I was changing Daenerys this morning when she started squealing:
‘Mummy! Your hands are facking cold…’
I didn’t make an issue of it. She was right. My hands are facking cold at the moment (where the fack is Spring?) so I ignored it and moved on. She’s two. Most likely if I tell her it’s wrong then she’ll say it all day long. So I left it as an interesting anecdote to tell the King of the North later wherein we will discuss our kids openly swearing and how we are both truly acing this parenting malarkey (high-five husband!)…
Oh dear, swearing. Some of my last blogs have been sweary and parents have come up to me at the school gate, shocked. I didn’t look the sort. I looked so calm. That’ll be the gin, ladies. All the gin. But really, what is a bad word? I had a playdate once where Arya was stood at a play kitchen and told me she’d farted. She excused herself. End of. The other parent was horrified. We don’t use the word ‘fart’ in this house. My girls ‘fluff.’
What I imagine a 'fluff' looks like....
I laughed at this point. Seriously? Firstly, that’s a rubbish alternative…it makes me think glitter and rainbows are about to erupt out of their bums. Trump is far more superior if you’re going to replace it. But there was the shame thinking Arya had said something bad. If she’d said a fucking fart, well…yeah, maybe. I know a lot of parents like this. They don’t like phrases like ‘Jesus Christ!’ or ‘Bloody Hell!’ either. You make a mental note of these parents so you know never to greet them at the school gate and tell them how facking tired you are.