I think it’s safe to say anyone would get a little punchy after several hours of close contact with teenage humans, especially those teenage humans who just wiped off all their sweat on my car seats.
Me: Hi, sweetie! Hey there, Eddy. How was school?
Eddy: Hey, Mrs. Wren! It was good.
Squirt: Eh.
Me: You guys… Oh, my. (sniffs cautiously) … Well… um… you just got out of P.E., hunh?
Squirt: Yeah! Dodgeball, Mom, it rules! That is the best game, ever.
Me: Aha, yes. Excuse me while I roll down the windows.
I spend a lot of time in my van, what with swim team practices, two different school schedules and two carpools. One day last week I clocked in just under 4 automotive hours between 1:20 and 6:30. To pass the time, I either listen to the radio or the Sweaty Teenager Show.
Guess which one’s been featuring a bunch of dead baby jokes lately?
Squirt: Hey, Mom! What’s the difference between a pile of dead babies and a car?
Me: Uh, er… wait! Um… Oh, I give up.
Squirt: I don’t have a car in my garage.
Me: Unh hunh. Maybe you shouldn’t repeat that one in front of the school counselor, okay? I bet she already knows you’re the one who wrote that comic book. You know, the one with all the machetes, machine guns and squirting blood in it.
Squirt: Aw, Mom. It was squirting zombie blood. I keep telling you that. (rolls eyes)
Between the oxygen deprivation and the squirting zombie blood, I have to say my sense of humor isn’t what it should be. In my defense, I never understood the charm of dead baby jokes when I was a kid, either. When it comes to “with it” parenting, I am definitely without.
Squirt: Mom! You’ll like this one better: What’s the difference between a truckload of dead babies and a truckload of bowling balls?
Me: Ugh, one is a truck… filled with bowling balls?
Squirt: You can use a pitchfork to unload the truckload of dead babies.
Me: Yeah, keep that one away from the school counselor, too.
Eddy: I got one! Why did the dead baby cross the road?
Me: I give up.
Eddy: Because it was stapled to the chicken.
Squirt: HA! That’s a good one!
Me: Both of you should stay away from the school counselor. It’s just best, you know?
This illustrates why: I should never be allowed near any infant (Love, love, love dead baby jokes), and why I love boy children. So gross, so fond of blood and explode-y stuff, so cool.
Tell your kiddo, “Thanks for the laughs.”
Argh. Dead baby jokes. Can boys outgrow those? I’m guessing not.
I will, Pat. And I think you should be allowed near lots of infants. You remind me of my Sissy: she does “Pull my finger, kid” better than anyone I know, even Hubby, because it’s so unexpected coming from her.
Everybody needs an aunt who does “pull my finger” jokes.
I do believe I would’ve reacted in the exact same way, Bonnie. Ug. I may have thrown up with the smell and the word pictures though. So, great job!
I have two boys…not yet teenagers. Oh boy.
ahh… the joys of yet to come….
Ahhhh, dead baby jokes and finger pulling. Instead of visceral reactions to them, try thinking of them as the standards in the soundtrack of every young boy’s life. Kinda like ‘Misty’ or ‘Moon River’….
as the standards in the soundtrack of every young boy’s life
Just keeps getting better… and if they ever figure out that I am out numbered… I am in sooooo much trouble
I am so glad I am a girl. My childhood was filled with lame yet nonviolent jokes.
knock knock.
who’s there?
boo
Boo who?
Don’t cry!
har har har. I am slapping my knee as we speak!
Am i a bad person coz i laughed like crazy at the stapled baby to the chicken? LOL…too funny!
Michelle – sadly (I hang my head in shame) if my boys repeat those it’s becasue I told most of those to them =0
The DH gives them the physical jokes – pantsing, triping – me, I tell them things I never want them to repeat in front of the grandparents – and often they do!