My summer has been as crazier than a redneck at an opera (my husband should know). And while I continue to chuck back lemons at life , the little suckers appear to be getting smaller and easier to manage. Anyway, all that means is that I have had less time to hang here on Sweet Spot. So, I thought I would share one of my favorite moments from last spring. Some things just never get old…especially boy humor, at least in my world.
I knew it! I feared the day would come – the moment when I would finally be presented with undeniable proof I was failing as a parent. I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right there staring me in the face. Clearly, I was raising a depraved sociopath.
You know the age old story, in the aftermath of a sociopath’s identification, when the neighbors wax poetic for the press? Statements of disbelief such as: “But, they were such a nice family”… “Never heard a peep out of them”…”mostly kept to themselves”…”They had a lot of garden gnomes.”
Right, well, I could just see the entire future unfolding. How had it come to this?
You see, last weekend as we drove endlessly in the car from one activity to another, the irrefutable proof of my impending catastrophe occurred. I don’t know, maybe my kids were bored. And what is it ‘they’ say? Boredom is the devil’s playground? Boredom is the Mother of Invention? Either way, from the depths of the backseat, my son called out,
“Mom, I scraped my weenus, could you put a band aide on it?”
Before I could even process his statement, the situation deteriorated further. Apparently, my parental fiasco was farther reaching than just one dissolute sociopath as both boys continued in a flourish of depravity.
“Mom, my weenus is exposed”.
“I need some sunscreen for my weenus”.
“Hey, get your weenus out of my face”.
“Look, my weenus is all wrinkled”.
“I am going to touch you with my weenus”.
“I have the weirdest weenus, want to see?”.
The situation seemed dire at best.
But then, just as I was getting ready to take preventative action (you can google for a psychotherapist, right?), I was saved. In the nick of time, I was informed by my little backseat degenerates their particular word “weenus” came with its own specific definition. However, just to be sure (and to have proof for possible future penal encounters – ha, get it?), I googled it myself- lo and behold:
According to Urban Dictionary: “Weenus is the flap of skin on your elbow”.
Sigh of relief. Apparently I am not raising a couple of depraved sociopaths, just a couple of depraved smart alecks.
But that I can live with, proudly.
For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!
Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls
Word-Up: Opus Anyone?
Word-Up: Get a Yob!