I just finished the thirteenth Stephanie Plum novel. One can only read these novels if one doesn’t mind the F-bomb and reading about casual sex. I don’t mind either of these things. I guess I should, but I guess I’ve never been so good at supposed-to-dos. That’s why I spent the entire first 21 years of my life depressed, trying to do all the things I was supposed to do and be all the things I was supposed to be.
Supposed-to-dos are things one should do or should have done but didn’t want to do. One might say, “I’m supposed to unload the dishwasher,” but one would never say, “I’m supposed to sit around on the couch watching re-runs of M.A.S.H. and eating ice-cream.” Dave never makes me do things I’m maybe supposed to do but that I don’t want to do. And I certainly can’t make myself do them. So much for my so-called goal setting personality, eh? Maybe I’m getting nowhere in life, but at least I am not depressed about it. And for me, that’s something.
Don’t you feel like you’re going nowhere when you’re down in the trenches being a mother? I think there might be life after kids, but I’m certainly not there yet.
So, in the meantime I will just forget about all things I am supposed to do and be, because when it comes down to it, I can’t do and be all those things. I just gotta be me. And I just want to laugh. And Stephanie Plum makes me laugh. So, in the meantime, I will just laugh.
In the meantime, I will read the naughty words, and I will say their creative alternatives. I might say, for instance, “Holy fudging moly, you little freaking monsters are going to drive me to fetching drink,” and “I’ve seriously got to lay off these dagnabbit cookies; would you get aload of my fat apple in these pants?” and “I’ll give you one guess who took a whiz on the carpet, got down sat on a bench!” and “blah blammit” and “shee-oz” and “bee-otch” and my personal favorite, “blibbity blah blam.”
I might be getting desensitized to the F-bomb and other swearing. Maybe it is coming out my mouth and I am not noticing it. Because, you know how kids are sponges? Yesterday when we drove over some mud in the 4Runner, some got kicked up onto the undercarriage and it sounded like it was raining under our car. Zach exclaimed, “What the hell is that?”
I’m hoping that maybe he heard it at the neighbor’s house.