Tonight was my team’s Christmas dinner. Since we’d all be in the area for it, we actually went into the office today. Seeing as it’s the holidays, people are in an awfully shitty mood, and traffic was considerably more dense than normal, I was frustrated to have to actually leave the house for the 10 minute commute to the office. To anyone that didn’t really soak up the obnoxiousness of that comment, yes, I was bragging that I work from home and don’t have to deal with the every day assholes on the road. If you think this is bad, wait until February and the dead of winter when I regularly thank the powers that be that I get to sit around in sweats.
Spouses and children were invited to the dinner as well. The team members ourselves are all young, so any children were under 4 years old. Since one wife and child had a long drive from Pennsylvania, and another wife and child were hanging out in the hotel, they came into the office for a bit near the end of the day. We then found ourselves in an office the size of my living room with a pair of two year old boys running around.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed it. Part of me looked at it as a preview of what to expect with me working from home and Meg chasing our little shit-machine around the house. Both boys were friendly and adorable, and while I was waiting for my computer to compile, I was able to play with them.
This was especially interesting with Orlando, since he is the son of our team member Heiko, who was here visiting from Germany with his family. Orlando doesn’t yet know English, so normally difficult to understand words became an impossible challenge for me. Still, peek-a-boo transcends language and we had fun.
The biggest difficulty in the scenario had nothing to do with getting work done or keeping the kids entertained. Once the kids showed up, I quickly realized I would have to watch my language. To anyone who hasn’t spent a good amount of time with me, I have a bit of what some people would call a “potty mouth.” I didn’t realize how frequently “stuff” becomes “shit” in my vernacular. I won’t even begin to get into situations where I’m actually pissed off.
I realize I need to begin to clean this up very soon, because I don’t think it’ll be a cold turkey change over. I’m told our baby can now hear stuff in the womb. If that’s the case, my contribution to the child’s growth thus far has been roughly the words:
- Nintendo Wii
- Christmas Cookies
- Little shit
- Piece of shit
- Our shithead neighbor
- This shit sucks, change the channel
- Son of a bitch
- Is this one of your pregnancy hormone things?
This isn’t even the really bad part. As much as I don’t want the kid to be hearing this now, I’m really going to be in trouble once the kid reaches the parrot stage of child development, during which time only the most inappropriate filth to come out of my mouth is absorbed and subsequently repeated at the least opportune time.
I’m not the kind of person who believes in New Years resolutions. But this year, I think I do need to make a concerted effort to not completely screw up this kid’s vocabulary before he’s even born.