What are your thoughts on swearing in front of the little ones?
Yay… because they will learn it all (and more) at school anyway, so what’s the big deal! Or nay… no swear word shalt EVER pop out of my little cherubs rosebud lips.
I think I am somewhere in between. I would never deliberately swear in front of Little Button or put her into a situation where she would be exposed to a gabble of garbage, but at the same time I wouldn’t give myself a mum-guilt headache over the odd word which has been overheard.
Now, I am the first to admit that I am no saint.
I tell you… sh*t happens.
However…. how would you feel if you saw a trouty mouthed mum screeching rude words, unprovoked and in front of her open mouthed children. Hmmmmm… me to!
Here is an open letter to said trouty mouth mumma who I encountered today during rush hour on the London Underground. *Whispers… OMG, I hope you are not reading this!
Dear Potty Mouthed Mumma,
It was rush hour today on London Underground. Notorious for argy bargying even at the best of times. The train was slowing, about to come into the station when I saw you. You were going to be getting off the train at the same stop as me.
You were waiting patiently with your equally patient little ones. I took my hat off to you. There is no way on this planet that I would take my Little Button on the tube during rush hour, I would rather eat worms! But… there you were, engaged in conversation with your pair. Listening and encouraging them into a thoughtful discussion about what you had done today. I wanted to pat you on the back and give you mummy high-fives. I hardly see mums chatting to their little ones like this. Especially not on the underground, where the main concern seems to be getting the tots from A to B without them getting squished by fellow commuters. Anyway… the doors opened. You all stepped out. I followed.
Then you opened your mouth and the platform stopped talking for a brief second.
‘What a D*CK! That man is a D*CK!’ you trill at the top of your voice. We all look. Most of us frantically checking around us. Is everyone ok? Has something happened? Is something about to happen?
You are still shrieking variations of ‘D*CK’, but now pointing down the platform. We all anxiously follow your angry stare. Then normality resumes. You see, you are screaming obscenely in front of your under 10’s about a man who is pushing his way onto the train a few doors down.
This happens as often as the train driver’s never ending ‘mind the closing doors’ warning… at every station.
Even though this disagreeable thing is NOT happening to you, the commuters who are actually being pushed are unoffended, and NO ONE else is complaining… still, you go on.
What’s worse is that your two little ones are looking at you, frozen and unsure as to what to do. They can hear you loud and clear. Your little girl looks horrified. Your little boy reasons ‘it’s because it’s a MAN, only MEN push and are rude and horrible’.
‘Yes’, you confirm, ‘he’s a D*CK head’.
I can’t believe I am the only one gawking at this. I am not sure you even realise what you have just done. Perhaps without meaning to, you have just confirmed that men are horrible. Your son, who no doubt will grow up into a strapping young man, may now consider that the traits of a man are to push, be rude and well… be horrible. Will he take this on board and be repulsed, or will he grow up to fill these shoes? Will you daughter grow up disregarding men as inferior because that’s how you make them sound.
Hopefully your words won’t stick… but what if they do?
Like I said… I am no saint, but I think you had better grab that bar of soap over there and wash out that potty mouth… mumma.
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