The scene: The four boys are playing in the heavily-wooded creek bed behind my house. They are attempting to cross the creek and climb the embankment without falling in and drowning to death getting their designer jeans muddied. They are just old enough to not want their clothes dirty, but not quite old enough to think playing in the creek is totally lame-o. My theory is that they do it because they are not allowed to do it (it’s salmon spawning grounds), and normally I’d stop them, but heck; salmons aren’t breeding right now, and they’re having a good time.

The moment: I step out onto my upstairs deck to sip on some tea and listen to the boys play. I am just high enough so that they can’t see me, and I can barely see them through the trees, but I would certainly hear a *splash* and a *burble-burble* if it came to that. I hear IFN and BUN call to the younger of my two boys. “Dude, COME ON! You can do it!” I hear my oldest son cheer his brother on. “You’re almost there, man!” And then I hear my youngest boy, my one who has just walked out of childhood and fallen headfirst into the limbo that is his pre-teens.

“Guys! How the HELL did you get up there?” Mumble mumble, struggle-struggle-shift. “DAMN, this is so hard!” Grumble grumbly. “Oh CRAP, I almost fell. How the HELL do I do this?”

*choke*

My kids swear when I’m not around. Damn it.

What’s a mom to do about it? I suppose I have a few options; I could pull out my trusty bar of Ivory Soap. I could give him a good talking to. I could go yank him out of the creek bed and embarrass him in front of the kids he’s trying to play it cool with.

I thought for a minute. I sipped my tea. I grumbled. And then I decided I was going to let this one slide.

I have spoken to my children, at length, about image. About how they come across to others. About how adults perceive them. About how their peers perceive them. Most of the conversations have had one goal: Getting them to shower and put on some clean clothes already. I have always managed to wiggle the language topic in there somewhere though, knowing that this day would come. We try to live by the age-old creedo, “What would James Bond do?” James Bond looks good, smells great, all the girls like him, and he never swears. He showers daily. He’s nice to his mother. He’s cool as cool can be. This works for us.

But what about when it’s just them? When there is no adult around, when they’re all on a level playing field? Would I really like it if they said Please and Thank You and Excuse Me? You bet I would. Is that going to happen? Doubt it. I want them to be able to stand up to peer-pressure for sure, but I also want them to be part of the group, one of the guys, hangin’ with the kids. And if they have to say Hell to do that, well, at least my kid had the sense to censor himself with a Crap in there, too.

Incidentally, as they walked inside, I did call down to my youngest and I simply said, “Um, dude? No cussing. You know that.” To which IFN and BUN said, “Man, she can hear us?” Maybe they’ll think a little harder next time. Or maybe they think I have super-human hearing.

Either way. Now they know that I’m paying attention.

Shannon is trying to let her boys grow up, but hasn't throw out her bar of soap just yet, at Type A Mom and at her personal blog, Whiskey in my Sippy Cup.

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