The children are very inappropriate. The blame rests squarely on the shoulders of their parents, MathMan and me. Our crime is being ourselves in front of them.
Oh, and laughing. Just like Mrs. Brown admonished us when we laughed at Howard W. when he did the Donald Duck voice in first grade.......if we laugh, we'll only encourage them.
Cases in point.
The Actor has been using his timing, improvisational and mimicking skills to do a very inappropriate imitation of someone with special needs. Even as he launches into this character, he's aware that it's wrong. "Don't say retarded around me! It's special needs!"
Yesterday evening at supper I told him that karma was going to catch up with him and he'd end up with a brain injury of some sort and then we wouldn't be laughing, would we? He only seized on the phrase "karma is going to catch up with you," and started running around the great room asking if karma was behind him.
My very politically aware self was horribly offended by this and insisted that he stop.
When I'm laughing so hard that I have to hold my sides and gasp for breath, my demands are hardly effective.
The Actor had another baseball game yesterday and couldn't find his cup. No wonder. When I'd finally had enough of the cloud of dust that rose up anytime you walked across his carpet, I started cleaning. His cup was exactly where he left it: under his dresser.
When he got home, he noticed his cup where I'd left it on top of his dresser and asked where I found it. I answered from the kitchen where I was doing something with Cupcake.
She recoiled in disgust. "Did you pick up his cup?
"Yes, with my teeth."
"Ewwwww. Mom," she paused and then ventured into another venue of gross. "I bet you would if it was Daddy's."
"Ewwwww. No way."
She wasn't going to let me off that easily. "Come on, admit it. You know you would have....."
She has been home more than usual. It's been quite lovely to have her around except she's on a total health kick and I have to sneak around if I want to eat confectioner's sugar straight from the canister. What a nag.
Now that she's around, the bickering has escalated, though most of it is put on for show. It hasn't been that long since my siblings and I engaged in witty banter that made our mother develop a fondness for gin.
Yesterday I was clucking about the nonsense that went on at the supper table when The Dancer looked at me steadily and uttered a four word solution.
"Duct tape and a sock."
Originally posted June 23, 2008