In my defense, it hadn't been a good afternoon.

My 6-year-old had a friend over, so I was watching five kids instead of the usual four. My 4-year-old was crying because the game he wanted to play on the computer wasn't working, my 3-month-old was crying because she wanted to nurse, and I was crying because it was Friday, my husband was late from work, and I had mastitis and a fever of 102.

Then my 2-year-old got his arm stuck in my husband's didgeridoo. The better part of an hour later, his arm was still stuck and the proverbial end of my rope was fraying fast. I was carrying him around with his arm wedged into a four-foot-long wooden cylinder, trying to reassure him that Mommy was going to find a way get him unstuck. Instead, Mommy came unstuck.

The word I yelled in the direction of the didgeridoo is one I won't bother to repeat. Suffice it to say that it did not pass the Philippians 4:8 test. As soon as the word passed my lips, I looked at my wide-eyed 2-year-old and knew I was going to hear that word again.

Eventually my daughter's friend went home, my son decided to play a different game, the baby got to nurse, and the didgeridoo parted ways from my toddler. But I couldn't take back what I said (although I did pray, really hard, that my son would just forget it). A few days later when we were back-to-school shopping, I was navigating my laden cart and four children to the checkout line when I heard my 2-year-old stop singing Vacation Bible School songs and suddenly yell, in full toddler glory, "%#*& didgeridoo!"

Boy, did that stop the back-to-school traffic.

I thought of my son, my slip, and my resulting embarrassment when I came across an outtake of Semi-Homemade's Sandra Lee swearing. After uttering another non-CT-appropriate ...

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