As it happens most nights, Soup Husband Curt tucked the Peezer into bed last evening. I tiptoed in to give my sweet baby boy a goodnight kiss. He was all snuggled beneath layers of fuzzy blankets. The disco light was tossing soft beams of colored light around and around his darkened bedroom. (Don't judge. It's his night light, OK?) I leaned down and rubbed his head, and bent to lightly brush my lips against his forehead. And as I whispered, “Sleep tight, sweet dreams, I love you,” he began thrashing his head from side to side and yelled
MOMMY, EW, YOU HAVE BAD BREATH!
So much for the tender moments shared between mother and child.
I brush, I floss, and I get regular dental checkups. But it was 9pm, I had just had a glass of wine and nibbled on some barbecued roast beef leftover from dinner, and I guess that was obvious to my son.
As shocking as it is when kids do that, I think that's also what's refreshing about them. They will never hesitate to tell you how they feel. They completely lack that filter we grown-ups have spent most of our adult years fine-tuning.
Think about it: If you’re talking with someone who has bad breath, you will become distracted by it, and as they continue blathering speaking, you’ll weigh the pros and cons of mentioning it, carefully select just the right words so as not to completely offend, rehearse saying them and anticipate the possible reaction, all before deciding whether to say it with our out-loud voice. And after all that, you’ll probably just take a step backward and offer the other person an Altoid, and hope they get your drift.
But not kids! Kids will yell things that we grown-ups only wish we could. At the grocery strore: MOM! YOU FARTED! Or in church: I’M BOOOOOREEEED, WHEN IS THIS OVER? Or at a birthday party, I WISH BILLY GOT ME POWER RANGERS INSTEAD OF SPIDERMAN! Or at a friend’s house for dinner, I’M NOT EATING THAT, IT LOOKS GROSS!
These things still occur to grown-ups, but we have been conditioned to suppress that urge to just blurt it out. We have been trained to ignore the fart in public. (Well, most of us have.) To sit still during church and, if we must, quietly occupy ourselves by scribbling grocery lists on the church bulletin. To paste a toothy smile on our face and say, “Wow, thanks, you shouldn’t have!” when opening a gift that obviously has immediate regifting potential. Or to demur at the dinner table, fibbing that we’re watching our calories or have a “touch of something” and aren’t all that hungry.
Even my oldest son, in eighth grade, is still developing his filter. He has a teacher he doesn’t really like and has been saying to us that she's mean, she's fat, and he "hates" her. I keep explaining to him that in life, you will have to deal with people you’d rather not deal with, so you have to figure out a way to get along. Eventually I hope he’ll understand that. I don’t know when. And I don’t remember when it was that my filter became as finely-tuned as it is. Was it high school? College? My first job? I don't know.
Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go brush and floss.
