Fizzle . . .

…not “Shoot.” "Shoot" not as in gun. "Shoot" as a way to express frustration or anger. "Fizzle" is the word I’m desperately trying to use when I’m being Grammy Nanny to Princess Little Leighton (LL).

Last week, in spite of all the illness plaguing our two families, and because all of us Sickies seemed to be finally on the mend/turning the corner, TLC and Her Hubby (HH) made a well-deserved and highly anticipated trip to New Orleans! TLC had visited this amazing city with me and My Hubby (MH) twice in her lifetime. Once when she was about 12 and then again when she was 19ish. HH had never experienced it. Their trip had been planned for over two months. Pre-IckinessSickiness. When our colds/coughs/congestion descended upon us (beginning with LL), we all thought their adventure might not happen. Good news...it did!

MH and I met TLC and HH at a Target in Colleyville last Thursday morn. We chauffeured LL to our country casa for three nights/four days of FUN! Her Mama and Daddy flew to NOLA via Southwest Airlines. (Going and coming were stress-free, lovely experiences. Thank you. Thank you, Southwest. Very much!)

I now must digress and go down another, short path:

Growing up, we (me and my siblings—my younger brother and two younger sisters) weren’t allowed to say “Shut Up.” Or call each other—or anyone else—“Stupid.” Worse words were certainly not permitted. There were consequences. Mostly “The Lecture” we preferred not to be subjected to—for the one millionth time.

It wasn’t until I attended college (My third and final!) that I discovered I had quite the “potty mouth.” Seemed like everyone said some awfully questionable words. Entirely too often. That, as y’all know by now, the way we communicate, is habit. Strictly, unequivocally, habit. The more you say tacky/bad/inappropriate/mean/useless words, the more you want to say them. The more you NEED to say them. And the more you, therefore, do.

I became a Step-Mom at the age of 24. To MH 's four sons. They ranged in age from 2 to 12. Three of them eventually came to live with us. It was IMPERATIVE that I not ever use cuss words. I worked hard to accomplish this goal. I’d say, overall, I was quite successful. Occasionally, I might have let a few of those words fly out of my mouth—but 98% of the time it was when I was around (adult) friends. I swear (teeheehee!) I never, ever used the really, truly bad words. You know what they are.

Once I gave birth to TLC, it wasn’t that difficult to squelch my potty mouth. I’d been doing it for over seven years. I, having been raised to speak as appropriately and kindly as possible, was quite clear on my job as a parent to have TLC find "nice" words  with which to express her feelings. Words that did not include “stupid" and “shut up.” All the “F” words. The “D” word (Darn was okay, in my opinion.). The other "S" word (and I don't mean "shoot"). Etc.

By the time TLC got to high school, we had grandkids that inspired MH and I to, once again, commit ourselves to decent, acceptable language. Even though, at this point, TLC was beginning to use some of those bad words! Typically, as she approached the age of adulthood, I let these lapses in her judgment slide. You pick your battles, right?

It was soon after TLC learned she was pregnant that we both began to notice our daily usage of those not-so-nice words creeping up to an almost out-of-control level. We vowed to get our mouths/habits/words in check. Which I believe we have done. "Mission accomplished."

A few months ago, when LL really started to talk and mimic a lot of what we all were saying, TLC asked me not to use the word “shoot.” Believing I was going above-and-beyond The Call of Grammy Duty in keeping the super bad words virtually non-existent/spoken, I tried to continue to get away with some "shoots" here and there. TLC patiently explained she was worried LL would mispronounce it—at her Methodist Church pre-school—and stayed on my case whenever she caught me saying it. It was true. Almost every time I've said it, I'm trying to change LL’s diaper and inevitably causing myself extra time and work by putting said diaper on upside down—or tearing off one or both of the dang--oops, that's not allowed, either--I mean, dadgum (I'll have to check on that one.) adhesive fasteners. Hence, I began My Determined Crusade to use the word “fizzle.”

I’m not sure that’s the best substitute—but it’s my "word of choice." If y’all know of a strong, but satisfying, word that might be better, do, please, let me know.

By yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, after playing non-stop with LL for three days and evenings, inside and outside (only to have a break during LL’s naps and at night), I was trying to get LL ready to be put in her carseat in MH's truck for the trip East to her home, when, low and behold and, naturally, I had some diaper issues. I slipped. I said: “Shoot.”

LL chimed in: Shoot, Grammy. Shoot. Shoot. SHOOT!

Grammy: Now listen, LL, Grammy shouldn’t have said that. Okay? Grammy is very sorry. Grammy should have said “fizzle.” 

"Pizzle," LL chirped, as she smiled. Then she giggled and said: “Shoot, Grammy! Shoot, shoot, shoot!"

Sigh. A Grammy’s challenge to be perfect is never done. Never. Ever. Ever.

{Look for TLC’s New Orleans’ posts—coming to a blog near you ASAP!}

If you’re American, I wish you the Happiest Thanksgiving! If you’re not, I wish you a Wonderful Week!  Feel free to have some turkey and dressing, smashed taters and green bean casserole, and pumpkin and/or pecan pie! You’ll LOVE all of these traditional yummies. Trust me on this.

smooches, Dear Friends...