One Sunday morning, I was racing to get us out the door and to church on time. My husband was lagging a bit and still shaving.
I decided to take it upon myself to get the car out of the garage and get the two children settled in. I left the car door ajar just a bit while backing out so I could see where I was going. As you can guess, I jammed the car door into the garage door frame.
Unbecoming for a Sunday school teacher, I let out a phrase of frustration that included a bad word. I turned to the children and told them not to tell their dad what had just happened — that I would tell him myself.
My 7-year-old took off running as fast as he could toward the house. I ran to stop him from getting to his dad first. He got there before I did and, with a little smirk on his face, announced: “Mom just said a very bad potty word.”
I was mortified. If my son or daughter had used that same word, cat box duty would have been theirs for a week.
My husband found this to be quite amusing until he realized why I had used that bad word.
We didn’t make it to church on time.
As a matter of fact, we didn’t make it to church at all, as we could not get either the car or garage doors closed.
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