There I am on my hands and knees scrubbing the hell out of my entry-way floor. I have piled the shoes on the carpet, a step up from where I kneel. I’m getting frustrated with myself that I’ve left it this long and now the dirt and grime have become unbearably difficult to scour off. Of course the female child is quickly approaching me from the back, as she is always curious as to what I am doing. She begins to grab the shoes that have been piled up, and dangle them precariously above the area in which I have already cleaned. “Don’t do it Sophie” I say, but not in a stern enough voice because a second later a hand full of shoes get pushed onto the previously cleansed area. She continues to thrust the dirty footwear over the ledge. Finally I stop, look at the child, and without thinking of the words; I say, “Stop it you little shit weasel.”
Shit. Weasel. Shit Weasel! Why? WHY in all of the names I could summon up within my mind, would I call my 2 year old daughter a Shit Weasel? Granted I said the slur with a joking undertone, but I still feel that this could possibly scar the girl. What if she subconsciously buries this account and years later in some random conversation she is having in high school or college, somehow those two words -Shit & Weasel- are placed in the same sentence and BAM nervous breakdown….’My mom called me a Shit Weasel once…It was terrible!’
I carry on, trying not to let on to the kids, my disgraceful blunder. I make my way to the bathrooms and begin my cleaning regime there. The products I use to disinfect the place are pretty strong so I steer the kids away from the area when I clean it. But little Miss Sophie Anne continues to push her way towards me. I calmly ask her to go in the living room…No go. I get her some Play-dough to distract her…Not happening. I again am getting exasperated with the situation…I THEN SAY IT AGAIN!
“Get out of here you little shit weasel!” What is wrong with me? Why do I keep calling my sweet little girl a shit weasel? What does it even mean? A weasel like creature that’s covered in shit? I don’t know, I’m just the one saying it to my kid. Dishonour fills me, and I immediately say I’m sorry to the girl who looks straight through me because she has no idea what I am apologizing for. So this is what it’s come to, expressing regret to my toddler for calling her a completely peculiar and ridiculous name.
Needless to say it is noon and I am pouring myself a glass of wine to drown away my faux pas. I will indeed be more mindful in the future as to what comes out of my mouth in a fit of aggravation, because the last thing I want is my children churning out the phrase ‘Shit Weasel’ around town and crediting the origin of the term to me.