“Oh my gosh, that was crazy.”
“Oh my gosh, what did you do?”
“Oh my gosh. You are being really annoying right now.”

One of my kids has made this phrase her mantra. She is allowed to use it, from time to time. But for every cool flip her little sister makes off the couch they are not to be flipping on, every injustice to the childhood race, or exciting news of where we’re going over the weekend? This Mama is ready to tone it down.

It’s cold and has been for two days now. I’m reminding my son to wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom at school since yesterday he confessed with pride, that he never does.
“Fine, have fun vomiting this year.” My horrible parenting at its best.

“Have we ever all been sick at the same time?” they ask.
I begin to relay the story of when we had just the two kids. It was like a scene from Nightmare on Elm Street. One started and it didn’t stop until the last person in the family, Dad, became a casualty. It was the only time I’ve called my mom in the middle of the night asking for help.
I point to my oldest. “You started puking and then he started puking and I was like, ‘Oh my gosh my kids are so sick!'”
Bing! Wonder where they picked it up.

“Let’s find something else to say,” I suggest.
“Why can’t I say it?”
“You can, but we’re saying it all the time and I think we could say something else.”

What I knew growing up was a parent that could hardly utter “butt,” except in a near-whisper, and a parent who would yell the f-word at a football game. If you know them, you know who’s who. And they did not live in the same house for obvious reasons.
I fall somewhere in the middle and at varying times in my life have wavered closer to one side then back to the other.
In everyday language I am respectful, thoughtful (eh, mostly), and I don’t think about swearing. When I’m angry, I have no problem coloring my language like a crisp, fall day. However there is one word I will never say. And I will discipline my kids in a heartbeat if they use it in slang.

God.

I will repeat that name a thousand times in prayer, and cringe every time I hear it out of the context of honor. 

“How about, ‘Oh my stars?'”
There are giggles all around.
“OK.” She smiles.

So the next time you see me and you tell me you’re pregnant, you’re quitting your job, you’re going to start wearing kimonos on a daily basis?

Oh my stars. And garters.