I have a lot of friends who have kids. This, I’m sure, comes as a surprise to no one. What is also not shocking is that we all try to be good parents. And when we get together, we often discuss how we are failing at that very task.
During the course of these commiserating conversations, the topic of “swear jars” has been raised and until very recently, I had no opinion about these piggy banks of sin. And then I started deeply examining the whole concept. Because what else does one do in the wee hours of the morning but listen to the dog snore and contemplate completely inane and inconsequential issues? Thank you, peri-menopause. Anyway, I’ve decided I am totally against swear jars. The whole idea does not work for me for a variety of reasons. Here are five:
1. I swear. A lot.
I don’t use curses all day long (at least not in front of my kids like my hoodlum husband) but when I am annoyed, cursing just feels right. As a matter of fact, I think I heard about a recent study that found that cursing releases some kind of endorphins or something. Whatever. When I feel She Hulk rage in the depths of my very soul, I need to spew a solid string of creative profanity. I can’t imagine holding back because I’m worried about putting a dollar (or six) in some silly jar. Which leads me to the next issue.
2. I never have cash.
I am that woman who will drive an extra seven miles to a place that accepts credit cards for a cup of coffee. I hate doing that to the mom and pop coffee shops, but it’s all good at Starbucks. I figure they’re charging me a 75 percent mark-up to cover the fees so we’re even. Whenever plastic won’t do and I’m in a pinch, I borrow birthday money from my tween child, because she is an excellent saver. But if I create a swear jar, I can’t very well say, “hey kid, can you spot me some f#&$ing cash?” It sort of defeats the purpose.
3. The jar is clearly aimed at parents.
I am a firm disciplinarian. I expect a lot from my kids and for the most part, they rise to the occasion. Though my oldest is experimenting with the foul-mouth that all high school kids embrace with the passion of an Olympian, he is otherwise a well-behaved child. So for the first 14 years of parenting, the only curses uttered within the confines of our home were flying out of the mouths of my husband and myself. The children were the ones warning us of our evil ways. Listen, I’ve been parented. I’ve done the 20 years under my parents roof and, therefore, their rules. I had to refrain from all the curse words. My mother didn’t even like when we called people idiots. She preferred the kinder, gentler term of “stooges.” I still can’t say that without laughing.
4. What are you supposed to do with the money?
When the swear jar is full, what happens to the cash? It’s not like you can go on a family vacation. “Look kids, we are so foul-mouthed that we have filled the swear jar with $1,000 this year. We’re going to Disney!” I think that just sends the wrong message. OK, so maybe you donate it to a worthy charity, right? Nope. “Hi (insert charity here), my family and I would like to donate the cash we’ve squirreled away from cursing like drunken sailors. Here’s our filthy, profanity dollars!” It just feels dirty.
5. I’m a f’ing adult.
I work. I pay bills. I give to charity. I raise kids. I raise a husband. I rescue dogs (and even a couple of cats). I volunteer in my community. I mow my lawn and I even put the shopping cart back in the cart stand. Every. Single. Time. At the end of the day, when I have been moving non-stop for 16 hours, all I want is an Antiques Roadshow marathon and a glass of wine. When, instead, I trip over my kid’s slipper (pick a kid, it doesn’t matter which one) and stumble into some dog vomit, chances are good that I will unleash a torrent of swear words that are put together so precisely they would make a trucker blush. And G@dd*#^it, I’ve f’ing earned it.
Clearly, I’m against the idea of a swear jar, but if you’ve got your heart set on one, don’t look to the internet for inspiration. All the artsy types out there suggest these cute mason jars with hand painted logos and ribbons. F that. It’s a swear jar; a place to pay for your sins. It should be as filthy as your hell-bound mouth. Find an old Chinese food soup container that’s stained with something unidentifiable; one that maintains a slight stench of rotten food, no matter how hard you scrub it. When you’re super-furious, stab the lid with a reasonably sharp knife. When you start screech-cursing (my personal favorite), you can jam money through the now-accessible opening. Done. Happy swearing.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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