I Have Fake Nails and My Children Swear so I had a Brain Surgeon Dinner Party

The brain surgeon and I were still a little discordant today and had not fully recovered from the food incident. Two days, I know.

Lame.

But we had worked through it by this evening. We had to. We were having a few resident brain surgeons over for dinner.

I miss when I was the dinner party queen in med school. I loved cooking elaborate vegetarian meals (easier than vegan) that pleased the carnivores. I loved bring out the decorations, the candles, the crystal.

Tonight’s dinner was more me running in the door, sweaty, with groceries well after the guests had arrived. Then we (well me and my brain surgeon) threw together a vegan taco dinner that was okay, but that was also clearly an I-have-three-kids-5-and-under meal.

Still, I enjoyed myself.

But let’s start at the beginning.

I was up too late last night and I got up too early this morning. Cranky and still dealing with post-fight residuals from the scorned brain surgeon.

I took Miss M to the nail salon. She chose blue for her fingernails and pink for her toenails. I had acrylic nails put on, which was just plain dumb for a variety of reasons. One reason is that I'm a writer (shameless plug) and it takes me like three days to relearn to type with my tacky fake-o-la nails. Another is that I so rarely have time to get my nails done, and it is so sporadic, that I can’t really get these things filled.

There should be a market for temporary acrylic nails.

Because really I think they’re a little cheesy and a lot tacky, yet then there are moments where I’ve just gotta have them. And SOMETIMES (rare, but it happens) people get a nice set of fake nails that don’t make them look like a chick in a Girls Gone Wild video.

The last time I went to a nail salon, I had the same ridiculous urge. The lady said to come back every two weeks for a fill. They were gone by then (both my nails and the salon), but didn’t have time to go anyway.

If I’m a brain surgeon’s babe, shouldn’t I be living a life of leisure? Shouldn’t I have time to get my nails done?

Anyway, I bit them off. I’m not a nail biter (though sometimes I’m a finger sucker) UNLESS I get fake nails. There’s something delightfully crunchy about them.

Don’t worry. I don’t swallow.

Nails, that is. I don’t swallow nails.

That’d just be F*d up.

Speaking of the F word, my children swear. I just admit it now.

Usually it’s just my 3-year-old and usually it’s just around us, but he does drop the F bomb in the car sometimes and actually said, “Damn it!” in proper context last week.

Maybe I should punish them, but I’d feel wrong about that since they likely learned it from me and the brain surgeon.

Plus, truth be told, swearing has its place. Rather than abuse them by shoving soap in their mouths, I prefer to teach my children the ins and outs of swearing.

Some might call this bad parenting. I call it honesty.

If you have your own kids, you can handle the nuances of swearing however you want. If you don’t have kids, you don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to parenting, no matter how much you think you do, but feel free to continue boring parents with your cluelessness.

Sorry. Maybe I’m PMSing.

Anyway, I thought I’d share my (unique, I hear) philosophy on swearing and what I tell my children.

First of all, words are words. I’m a writer (plug for me, oh wait, I already did that) and I believe words are powerful, BUT really, they only have as much power as you give them.

For example, take the “See U Next Tuesday” word. Many women cannot stand that word, so if men or other women call them it, they become super offended, giving said word so much more power than they need to. Just own the word. Demystify it. Who really cares?

Okay, people care. Some people. My job as facilitator of my children’s journey through life is to help them navigate these tricky waters, because, be honest, sometimes a good F word is all you need to get you through the day.

Miss M is very rules oriented and very analytical, so the night she said “f*** it” in front of her grandmother (on the brain surgeon side) I just explained its use to her (despite the brain surgeon’s mom preference for the soap method and obvious disapproval for my method). Here’s about what I said:

“Some words are strong words. Sometimes they feel good to say. But, most people don’t like to hear kids say those words. Grandmas and grandpas and other adults might think you aren’t as nice. We know that’s not true, because words are just words, but I’m simply telling you what other people might think. Also, some mommies and daddies won’t let their kids play with kids who use those words. Even as an adult, I am careful not to use some words around my grandparents or parents, some people I work with and around kids. And we shouldn’t say those words around babies, because they can’t quite make decisions yet about if it is okay to use the words. You have to know how and when to use those words.”

Miss M indicated understanding and I haven’t heard her swear since. No soap required.

Now, what’s really funny was that the brain surgeon’s sister was the object d’venting of the brain surgeon’s mom, who was sharing that she disagreed with my method and thought the mouth laundering method would be more effective.

To which the brain surgeon’s sister said, “Yah, Mom, that f*ing worked. I did not f*ing sneak and swear with my friends then, and I do not f*ing swear now. That REALLY f*ing worked.”

Total poetry.

That’s not to say Miss M hasn’t sworn again. I just haven’t heard it.

My poor mother, though, nearly peed her pants one day at my house. I was in the room with BooBoo, who was tiny then, and the L-man. My mom was playing with Miss M and came to check on me. When she returned to the living room, she heard Miss M whisper while reaching under the couch for an unreachable toy, “This is so f*ing frustrating!”

Okay, how she did not urinate in the hall, I will never know.

Later, Miss M had a straightforward talk with me about the F word, without saying it. She said, “You know that word that starts with the ‘fuh’ sound, Mommy?”

She was in her car seat and had clearly contemplated our talk.

“Yes, M, what is it?”

“Well I can’t really say it around adults, my friends or babies, so I don’t really have anyone I can say it around, huh?”

Dang. She figured me out.

“Yah, M, it’s tricky. But you can say it when you’re alone if you need to, like when you’re in the bathroom.”

Then she said, “Well, can I say it in front of you, then?”

I thought about that and said, yes, if she felt she needed to, she could.

We drove in silence for a while. Then she said, “Mom?”

“Yes, M?”

“You can say it in front of me if you need to, too.”


Damn, I have a cool kid.


Toodles!