I'm Definitely Teaching Them The Baked Goods Thing

I just got a 16" shot in the behind. Turns out the illness that's been slowly sucking away my will to live is strep. Never fear - that's not what this post is about. I just wanted to share. Because anytime you get a needle in the butt, it's kind of an Occasion.

When we lived in Las Vegas for that short four month period, my six year old came home from first grade suddenly talking like a valley girl, repeatedly shrieking “Oh my God.”

I was startled because Mormons aren’t supposed to talk like that. Of course I’d never actually bothered to tell her about the whole not-taking-the-name-of-the-Lord-in-vain thing, so it wasn’t all that surprising that she didn’t know.

I’ve been a bit of a slacker in the religious education department over the last few years, partly because I currently suffer from an advanced case of spiritual slackeritis, and partly because in Utah I hadn’t had to teach her much of anything - she’d just absorbed the shared religious/cultural values almost by osmosis. Here in Las Vegas things were a bit looser, and it suddenly dawned on me that if I didn’t want her to eventually end up swearing like a long-haul trucker, I was probably going to have to sit down and actually parent her a little.

Eureka.

We had a little talk about language - about how in our religion, we only use God’s name when we are actually talking about or to God. That we only use His name with reverence. She seemed to get it, and agreed to do her best not to say it. She is her mother’s daughter though, forgetful and flighty, and the words came flying out of her mouth throughout the day.

She swore she was actually saying “Oh my gosh.” My hearing is rapidly going, and I couldn’t tell the difference between the Word and the word and so we decided the best thing to do (read: easiest for mom) was to just ban both phrases – and that is how “Oh my gosh” became a Very Bad Thing to Say in our family.

Now you've gotta understand, I was educated in Idaho (if by educated you mean I went for one disastrous year, then slunk home in defeat), so “oh my gosh,” “holy crap” and “holy freaking cow” are all sadly permanent parts of my vocabulary. At least six times a day I let out an “oh my gosh.” The kids would hear me say this and would look at me with shock and horror, all, “ooooooh, mommy you said a BAD word.”

(Of course I can let fly with a nice strong dammit and the children won’t even blink. They have no idea it’s a curse word. I do try not to say dammit around the children, but sometimes I forget myself, mostly because I don't think of dammit as a swear word. I figure it's more of a comic prop when used appropriately - always with the appropriate emphasis and bluster, ala “DAMMIT, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a technical writer.”)

When my mother-in-law found out about our banned phrase she shook her head and muttered something profane about Utah Mormons, sure I was turning into some strange kind of fundamentalist.

Now we're back in Highland and the community standards are a little, er, different, to say the least.

At the end of last summer I ran into a pack of neighborhood seven year olds who were all making that “ooooooh, you’re in trouble” noise and asked what was going on.

Nate looked at me solemnly. “She said the S word,” he said, pointing at one of the girls.

I was a little shocked until the girl hung her head and confessed that yes, she’d called her sister a stupid head.

PROFANE SINNER.

So the whole taking the name of the Lord in vain issue has kind of faded into the background, because the other kids around here just don't say it. With the impetus gone, I decided I would let my kids know that "oh my gosh" wasn't ACTUALLY an evil thing to say. (I was tired of having them giving me these pitying little looks every time I said it, looks that clearly said, "Oh mommy, I'll be so sad when you aren't up in heaven with us.") So I sat them down and reminded them it wasn’t actually a bad word, then told them I was lifting the rule, and they could say it if they wanted to.

You would’ve thought I’d told them it was Christmas. THEY COULD SAY IT. WHENEVER THEY WANTED. The forbidden was now – allowed. It blew their minds. I could see it on their faces. Mom is an all powerful being, who has the power to make The Naughty = The Un-Naughty. Bending the laws of the universe to suit her will.

All day long they said “Oh my gosh,” then watched me out of the corner of their eyes. “We’re allowed to say that now,” they reminded me, eyes darting around. “You said we could. You said we could.”

(I should say for the record - I'm not one of those people who believes a fake swear word is just as bad as a real swear word, that if you say, "oh fudge," you might as well just fork over the whole F word.)

It's funny and a little scary, the way they think I have the power to "make it so." The way they take my word for it - what is good and what is bad.

If I tell them the color blue is evil, or that robots will fall from the sky in 2017, or that "Honor thy father and thy mother" actually means that at least once a day all good children must bring their parents baked goods, they might believe me - at least for a couple of years. And it suddenly feels like a lot of responsibility, teaching kids what to believe - especially since I'm not always one hundred percent sure what I believe myself.