Censoring Music

More and more I'm finding that I am needing to censor music from my children's young ears.

It's not like I'm listening to NWA or any heavy-handed lyrics. I'm talking everyday music that I once took for granted. Lily Allen. Gotye. Black Eyed Peas. I could go on, but I can't think of anyone else right now.

Apparently everyone's dropping the f-bomb in their lyrical miracles, and it's become au fait.

You're talking to PottyMouthMama here. I tried to delete swearing from my vocab the moment I birthed my first babe.

I'm not just playing Justine Clarke CDs over and over again, but help a girl out - what's your tactic when artists are getting their swear on? I'm not some little prude sitting in the corner. Surely I am not alone.

I want my kids to remain kids for as long as possible. To preserve that innocence for as many years as possible.

I remember vividly playing records on my Uncle Silas' record player, discovering the Beatles, Tiny Tim and many others as I worked my way through my parent's collection.

I remember puzzling over lyrics and wondering what they meant - and imagining my own innocent meaning - but I don't remember them cussing on the mike. Ever.

Now piles of CDs are relegated to times when I am alone, in the car, or if the smalls have gone out. Clearly, my music collection is somewhat refined when in their company - but their innocence is worth more to me than listening to a song. Can you dig?

It's Sunday Love:: Tiny Loves Cussing

We got up early today. Well the Doctor always gets up super early. But Matt and the Doctor went bike-riding early. And about 5 minutes after they left, Tiny wanted to go meet them. So after my request of "five more minutes" in the toasty warm bed with seventy-eleven layers, we clambered out of bed. Half-dressed and hot footed it to surprise the boys.

It was wet and cold in the park. We found our boys and decided to go have a hot chocolate before coming back to enjoy the park. Maybe when the wet had dissipated. Ahem.

Tiny and I were perched at the cafe, drinking our hot chocolate and flat white respectively, when I spotted the boys. I said: "Tiny, I see the boys spying on us." To which Tiny so eloquently replied with an F-bomb.

Wow.

It's not the first time.

I've promptly gone into swearing rehab. I've gone cold-turkey on swearing, given my 3.5 year old swears so appropriately. And sometimes not so.

One morning before school, the Doctor and she had been having some biffo. She walked into me while I was getting dressed and said: "F*** man."

My swear word of choice now? Supercalifragilisticexpialadocious. Or however it's spelt. Trying saying that when you're furious.

Tiny, I'm sorry you have a PottyMouth. And it's my fault.

But how about those magnolias. That blue sky. AYE CARUMBA! (How was that for changing the subject?)