Pumping the jam in the car with kiddies – does it have to be G-Rated?


If there’s one thing I love, it’s pumping the jam in the car. As I’ve gotten older, I try not to deafen myself, fellow passengers and cars next to me, but I still like to listen to my music loud-ish. It’s always been the reason I love driving, which is a good thing when you grow up in Sydney and it takes a million years to get from A to B.

My taste in music has always been really weird –  my fancy can be tickled by 80′s soft rock followed by old school RnB in just a matter of minutes. And straight after listening to something new and poppy, I might scan the radio to find John Farnham and I’ll sing my lungs out because you’re the voice try and understand it.

But it’s my love of rap music that is starting to get a little tricky in my nightclub-on-wheels. You see, my two regular passengers are under five and listening to Iggy Azalea’s catchy tune Fuck Love on repeat has meant my kids not only bop around but try to repeat the words.

Fuck love give me diamonds
Fuck love give me diamonds
I’m already in love with myself
So in love with myself
Fuck love give me diamonds

Insightful stuff from Iggs.

Look. Everyone knows that with parenthood comes sacrifice. The TV channels that get the most workout in my household are Nick and Disney Junior. I cook, mostly, child friendly meals and use less salt and less everything I usually love because bad for you. I use non-toxic cleaning products even though I really – and quite peculiarly – miss the smell of chemicals because they make the house smell… cleaner. And the list goes on. Not that I’m complaining because hello! I’m a Mum and that’s what we do, ya’ll.

But music has always been my… thing. My happy place. Everyone that knows me knows that since I’ve been driving, before the introduction of iTunes, I burnt a new CD at least every week, if not every day. And before that, made mix-tapes from the radio. Pause. Record. Pause. Record. Right on time so I didn’t get any ads or voices on the tape. My mix-tapes were always perfect.

So when Miss 5 sang something to the effect of fuck love give me diamonds, a part of me died. But not completely because she got the words wrong (thank fark for the speed of rap). Still. She tried. She tried to sing the words to the bad, bad song and for a kid that’s five, it’s pretty shitty.

And then I got to thinking and solemnly concluded that oh my god. I think I have to give up music with naughty words. At least in the presence of my children which is all the time!

Admittedly, I’m a bit of a potty mouth in general. I’ve had friends jokingly scold me for my language in front of their kids (and by jokingly I mean I know they want to punch my head in) and since I’ve had my own I’ve had no choice but to tone it down. But you know when some things just deserve the F word to be spoken? I mean. There are just some instances that need a swear word.

And there are some songs that need swear words. And books. And blogs. And sentences. And conversations.

But my kids probably don’t need them in their lives. Because I’m not keen on my kids knowing and using the F word because that’s pretty fucking bloody impolite.

And so I’m reluctantly – albeit responsibly – banning rudey music in the presence of my children.

But I draw the line at The Wiggles. I will just find the tracks that are bleeped out, yo.

Do you listen to rude music in the presence of your kids? 

All comments read, appreciated and responded to. So thank you x
%d bloggers like this: