Don't f***ing swear

Ahhhh, that's better!

Going to my hairdresser's is such a joy - we chat, we laugh, I drink coffee and read ridiculous magazines, and she works her magic until I emerge, newly vibrant and sleek and feeling a million times better. 

I look rather ladylike in this ensemble. 

Which is totally misleading, since I am not very ladylike at all, as most who know me will attest. 

In particular, my language is not that of a Lady.

I swear. Rather a lot. It satisfies a need for emphasis, for drama, for humour; sometimes, only cursing like a navvy will do.

I know when not to swear, of course, and am perfectly capable of reining it in on occasions when it is not appropriate. But we have a fairly relaxed attitude to "bad language" in our house, including in front of the kids. They've have heard it all already from kids at school, and as long as they follow the golden rules (not at school and not in front of Grandma), we're pretty laissez faire.

After school, I usually ask the kids what sort of a day they have had; was it delicious Chinese; nice-enough pizza; or terrible mushroom? Yesterday, Seldom Seen looked rather downhearted, and replied it's been a terrible mushroom day. On further investigation, it transpired that he had been shown a red card. 

 

For swearing. 

 

Oh fuck.

 

It appears that Child R had been picking on one of SS' buddies, so SS told him to stop it, and called the kid an arsehole. Child R promptly went and told a dinner lady. The dinner lady issued SS with a red card for swearing. No contextual information was sought or given. Child R went away smirking, SS came home crestfallen.

 

Now I know he shouldn't have sworn at another kid at school. He broke our golden rule, and calling Child R a rude name was wrong. But the motivation, the urge to stand up for his friend, and name and shame Child R's bad behaviour was right. What he should have done, of course, was alert the dinner lady to what was happening, and let her deal with Child R's behaviour, in which case it would probably be Child R with a red card, not SS. 

But we live and learn. And Child R is indeed an arsehole.

 

 

 

 

1970s crochet dress, suede waistcoat and bangles - charity shopped

Boots - Ebay

1960s Tissavel cape-style jacket - gift

1950s scarf - flea market

Shiny red bob - courtesy of lovely Kirsty at Hair @ St Paul's

 

I always find parenting issues the most fascinating - and the most challenging - when they centre around helping kids to navigate the choppy waters of human relationships and communication. 

 

I could see immediately that there was a better strategy for Seldom Seen to employ; all he could see, at the time, was his friend in trouble, and another child behaving unkindly. He was cross, and he swore. I do that - all the time. And no one gives me a red card for it. 

 

We expect a lot from kids sometimes; we expect them to have a control, a sophistication, an ability to strategise, to step back and predict future consequences, which many adults do not possess. 

 

 

 

 

And sometimes, you just want to say arseholes!

I'm working tomorrow, and no doubt I will be swearing (in my head) throughout the day.

Hope you have a great weekend, whether it is accompanied by profanity or not!

xxxxx