The Post Where I Cuss, But Only For Emphasis

My father printed my Huffington Post piece for my grandfather. And used a Sharpe to do this to “all that cussing.”

An uncle caught my post and called my family to say “She’s a great writer! I had no idea! But does she have to swear so much?”

And lest we not forget all of the super swell commentors over there, who seem to think because I drop f bombs, social services should come haul my kids away.

Bad Mommy. Bad Mommy.

Does it make you uncomfortable that a mother swears? Nevermind that I didn’t actually do it in front of my kids, because there have been a handful of occasions where I did let a few less than polite words slip out. And nevermind that, by all accounts, I rock the mommy-thing.

When my Dad called to relay his creative editing for my grandfather and tell me all about my uncle…I laughed. And then I explained that mommyhood just ain’t what it used to be.

Motherhood is ugly. Motherhood is hard. Motherhood is dirty.

And yeah, motherhood means that Mommy says “FUCK!” sometimes when the pot roast burns. If you’re looking for “oh gosh darn!” or “fiddlesticks” I think my mother-in-law might be available.

Troll Baby’s Karen (whom I adore for many, many reasons-but mostly because she stood next to me at a bar and said “why can’t I fucking get a Molson, eh?”) got some shit because of this infamous and hilarious video of her son, in which he may or may not be mimicking someone in his household. Cute little bugger with his “friggin wegos, beeeyoch.”

Apparently her children and my children will be sharing stories of their foster homes.

I’m just curious here, but where are the FUCKpolice when Daddy drops a wrench? Spills his beer? Watches football? Loses his keys?

Would it make you uncomfortable if I told you Mommy has a better jumpshot than Daddy? I know, I know, couple that with the swearing and I’m sure you think our family is a lost cause.

But if you’d shut up about my alleged bad example for just a minute, you’d find this next generation of mother all around you. She’s on the bike with all the tats. Watching too much NFL coverage in preparation for her fantasy draft. Finding ways to remove Gitterdun from her head. Oh, and Haiku’s shit. (no, really…actually Haiku’s about poop)

It’s been said that poor writers use profanity to make up for what they lack. I use it because it’s dirty. It’s hard. It’s real.

And that’s my life.