My husband's brewing beer today with a friend/coworker.
Outside, mostly. In the arctic tundra that is our back yard and driveway.
I am sensibly staying indoors and baking bread and, later, making risotto.
The kids – my two and one belonging to our friend – are playing downstairs, and I just heard one of my own little ones shout out – proudly – a swear word.
Now, the rule in the house (because sure, we have rules about swearing for our small children to follow – we're responsible, conscientious parents, after all) is that you can only say that particular word if you're in the "MAN AREA" and playing darts with other MEN. (That should give you a clue as to where and from whom my offspring learn their foreign language bad words.)
Of course, this rule completely excludes Julia from playing darts or swearing. And while I don't think she should be discriminated against because of her gender, I don't think she needs to be throwing sharp pointy objects at this stage of her life. And she's already broken the swearing rule anyway, so there's no going back with that one.
I am pretty sure Julia shouted the bad word. But because I haven't heard it repeated by the other two kids, I'm letting it slide.
It's delightful to know that our home will be that special home where all the neighborhood kids learn new words.