my-speck

Hello Poogie,

well, I hate to admit it, but I think I swear more than your father.

the swear jar (yes it used to be the coconut jar). looking a tad more full than I'd wanted.

We instituted a “swear jar” in our house about 10 days ago, and while your Dad lead the charge for the first few days, I think I’ve been slowly but surely creeping up to his lead. What can I say?? I’m a consistent and persistent swearer (in fact, looking at the jar, which now contains around $40, if I really think about it, I’d have to admit that I’m perhaps more like a sailor’s wife. Maybe.)

So. The rules of the engagement are clearly outlined on the front door for all visitors:

conditions of entry: the swear jar

And the collection of funds is going to be for your education. Yes, we are that confident that we are such proficient swearers that we’ll save up enough with a swear-jar alone. And for visitors who are money-poor, there is the alternative of house-sweeping. Only fair, we think.

So: all visitors BEWARE (and aside – Note to self: STOP SWEARING!).

We are aiming not to have the kid of the age of one with the total potty mouth at kindy.

love mum

P.S. And yes, the C*bomb represents the word cunt, which I have no problems writing on my blog or in fact saying at certain times (in support of the theory that women’s pieces of anatomy should really be no more offensive than men’s so more people need to use them more liberally in a jesting way to just even-up the playing field slightly) however I thought that as it really does seem to offend some peoples’ sensibilities it would be better not to write it right on the front door.