So I have a ‘potty’ mouth. I am a terrible swearer. I curse a lot. Particularly in the car.
Of course I tried to moderate this behaviour when the kids were little and I think I did an OK job. The odd ‘bloody hell’ may have slipped out but generally I was better behaved, language wise.
Recently I have given up. I am not sure what is driving this. I may be peri-menopausal. Who knows? I am certainly getting older and in the manner of older people I have completely lost the ability to be patient. Especially with people driving cars. Or bikes. Or lorries. Or motorcycles. Or maybe it is just that the amount of driving I do has increased exponentially over recent years. And a lot of that driving is done under a certain degree of time pressure.
For instance today I dropped Youngest off at the second day of her week long football course at 9. Because it was the second day we were not able to register them ten minutes early. And so I was first out of the blocks when I was finally allowed to sign her in. Quick peck on the head and it was a race to the car to avoid the car park Jenga that would then ensue. I felt a bit like Anneka Rice in that helicopter game show but without the terrible eighties jump suit.
And the reason I was so rushed was that I needed to have both boys to their orchestra course by 9.30. The orchestra course is a minimum of 23 minutes away from our house. Which is about 6 minutes nearer to the orchestra course venue than the football course venue. I know it can be done in 23 minutes from my house because I managed to get them there at 9.29 am on the first day after having to turn round part way because Eldest remembered he had left his cello bow at home…I may have cursed then too…. On that occasion we re-left home at 9.06…
‘Cello bow gate’ happened on a Sunday. Today was Tuesday and therefore traffic was likely to be more of an issue.
I hate being late. My children also hate being late. Both boys were getting more and more anxious in the back seat. This consisted of them asking me every 30 seconds how much longer the journey was going to take and discussing between them who was going to brave Mrs Bentley, the course administrator and woodwind tutor, and what excuse they were going to give for their tardiness. I suggested they just tell the truth. That mummy had too many kids. They weren’t keen. Then they both needed the loo. Their bowels react badly to stress. All this wasn’t helping. Much.
During this carnage I may have called a lorry driver, who pulled out behind me into the fast lane on a very short bit of dual carriageway (the length of which I have got very very familiar with over the last three days as I race from drop off to drop off) to overtake an even slower lorry in front of me, when I was clearly indicating to pull out first, a tosser.
That was a new one on the boys. I had to ‘explain’ it. Whilst overtaking. I suggested they didn’t use the word in front of Mrs Bentley, who may inadvertently swallow her oboe reed. Or indeed in front of any adult. Even me.
Of course that is double standards. But, hey, they weren’t the ones going bumper to bumper with the juggernaut.
Do as I say. Don’t say as I say. Ok?