Conversations with my daughter – Refining slanguage

When it comes to being a parent, there are words I use that are proper, and there are words I use that are slang-y. And there are words I’d rather use, but prefer not to because I want to sound better in front of my daughter. I’m a rated-G mom on the outside and have a rated NC-17 inner-college gal dwelling within me that parties in my head all day long. So if I feel like throwing an f-bomb when the bowl of marinara sauce slips from my hand and splashes on my socks from the fridge (nothing like a cold and wet crime scene on my feet *smh*) and my daughter’s home, I don’t sound like the father on A Christmas Story…

instead, I simply yell out an f-bomb — but the f is for “flaxseed oil.”

Yep. That’s the word I chose to replace the other f-word.

I was learning about flaxseed oil and its benefits back when my daughter was a wee lassie. Some frustrating thing happened back then and I snapped “f—!” Luckily she didn’t hear me, but I heard myself and decided to turn the word from ugly to healthy. I mean, why not.

So from that day on I’d exclaim “MOTHER FLAXSEED OIL!” around the house to get my fix and have my daughter learn about a great oil all at the same time. 😀

The bigger benefit? As she got older, she would use that phrase when something didn’t go right. I remember my girlfriend Amanda was watching my daughter while my husband and I went out for a movie, and she texted me, “umm, Anita? Your daughter yelled ‘Mother flaxseed oil?'”

It was a proud moment, I tell you. She became a clean cursor. 😛

I’m noticing my daughter has the same talent in word replacement, only her replacement words are not about covering up an ugly word. Her view of things comes from a kind or honest place and I find myself LOVING her outlook. I then adopt that new thought into my own think tank, because her view increased the standard, and changed my view to something more positive.

Example: We drove down a road and passed by a cemetery when she was three years old. When I was a little girl I remember friends who told me to hold my breath when we passed a cemetery, “so the ghosts from the cemetery won’t get your soul,” or “don’t look at it because you’ll end up there next,” and all sorts of beware-ishness. I never liked looking or going by cemeteries since those young years. Always felt creepy around them.

My child? She saw the cemetery and said, “Mama! Look! There’s a berry patch!”

I questioned her, “A berry patch?”

And she said, “Yeah! You know, where the people go back to Heaven — they get buried in a patch…”

Ohhhh… A bury patch! What a genius name to call it! I thought. Sounds like a berry patch. A perfect way to view a cemetery! Ever since then we call all cemeteries “Berry Patches” 🙂

My three-year-old at a REAL berry patch in Michigan. She is a serious raspberry picker. Like SERIOUS serious.

I love that about children. They have such a pure perspective. Her words changed me. I went from feeling awkward and uncomfortable, borderline heebie-jeebie driving by cemeteries, to full on relaxed and welcoming to them.

I needed a perspective shift, and it was served well by my little itty biditty boo boo child.

So fast forward to today and a conversation I had with my daughter in my car. A new phrase emerged:

Me: Do you want to go to the store and find some new pants or do you wanna go home and chill, like a vill-

[before I go on, this term, chillin’ like a villain slanguage popped out of my mouth. I don’t know where it originated, but it was catchy and my daughter enjoyed saying it, feeling like she was SO current, lol. Back to the story:]

Me: Do you want to go to the store and find some new pants or do you wanna go home and chill, like a vill-

She: -age. Chill like a village. That makes more sense. Chillin like a villain? That just makes no sense. Villains don’t chill. They are stressed, too busy making trouble or running for their lives. They are not chillin’ — but a village… that makes sense. Villages chill.

To me, that was spot on.

So we are throwing out chillin’ like a villain and chillin’ like a village.

Because villages are so chill.


Here’s another conversation to read!



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