Way back when I was in college we had to take sociology. One of the things we learned was that each family develops its own language. Certain phrases take on meanings that only that one particular family understands. Just like an inside joke. Well, as I've noticed before and again more recently, our family is no different.
I have previously blogged about how we never call body parts by their "normal" names. And everyone has a nickname. Recently, our little parrot (a.k.a Noah) has started throwing out things that we can easily pinpoint back to one family member or another. For example:
1. "What's up homes?" (that one would be me)
2. "Shut your face!" (Austin and Connor)
3. "Whatcha buildin'?" (Dustin)
I also smile when he tells me, "Good choice mom!" after picking a song to play in the truck and "Sounds like a plan!" when I fill him in on the day's itinerary. "I'm on it!" is echoed when he's asked to pick up toys or let the dogs in.
Sadly, he's also used a few less than favorable phrases not fit for writing on a blog post about a 4-year-old. I take responsibility for those as well. All in all, he is quite articulate for a 4-year-old and has developed quite the sense of humor. I think we'll keep him.
Friday, September 28, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
It's Disgusting!!
Dear Austin,
Some day perhaps you will read this blog post. I hope we share a good laugh over it. I have a feeling we will beacuse you're that kind of kid, able to laugh at himself.
Yesterday I asked you to fold laundry. It was actually supposed to be punishment for snapping Connor with a bungee cord. It turned out to be what I consider a life lesson. You were definitely upset about having to fold laundry because you said "I'm not good at it." I replied that the more you did it, the better you would get at it. You thumped yourself down in front of the baskets and started folding. Then you got to my underwear.
You came to me and said, "Mom, I feel like it's inappropriate that I fold your bra and underwear." I tried to hide a smile. I told you I had folded your underwear more times than I could count. "But that's different," you said, "I'm your kid." "Maybe you're right," I said, "but clothes are clothes and my underwear are no different than shirts or pants." I tried reasoning with you for about 5 minutes, but you just dug your heels in and finally started crying. Then you said, "It's disgusting and I am NOT folding your underwear!!" I sent you to your room for yelling at me.
I wasn't sure how to proceed. On the one hand, I felt you had a legitimate gripe and I could see how a 9-year-old boy would find his mother's underwear less than sexy. On the other hand, you have an enviable knack for getting out of work and I could see this spiraling into "everybody's clothes but mine are disgusting...." I also try to remind myself that I'm not just raising sons, but future husbands, and before that men who will need to be able to take care of themselves.
So when you came back downstairs, much calmer, I spoke to you about all the things I've done for you that are "disgusting". I reminded you of poopy diapers that went up your back and down your legs, puke that covered every surface for 20 square feet, pee on the walls and yes, sometimes your underwear. Again you reminded me, "but you're my mom." I said, "I'm sorry Austin, but these are the facts of life. We all have to do things we'd rather not do. And while I understand that you're not crazy about touching my underwear, I promise you they are clean and won't transmit girl cooties."
You resigned yourself to the fact that mom was not going to budge on this one and acting as though they were on fire, very quickly folded my underwear into a barely recognizable wad and threw them at my pile of clothes. I assured you that after awhile underwear would be no big deal. You assured me that you doubted my wisdom on this one.
I love you Austin. You make me laugh, you are open, smart and kind. You are also very normal. And someday, you will be a good man just like Dust, who is practically impossible to gross out.
Love,
Mom
Some day perhaps you will read this blog post. I hope we share a good laugh over it. I have a feeling we will beacuse you're that kind of kid, able to laugh at himself.
Yesterday I asked you to fold laundry. It was actually supposed to be punishment for snapping Connor with a bungee cord. It turned out to be what I consider a life lesson. You were definitely upset about having to fold laundry because you said "I'm not good at it." I replied that the more you did it, the better you would get at it. You thumped yourself down in front of the baskets and started folding. Then you got to my underwear.
You came to me and said, "Mom, I feel like it's inappropriate that I fold your bra and underwear." I tried to hide a smile. I told you I had folded your underwear more times than I could count. "But that's different," you said, "I'm your kid." "Maybe you're right," I said, "but clothes are clothes and my underwear are no different than shirts or pants." I tried reasoning with you for about 5 minutes, but you just dug your heels in and finally started crying. Then you said, "It's disgusting and I am NOT folding your underwear!!" I sent you to your room for yelling at me.
I wasn't sure how to proceed. On the one hand, I felt you had a legitimate gripe and I could see how a 9-year-old boy would find his mother's underwear less than sexy. On the other hand, you have an enviable knack for getting out of work and I could see this spiraling into "everybody's clothes but mine are disgusting...." I also try to remind myself that I'm not just raising sons, but future husbands, and before that men who will need to be able to take care of themselves.
So when you came back downstairs, much calmer, I spoke to you about all the things I've done for you that are "disgusting". I reminded you of poopy diapers that went up your back and down your legs, puke that covered every surface for 20 square feet, pee on the walls and yes, sometimes your underwear. Again you reminded me, "but you're my mom." I said, "I'm sorry Austin, but these are the facts of life. We all have to do things we'd rather not do. And while I understand that you're not crazy about touching my underwear, I promise you they are clean and won't transmit girl cooties."
You resigned yourself to the fact that mom was not going to budge on this one and acting as though they were on fire, very quickly folded my underwear into a barely recognizable wad and threw them at my pile of clothes. I assured you that after awhile underwear would be no big deal. You assured me that you doubted my wisdom on this one.
I love you Austin. You make me laugh, you are open, smart and kind. You are also very normal. And someday, you will be a good man just like Dust, who is practically impossible to gross out.
Love,
Mom
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