Last night after supper, as the last of the pumpkin pie was being consumed, there began a conversation that gives a strange picture of life in my testosterone-ruled household.
DS1 found out that ds4 has a new plaque (not the kind on your teeth, but the kind you hang on your wall). SuperDad had made it for him as a surprise for the reptile-loving kid: “SNAKE MASTER”
It is suggested that we all need wooden plaques with our nicknames. DS4 attempts to name his oldest brother…
SM, who is an innocent 8yo and knows his brother is sleepy: Bed snake?
{DS1 pulls his hoodie up and covers his head AND face.}
Me: I was born in the year of the snake. Does that make me a snake in the grass?
But they know I am not fond of snakes, so I am dubbed the “queen of clean” (bwahahahahaha…NOT!!) By the time I recover myself from the crumb-covered floor (compliments of the snake master), SuperDad has attempted to christen DS1 as “bunny master.”
16yo (warily): What kind of bunnies? Attack rabbits? (ala Monty Python)
Me (in a testosterone daze): Hef’s special friends at the Mansion?
SD: Dust bunnies
8yo SM: I remember a beach I didn’t like.
SD: Me, too (I give him a dirty look)
SD: Oh, you said BEACH!
Me: Your dad has trouble with foreign languages. (Actually, this is not true, but it does change the subject again.)
DS1 cracking up and blushing, challenges SD to translation: Ich moechte ein paar Kekse, bitte.
SD: Huh?
[I start singing “Stille Nacht” because the word “paar” is in it.]
SD: He wants a cheese virgin?
Me: Your dad wants Reddi-wip shoved up his nose.
SD: Oui, Madamoiselle
Me: Cheese, Grommit!
It isn’t always this bad.
Kcinnova's World 