What an excellent day for an exorcism
Yesterday while pushing Leta through the grocery store in a cart that had a car fastened to its front I accidentally backed the entire 600 pound vehicle over my right foot. A woman and her child were waiting several feet down the aisle for us to move out of the way, and for the first time in many, many years I actually thought twice about bursting into flames of profanity. The first string that came to mind was SHIT DAMN GEFILTE FISH FUCK.
A part of me recognized this self-censorship as an inevitable consequence of parenthood, of not wanting my tiny tape recorder with pigtails to play back my vulgarity in public, but a bigger part of me felt possessed of The Spirit of The Lord, a burning within not unlike a urinary tract infection. Parenthood has tapped into the latent overachieving Mormon in me, and for a few seconds yesterday I stifled the urge to curse because IT WAS THE RIGHT THING TO DO.
Yuck.
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Heather talks about public tantrums (from kids) on today's Momversation.
- Bedtime, Leta lingering defiantly in the hallway. Jon: "If you want fart stories, you better get in bed RIGHT NOW."
- RIP Louis Mortimer Armstrong: http://bit.ly/1R4tv6
- Hugs and kisses to you, too! RT: @Monkey_Tree: @dooce he probably committed suicide because he was tired of LISTENING TO YOU WHINE.
