Gentlemen… meet Bobby Light.

Night Three.  There are so many things to be said about Night Three,  our last night in the woods.  Day/Night Three provided a Camping Trip Survival Guide that I will carry with me on all future expeditions.  Please hear me when I say this… no matter how much you offer to pay me, I will never reveal the source of my knowledge.  What happens in the woods, stays in the woods… sort of.

  1. It’s not a good idea to tell your Hubbs it’s his turn to be the campground drunk {and therefore idiot} at 10:00 am.  This will set your whole day off to a really, really interesting start.  Most Hubbs won’t make it to see dinner time.  Those that do,  will wish they hadn’t.
  2. There’s really no point whatsoever in packing real food of any kind for those who are legal to drink  (except for the makings of Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup  S’Mores).  We drink our meals here, bitches.  ‘Nuf Said.
  3. Assholes who show up to your campsite bringing beer to “apologize in advance” for their forthcoming behavior might be nice deep down inside.   Assholes who only bring beer for the men and ignore the women are just as we thought… assholes.  When they notice that your men passed out hours ago and show up to your campfire for some friendly chit-chat, consider flicking hot coals onto their pedicured feet and running into the woods.  It’ll be more pleasant than anything the next 30 minutes might have to offer.
  4. It’s never appropriate to bring up one’s step-dad’s saggy balls around a campfire.  If you accidentally do, it will provide unending entertainment for the rest of your “bunk-mates” as they talk about skinny bitches and saggy balls all weekend.
  5. It should be seriously considered that one brings along some “pocket cash” for emergencies.  Emergency cash, in this instance, is reserved ONLY for those times when  one’s Hubbs is on the verge of being taken to the clink for “disturbing the peace” {Peace, what peace?  I haven’t seen a moment of peace since we’ve been here!}  and certain Green Jeans (AKA Park Rangers, AKA the Po-Po) need to be bribed to save the night.  Said emergency fund MUST be kept in the pockets of the females only, so we can determine if we really want to bribe your asses out of the clink or not.  God knows we are far too well-behaved to be disturbing anyone’s peace!

There you have it,  folks.  Camping might be good fun, but it is definitely NOT good, clean fun.