"Mom says that word" and other things that 'aren't ok'

My oldest two daughters probably got the "most sane" and "most fun" mother out of the bunch. We went to concerts and music festivals, hiking and traveling. I wasn't scared of my own shadow, didn't know stress and hadn't encountered my first vertigo episode. I was brave and fun and said things like "oh, good grief!" I was called Charlie Brown on more than one occasion because of my PG-rated "foul language".

When I got married, my (no ex) husband had a son who was definitely undiagnosed with many things. He flapped and stimmed and walked on his tip toes; he didn't play make believe, he didn't really play at all. He LOVED messes and he needed extra help. Since his parents weren't really interested in a diagnosis, or in getting him help, I read and read and read every book I could. I tried to help as much as I could without overstepping boundaries and keeping my own children safe - he is a very unsafe human being, even still. I decided that I would start making weighted blankets and that would help him and SO MANY OTHERS.

I pulled out my grandmother's sewing machine and went to work. My inner sailor emerged. This sewing machine was very old and the needles were brittle; they would snap and fly at my face and out of my mouth would come "HOLY SHIT!" as my heart rate catapulted to 974!

After awhile when I would let out something profane I would hear a small child say "Mom! Are you sewing again?"

"yes, sweet heart".

"Mom, did that one get your eye?"

"Almost hun."

And we would carry on with life.

My children didn't try to swear. And I helped SO MANY adults and children a like. I made hundreds of weighted blankets in various styles; I learned what was and wasn't beneficial weight wise and my children learned the sounds of mom sewing.

As stress grew, so did my vernacular; my wonderful mouth clung onto these words like sweet honey. I love the versatility and the emphasis of a bold fuuuuuuck. (PLEASE enjoy the meditation copied at the end). I am still poised and a good grief woman, but when times are flying, and words needs to be bolded, italicized or extra exclamation points - in real life - I get a little sweary.

Now comes Ezra. Sweet, loving, off the charts Ezra (who, by the way is in the 98th percentile for height! ... Where is he going??? His "dad" is SHORTER than me!). He goes to my mom, who is a God-fearing woman and he says "Mom says fuck".

"Ezra! You don't say that word." My mom tells him

"Grammy! Ezra not say that word! Mom says fuck!"

So I got the "talkings to" that I needed to clean up my language and dot my i's and cross my t's. What does it look like if he's going around saying these things?

I will tell you something though folks. It is fucking hard to stay in a super chill state of "om" when he is having 900 meltdowns a day. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't do drugs, but mom does says "fuck". Those other things are ALSO frowned upon.

So he comes to me the other day and says "mom. Mooooooom. Mahhhhhhhhmmmm. MOM!"

"WHAT?!" as I mutter under my breath afterwards "for fuck's sakes!"

He gets closer than I like and I can feel his hot toddler breath on my face. He has my cheeks in his chubby little hands. "Mom." he whispers "Grammy. Says. Shit."

"Ezra" I say calmly, about to explode into laughter. Gain composure and breathe, be an adult, Audree. "Ezra, we don't say shit. That is for grown ups to say".

His eyes are darting around "mom, mom, MOM!"

"Yes, Ezra" I have restored my composure.

"Ezra not says that. Grammy says shit."

"okay Ezra."

If this, these verbal outbursts are my vice, if saying fuck occasionally keeps my boat afloat and oars in the water. If saying shit is the worst that it gets.

I think I'm doing just fine.

The promised meditation:::

https://youtu.be/92i5m3tV5XY?si=3ZatjFHzmT9gQiQg