Category Archives: Potty Mouth

Uptown Funk, or how to offend an entire Trader Joe’s

My daughter is four.  She loves to sing.  Loudly.  She doesn’t always get the words right.  Her favorite song, currently, is “Uptown Funk.”  You know this one, right?

In case you don’t have an affinity for popular music, here.

The part of the song that my daughter really, REALLY loves to sing out loud is: “Uptown funk you up!  Uptown funk you up!”  Imagine how these lyrics translate into a four-year-old’s language.  Ready?


Yes.  Yup.  In the middle of a very crowded Trader Joe’s, Kerry Anne decided to sing her favorite song.  But just that part.  About six times in a row.  Or, enough times to have at least ten people wondering what kind of mother allows her child to speak in such a way and should they call CPS?

I tried to play it off.  As my face, and probably entire body, flamed up, I laughed nervously and said “That’s not what she’s saying.  It’s a song.  But it’s not those words.  It’s by Mark Ronson, well, but Bruno Mars actually sings it, it’s on the radio all the time BUT NOT THOSE WORDS.  She’s four.  That’s not what she’s saying.”

Several people stared at me, and her, and back at me.  They shook their heads.  A little old lady actually “tsk tsk’d” me.  And that was my breaking point.  My baby is SANGIN!  She loves this song.  She’s getting the words wrong?  What-fucking-ever.

“Sing out, Louise!”

I’ll fix you a cocktail if you get that reference.



My mother doesn’t like it when I swear (on Facebook).

My mother gives me a lot of shit when I swear, but only when I swear on Facebook.  People I don’t know, nor have ever met or really care much about, “might see it.”


“There are so many other words you could use instead.” – Mom

True, there are a lot of words I know, and I do use them regularly.  But sometimes, “fuck” is the only thing that will suffice.  Opening the pantry door to discover a large scorpion?  “Oh, dear me!” will not cut it.  “Oh, holy fucking shit balls!” is what that situation calls for.  Am I right?

Mom and I were sitting around her patio table last night, with my youngest brother, my auntie (Mom’s sister), one of my best friends and her husband, and my mom was divvying up swats between my brother and me as we used “colorful” words in our usual banter.  My auntie brought up my recent ban of My Little Pony in my home (Sassypants was beyond distraught; more on that later) and mentioned the acronym I had used for the show recently (on Facebook, of course.):  MLMfCsP.

“What does that stand for?” asked my adorably conservative mother.

My auntie started laughing before I even opened my mouth.  “It stands for My Little Motherfucking Cocksucking Pony,” I told her.

Swat!  Gasp!  “You said that on Facebook?!?  That is embarrassing!  I’ve never said that word.”

Back up, Mother Dear.  You SO have said it and I recall the exact details of when and where.  This frazzled mind of mine holds a shit ton of memories and you don’t stand a chance.

“Yes, you have.  We were in your car, when you still drove the Highlander, turning left on Stephanie from Sunset.  You were upset with (shall remain nameless) and you called (shall remain nameless) a cocksucker.”

My mother, who really is the most adorable little lady on Earth, shrugged and said “Oh.  Well, it doesn’t really count if you’re in the car.”

So there you have it.  You may swear to your heart’s content, with my mother’s blessing, but ONLY IF YOU ARE IN THE CAR.


*Note: my daughter was not around for any of the above-mentioned interchange.  I honestly try to refrain from swearing around her and other children.  Modeling behavior and all that jazz.

Oh look. Another Mommy blog.

This is probably the 86,345,956th mommy blog online.  Just what the internets need, right?

Shut up.

I don’t say “shut up” to my daughter, though I often want to.  You see, I practice “modeling behavior” so that she can learn how to act like a good human.  What I really want to say, most of the time, is “shut the fuck up!”  But this is not acceptable behavior among the preschool set, so I do not hit the parenting runway with a potty mouth.

My daughter is four years old.  She believes that she is The Boss Of Everyone, but especially of me.  She makes me laugh and she also makes me a little insane.  Every day is an adventure with this child, and more often than not, I need a drink at the end of the day.

Welcome to my life.