Mine happens to be the misuse of the word everyday.  I see this word misspelled nearly every day on restaurant menus, billboards, advertising posters, and the like.  My child’s seventh grade teacher even misused the word in a handout during last year’s open house.  It was the English teacher.  Gasp!  It seems to be an everyday occurrence. 

I didn’t point out to the teacher her mistake.  I wasn’t going to put my child’s seventh grade career in jeopardy due to my grammar-nagging ways (I’m sure grammar-nagging isn’t really an adjective either).  And I’ve done some graphic design.  I wonder:  When the pizza shop advertises $5 pizza for sale everyday, did they just run out of room on the poster?  They couldn’t fit an extra space?  I would have flunked for that in school.  My spelling and grammar check on my word processor did not even pick up the preceding error.  That’s why writers have to be so careful.    

I’ve learned a lot, but still I’m not an expert.  Nevertheless, here is my rule for everyday faux pas: if one is to use “everyday” as one word then it has to have a direct object.  For example:  My daughter wants me to wash her everyday jeans every day.

I used that sentence as an example for my children, because even though I did not point out to the teacher the mistake, I made sure my kids knew the difference.  Plus, it offered a quick little jab about the wash.  (Again with the wash; it’s an everyday occurrence too.)

I know, I know (OK – should I have used a semicolon or a period there instead of a comma?  Technically there are two complete sentences).  One must not feel bogged down by the strictures of grammar during the creative process.  But eventually grammar does count if one’s writing is to be taken seriously.

I’d like to keep learning, so what’s your grammar pet peeve? 

Also, if I’ve committed any grammar crimes in my post, please forgive me and drop me a comment (not too mean please).  Thanks yous guys.    

Where do you like to write?  I like to write in bed with my jamies on and with my dog curled up at my feet warming them.  I could stay here all day even with the heaps of unfolded laundry looming like storm clouds at the edges of my bedroom.  By the end of the day, if I don’t move and keep writing except to get up to eat something salty then sweet, globs of laundry will have been turned over onto my bed, strewn about like unkempt children.  A frantic soccer player in search of a jersey or a ballerina leaping for a leotard will have thrown it there.  The dog will be happy when a fuzzy pink slipper sock lands on her nose, a prize waiting to be gnawed at.  I feel compelled to say that I am off carpool duty today; otherwise this blatant indulgence might be seen as abuse of my privileges as a stay-at-home mom who gets to write for fun all day.   Then again, someone else, maybe one of the other five people with whom I live and one whom I can be pretty sure loves me, could maybe fold the laundry.   (I’m wondering: is “whom” a dead word?)