The day I washed Brodie's mouth out with soap

First and foremost, I want to acknowledge that I know foul language is frowned upon. I get it. Jeremy and I both get it. We know we’re supposed to set better examples and not use foul language, especially in front of our kids.

We do anyway.

Not a lot and not always on purpose, but we do. We use it more like intense punctuation than we do anything else. We’re human. We’re working on it, and that totally counts.

There was football on television on Sunday. The use of intense punctuation usually increases when that happens. I won’t say which one of us is to blame for dropping the “F” bomb during one of the games, which was then repeated over and over again by a certain 2 year old in our home, but I will tell you that it wasn’t me. I share that part, mostly, because it usually IS me.  

When the two year old started repeating it, we laughed. I know, I know, rookie mistake. I know you’re not supposed to laugh. We couldn’t help it. When a two year old says a bad word…sometimes it’s funny. Especially the first time. So, we laughed a little. Told him “No.” Listened to him repeat it a few more times, just to get a rise out of us. Told him “No” again. Then proceeded to ignore him, thinking that when we stopped thinking it was a big deal, he would stop thinking it was a big deal. He says new words all of the time, repeats them again and again, and then forgets them the next morning. We told ourselves it wouldn’t stick.  

Now, keep in mind that we were completely delusional because the kid already uses the “S” word in a sentence correctly. It’s embarrassing, but it’s true.

So, Tuesday morning when Jeremy, Brodie and I were hanging out before I left for work, Brodie drops something by the recliner. He uses the “S” word, looks up at J and I, knows damn well we’re pissed, smiles, then repeats it over and over…and over. Again, we laugh. I know, parents of the year, right? I’m yelling at Jeremy to stop laughing and he’s yelling at me to stop laughing and Brodie’s laughing harder than both of us and yelling the word LOUDER now…

Finally, we gain composure, try again with the “No.” and the explanation, in as clear of a language as you can get when talking to a 2 year old. He nods, we’re good. Moving on.

15 minutes later, the kid is sitting next to Jeremy, chillin’ in front of the television, totally calm. He looks up at his dad, looks at me, looks back at Jeremy, smiles and drops the “F’ bomb.

On purpose. Clear as a bell. Over and over again.  

F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.                                                                                                                                         

This time, there was no laughing. Jeremy looked up at me with huge eyes and that “Uh-Oh Son, Mamma’s about to lose it” look he gets right before I lose it.

By this point, I’ve had it. I no longer find it funny and I think the kid is starting to sound like one of The Wild and Wonderful Whites of West Virginia. I don’t want to be that lady. With that kid. So, I did what I knew to do.

That’s right. I got the Dawn. I took his little mouth into the kitchen, made him stick out his tongue, put enough on the lid for him to get the point, and wiped it on. Now, if you think this is harsh, blame my mother. This is the way she handled business. This is the way I was raised. I grew up more in a “Do as I say not as I do” kind of world. Maybe I wasn’t parented properly. Another story for another day. But, when my mom had had it with certain language, she did things like put actual Dawn, nasty mess, old school turquoise, original dishwashing detergent in my mouth. It was horrible. I can still remember the way it tasted 25 years later.

I was six. It was a Thursday in the early spring. I know this because The Cosby Show was on and I didn’t get to watch it. I was being punished for using the word, “Hate”. I had been in trouble before, grounded from watching the Smurfs, but this time my mom was looking for something a little more severe. So, out came the Dawn. I’m still traumatized. That stuff is NASTY!

Brodie acted just about the way I thought he would. Squished up face, gagging noises, sticking his tongue out and trying to scratch off the taste. He continued for almost 30 minutes, rotating between drinking water and scratching his tongue. At one point, he blew an actual Dawn/Snot bubble out of his nose.

 It. Was. Awesome.

Later in the day, we were walking next door to see my Dad and Brodie tripped. He said, “Dammit”. I stopped, looked at him, and asked, “Do you want me to put soap in your mouth?” He replied, “Nooooooo” and shook his head. He then patted my leg and said, “Sorry Mamma”.

Point Taken.

It’s okay Son, just don’t let it happen again or I WILL be forced to use the Dawn.