Yesterday I was talking to a friend on the phone, telling her all about how my GI Gal is gonna “Matrix” my arse, and it all went slightly awry.
Me: “So, I get to swallow this 'Smart Pill' radio transmitter thing and wear a receiver on my hip for five days. It’ll track how fast the thingy moves through my GI track. You know, like how long it hangs out in my lower stomach and…”
The Girl: Unsuccessfully attempting to stifle giggles.“That’s EXACTLY what I was thinking!”
I am SO comforted by the fact that my family ease drops on my phone conversations to help make sure I’m not making a TOTAL idiot of myself and all. Yep, SO comforted!
Me: “I KNOW I don’t have four stomachs. The GI Doc called it my 'lower stomach' too! You know, where your stomach meets your small intestine. The bottom part of it. Besides, I didn’t say I had four, dummy. I only implied two.”
The Girl: “So you’re only half a cow.”
Me: “Would that make me a side of beef?”
And so it was that I officially became a side of beef.
Since my poor friend could NOT stop laughing at the kookiness, I was forced to explain that this was a perfectly normal conversation around-and-about my home, as opposed to the one that led to the Anti-Mom of the Year Award I will be accepting after I recount this next bit of awesome parenting skill.
*Note: I can neither confirm nor dispute the validity of The Girl’s accusations pertaining to the damp spot on the sofa cushion as my DNA lab is currently broken. Just sayin'.
The Girl: “Why’s the couch wet?”
Me: Feeling couch cushion, against my will and better judgement. “It’s more damp than wet. Ask your brother. He’s the one who was sitting there.”
The Girl: “What’d you do to the couch?”
The Boy: “It’s butt sweat.”
The Girl: “Ooooooo!!!!!!!!!”
The Boy: “I can’t help it I have a hairy butt.”
The Girl: “Ooooooo!!!!!!!!”
The Boy: “It’s not my fault. I can't reach it to shave it. You can help if you want. You wanna shave my butt?”
Folks, I am NOT making this up. Nor is it, sadly enough, out of the ordinary.
The Girl: “NOOOOOO!!!!”
The Boy: “Seriously, shave my butt. I mean, look at how hairy it is. It needs shaved.”
And yes, you guessed it. The conversation ended with my daughter in a fetal ball, eyes hidden from the horror of Sasquatch-bum, blubbering in a manner that indicated years of intense therapy would be needed and my son assuming the "partial-moon" position. (OK, this show-and-tell part is a bit out of the ordinary. Just the icing on the cake that was my day!)
What did Mommy, who witnessed this whole “so-NOT-right” event, do? Did she yell sternly at son to STOP and explain WHY this was beyond inappropriate behavior? Did she ground him for his blatant social technical foul?
Nope. Mommy was laughing so hard she darn near left her own wet-spot on the couch! And so it goes…I am now a side of beef that holds the dubious honor of Anti-Mom of the Year Award!
Why am I sharing my beefy, Award winning tale of shame with you? Why, to give you a good laugh and make you feel a bit better about your day, of course! You see, next time your offspring are pushing each other’s buttons, you’ll be able to smile and say, “At least they’re not begging each other to shave a Sasquatchian backside while illustrating the need! And I’m smart enough to KNOW I only have one stomach!”
You’re welcome.
