On my continued journey to discover why I am so bloody smart, and after the latest article proclaiming that ‘people who swear are more intelligent,’ snuck through my social media algorithms, it finally sunk in. Swearing makes you smarter (or something like that – I didn’t actually read any of the articles). This must be true because I’m smart and I swear a lot. It’s widely acknowledged by my colleagues and other parents at the park that my proclivity for profanity tends to wear off on others. If the aforementioned articles are correct, I might actually be responsible for making those around me MORE intelligent. Dear colleagues and toddlers at the park, YOU’RE WELCOME.
“You’re Welcome!” proclaimed my darling daughter Tootie one morning when I placed her cereal bowl in front of her. Mildly confused yet pleasantly surprised with the child’s unexpected and unusual expression, I responded with “Thank you?”
MANNERS
Manners. Tootie has some and we’re really pumped about it. As her parents, however, we can take exactly ZERO credit for the random ‘You’re Welcome.’ As it turns out, Tootie’s Dayhome Mom Extraordinaire is quite skilled at turning nonsensical babbling toddlers into articulate and polite communicators. Always giving her diaper-clad pupil the benefit of the doubt that they had indeed uttered, or intended to utter the prerequisite, ‘Thank you,’ Tootie’s Dayhome Mom’s standard practice is to say the words, ‘You’re welcome,’ while handing out lunch. Well, let me tell you, Tootie did not utter, or even intend to utter, a ‘Thank you,’ before her Dayhome Mom’s, ‘You’re welcome’ response. Up until this point, we thought this highly specialized toddler training technique could only be deployed by saying “Please?” in response to a toddler’s demand for more juice or fruit snacks. Now, thanks to her training, Toots is very good at saying ‘You’re welcome’ in situations where a simple ‘Thank you’ would not only suffice but would actually make sense.
THANKS YOU!
While the term ‘Thank you,’ continues to elude her, the Tootmeister has mastered the use of the phrase, ‘Thanks, you!’ and routinely exclaims the words upon me wiping her butt. In what can only be described as the newest trend in toddler slang, the expression ‘Thanks you!’ has made its way from my toddler’s developing vocabulary into mine. I now routinely use this phrase with my colleagues.
DEVELOPING VOCABULARY OR A DEVELOPMENT IN VOCABULARY?
A few weeks ago, I tugged on Tootie’s leg to help her put on her pants. Not liking that, she looked me square in the eyes and said, “Fucks Sake!” I immediately broke eye contact with the toddler and hoped that I had simply misheard her. Completely discombobulated, I frantically avoided making eye contact with Tootie and her father as we’ve heard that acknowledging profane outbursts from toddlers only encourages the tiny terrorists. While staring at the ceiling, I again reached for Tootie’s leg only to be met with a clear and undeniable, “Fucks Sake Mommy!” This time, the other parental unit and I made eye contact as our two-year-old whispered under her breath one last, “Fucks sake.” My husband and I subsequently Lost. Our. Shit. My 6’5’’ tall husband began rolling around on the floor, grasping his stomach, and giggling so hard he stopped breathing. Twice. I unsuccessfully tried to keep my composure while our pissed-off, profanity-spewing, pants-less toddler, stared right at me. Her tiny facial features were all scrunched up, seemingly in contempt of my very existence, and I thought to myself, “Wow! She’s using ‘Fucks sake’ in the correct context.” And then I thought, ‘We NEVER say ‘Fucks sake!’ If the Toot had used ANY other profane term, I would have assumed total and complete responsibility. It is no secret that my use of profanity is extensive but I don’t use the term, ‘Fuck’s sake,’ and neither does my husband, and I’m pretty sure that one of the 10,000 recently hired YouTubeKids content reviewers would have caught a ‘Fucks sake.’
EVERYBODY SWEARS
Swearing in front of your toddler is inappropriate. Swearing at work is also inappropriate, but EVERYONE does it. Well, at least you do when I’m telling the story. Every day, I stop myself when describing a conversation I’ve had with a colleague to say something like, “Well Brent didn’t actually say fuck, but he’s definitely not onboard with changing the font in the inter-office correspondence template,” or with my sister to say, “Dad didn’t actually call you a shithead, but I know he was thinking it.” In any event, despite my inclination for expletives, “Fucks sake” has not made its way into my personal vocabulary. Exactly how this vulgar lingo came to be a staple of our toddler’s vocabulary, which consists mainly of ‘You’re welcome,’ ‘Please,’ and ‘Thanks Q’s,’ is likely to forever remain a mystery. Now ‘Fuck’ on the other hand…
P’s, Q’s AND F-BOMBS
With perfect enunciation and in proper context our toddler began to yell, “Fuck!” every time she crashed to the ground, usually because her socks were on inside out. For reference, rubber grips come standard on most toddler sock models. This all-important safety feature is completely negated if your socks happen to be on inside out, turning hardwood floors turn into treacherous taupe-coloured skating rinks. The same toddler who is incapable of putting her socks on right side out, had now mastered the use of the above-mentioned expletive and was liberal with its use. It was time for ‘The Talk’ about minding your P’s, Q’s and ‘F-Bombs.’ One chat about watching her language, and the Tootmeister appointed herself to the role of ‘Profanity Police’. With a heavy sigh and a disapproving stare, she routinely puts down her sippy cup and says “Mommy! Stop it” when I am simply trying to convey to her father Brent’s dissatisfaction with the changes to our corporate stationery and her grandfather’s disapproval of her auntie’s windshield washer fluid choices. Thanks to the ‘Profanity Police,’ I now leave out the more colourful language (i.e. at least half of the words) from my après work conversation.
IN CONCLUSION
Yesterday, in fear of the Profanity Police, I swore in my head as I served my toddler breakfast because I’m so smart not swearing at breakfast is not an option. Tardily, I arrived at work and yelled out “Thanks you!” upon seeing the colleague who told me that she fucking loved the new font I proposed for the inter-office correspondence template. Over dinner, I diligently concentrated on omitting the profanity from the stories I told Tootie’s father, which was really hard because it wasn’t even there in the first place.
THE END
AFTERMATH
Some asshole told the Tootmeister about ‘swear jars’ – she should have enough money for her preschool tuition and a month’s supply of McDonald’s fries by the end of next week.
Well, that’s not it. But maybe it should be. 
The BOSS OF ME blog 