The Swear Jar

I am one of those mothers who, on occasion, may or may not swear at, to or in front of her children.

I wasn’t always like this. No, indeedy. Quite the opposite, in fact; I was one of those mothers who used only positive terms and terminology in front of and when speaking to her child. As was the fashion of the day (I believe that has all changed now, but that’s a different post).

So pedantic was I about the use of any word that may possibly be construed as negative in any way, shape or form that several formal meetings, complete with the requirements for minutes to be posted to all attendees afterwards, were called to address issues with my Mother-in-law, who dared use pet names that barely fell into the ‘negative’ category.

Then I was put on medication and cured. I was me with the very reality of raising children, and returned to my ‘normal’ self.

So, yeah, as the situation calls for it, I swear.

My level of stress directly correlates with my propensity to swear. And given we’re in the middle of the Summer School Holidays, which also happen to coincide with such frivolities as Christmas, New Year and extremely hot days, my stress levels have increased exponentially. I may or may not have dropped – by which I mean “yelled in a fit of sheer frustration” – a rude word. Just the one.

It’s not the first time the concept of introducing a Swear Jar to this household has been brought up. My now twelve-year-old suggested we may need one some five years ago. I’m guessing it was in similar circumstances.

I did entertain the idea, so long as we made it clear that

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