I have boys who are most certainly not the of the quaint and quiet sort. They sometimes require a nudge from Geekster or me to use their manners. They will occasionaly spew forth sentences that cause other parents to bore a hole into my head with their judging eyes. Things like 'I hate that game', 'This sucks', and 'Why can't I do up this stupid coat?!'

Hate? Sucks? Stupid?

Heavens to betsy! That Maven needs to tighten the leash on her wild little gremlins. What kind of freak show is she running?

The truth is, it's exhausting to hang out with people who have their children on choke chains. They expect something from me and mine that is virtually impossible.

Allow me to explain: They have little kids who interact with other little kids. They don't have smaller kids who have twelve-year-old brothers. They don't hear the language on some the older kid shows that said twelve-year-old brother watches. They don't have to deal with the friends of said twelve-year-old who may or may not mutter things under their breath when I'm not around to catch it. And, while the use of swear words is prohibited around the very young in our family, we have to make certain non-cussing allowances for sanity's sake.

Intrepid tries not to sound like a preteen around his little brothers. He really does. He's a very good eldest sibling - better than many I've seen. He's kind and gentle and thoughtful. He takes his responsiblities seriously. He comes to my rescue when both little gremlins are clinging to my legs crying while I'm trying to make dinner.

So if he says 'That level really sucked' when he's playing a game with Gutsy, and Gutsy repeats that at a birthday party, and everyone glares at me, well, I'll just tell myself that at least he didn't say 'That level really fucking sucked'.

See? It's all about perspective, folks.

At one point I figured if I surrounded myself with those who are very language-conscious and very strict about things we are not, then maybe it would rub off through osmosis; maybe my laissez-faire attitude would become a little less so. Maybe someone would leave their Childrearing: rules and guidelines book lying around and I could figure out the secret to how everyone else parents so well.

Instead it just made me want to tear my hair out. Do you have any idea how many different words are considered a no-no in different families? How many unique sets of rules there are? How many forms of discipline? How many types of time-outs, time-ins, time-upside-downs, time-inside-outs? How many bedtime routines?

It's damn confusing, is what it is.

(Actually, we don't say 'damn' in this house. Well, not in earshot of anyone under the age of 12)

I've learned an important lesson when it comes to raising my boys: Don't sweat the small stuff, and make a point of hanging out with a lot of people who don't either.

Today we went to visit Angelmama, Devilpapa and their demons (apparently he has the stronger genetics). When we get the gregarious gremlins and disorderly demons together it's always a good time. A loud time, a chaotic time, but always a fun time. I like that they just let their kids be, well, kids. Sure, they have rules based on safety and respect, but they are not taken straight out of a 2008 magazine article on manners by Peggy Post.

Discipline, I've learned, goes through cycles similar to fashion. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes thrown together, sometimes carefully planned. I, myself, have given up on following the current trends. I can't keep up on what's acceptable anymore. I'm too tired, too lazy, or there's usually something I'd rather watch on television instead of reading yet another article on what I'm doing wrong this month.

Terrible, isn't it? You may add yourselves to those who stand behind me, boring into my teeny brain with distaste for everything I stand for. Thankfully Angelmama doesn't do this. She has me over for dinner and relishes every minute our children create beautiful chaos together.

In fact, today she asked Intrepid if he would like to be her daughter's second husband (apparently the darling girl eloped in the school yard and didn't bother to tell anyone until she skipped home with the dollar store ring to prove it). We hoped Intrepid would say yes, because what's a little reverse polygamy between friends?

'No way!' declared Intrepid, firmly. 'I'm not going to be anyone's trophy husband!'

Please don't ask me where he came up with that. It must have been one of his evil preteen shows. When in doubt, blame Hannah Montana. She sucks.

Oops. Sorry. Her television show is not one in which I am interested.

See, Peggy? I'm learning.