My (Most of the Time) Filter

OK. It’s deep dark confession time. Prepare for it because this one’s a doozie.

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

I’m not perfect.

Oh yeah, I know I don’t usually go hinting away on my bloggy pages about the fact that my back yard and driveway currently have weeds that are quickly becoming quite Little Shop of Horror-ish. I don’t sit around and brag about the fact that it took me 4 days to empty my son’s Seattle suitcase and put his clothing away. And I try not to bore others with the fact that I have serious storage issues and there is currently a tub full of children’s blankets and sheets staring at me from the middle of my kitchen floor because for the life of me, I can’t figure out a place to store them. But there it is in all of its glory, and instead of keeping it drawered up in my refrigerator like my precious Mikes Hard Lemonade, I’m venting. It feels pretty good, actually. Hang on, because here’s another doozie.

I have sworn, on occasion, in front of my children. I am not proud of it. I actually try very hard in general not to swear. I’m not the type of person who has the stealth to incorporate four letter bombs into everyday conversation and have it come across as nonchalant. On the rare occasions when things slip out, it comes across more like a bunny rabbit on full attack with a battle axe. In fact, my swearing is so out of character that I usually don’t even have to try not to.

However, with my children around, I have to remind myself occasionally to use my filter, and sometimes that reminder, my brain, and my mouth are completely out of synch. But my son always pays attention and never misses a beat.

One morning I was driving my son to daycare before going to work. Of course, I was running a bit late- Smoochie has one speed only, and it’s in his very own time zone. I was waiting at a green light for the oncoming traffic to clear out so I could make a left hand turn. The last car was making a right hand turn, and I was waiting for him to approach the intersection and do so.

I think this gentleman was out for his weekly scenic drive, because smack dab in the middle of a frantic Wednesday morning he was taking his sweet old time. Now by that point, I had wrestled a slow poke child into readiness throughout the morning, and worked out and got myself ready as well. I was trying my darndest to not be late for work, which was almost always futile. My patience wagon was rolling along a rutted road with a broken axle. I lost my patience and went to say “Hurry up, Jackass.”

But my filter kicked in. Halfway through my sentence, I realized there was an impressionable 4 year old boy sitting in my back seat. I managed to stop myself mid sentence, and it came out, “Hurry up, Jack…” A nanosecond later from the back seat my son asked me incredulously like I’d just produced Mr. Chuck-E-Cheese himself from my pocket, “Mom you know his name?"