Welcome to the comedy show that I call my life.

Or I’ll just say, my kids are fucking funny. Now I’ve done it. I’ve said something is funny and it gives this whole standard of expectation. Like when someone told you that Adam Sandler’s movie, ‘You Don’t Mess With the Zohan’, was really funny and you saw it on Netflix, and you’re like, ‘eh, not so much’. Well, I promise- THIS is WAY better.

I admit it. I didn’t really keep any baby books for either of my kids. I think I have a box somewhere that has Emma’s lock of hair, and I know I have their hospital bracelets somewhere in there too. I’ve got lots of photos. I wish I had more video. Especially of Owen. We took more video of Emma when she was a toddler, and then Owen only has a few snippets of video as a toddler. I already regret that there isn’t more.

Owen says a lot of funny things. I put a lot of it on my Facebook pages. I try to write stuff down. I have a notebook. I think it has maybe two pages written in it. I should write in it every day. My kids crack me up. I mean, I laugh out loud at them. They have a sharp wit. And sometimes at my expense!! This blog will serve as my record of all their crazy stuff since it’s the only thing I’m writing in or working on these days.

Here’s just a few of the gems that comes out of their mouths.

Driving in the car on the way from the grandparents after celebrating Mother’s Day, there was a funky smell. Most likely another car’s exhaust or engine. Owen says, ‘It smells awkward in here. Did someone fart?’ And honestly, at that point in time, no one had. Not to say someone (wasn’t me) didn’t later on though.

Mother’s Day was a gorgeous weekend in the northwest. It was warm for the first time since September. Which makes me sweat. I sweat anytime the mercury rises above 72. So Mother’s Day morning when the kids piled on the bed with the dog and the cat and … well, I was just kinda sweaty from the night before. IT WASN’T night sweats. I’M TELLING YOU. It wasn’t. But the kids sure like pointing out to me, ‘EW mom, you’re all sweaty’. I know, I’m WARM dammit! So when I’m getting ready for church and I’m covering my ruddy complexion with powder and concealer, muttering under my breath about my blotchy skin, Emma comes in my bathroom for something, hears me mumbling and says, “wow Mom, from being all sweaty to Rosacea, you must be hitting the menopause early”. She’s 12, and I’m 39! Geeze! Listen Miss SmartyPants, it’s just a change of seasons my body is adjusting to!

And I know I’m not the only one that gets sweet, amusing Mother’s Day cards. But I mean, come on, my kids are hilarious. Owen wrote in his card to me all those sweet things about how I take care of him, he’s so proud of me, how much I love him. And then finished it off with, “I hope this is enough (meaning the card) because I didn’t want to spend any money”. Wow, if he doesn’t take after his dad, O EM GEE!

Also, the one he made in school for me somehow was inspired by the Hunger Games. Not on purpose he says. I swear he drew a Mocking Jay and flames. Because what mom doesn’t want to be reminded of the Cornucopia? Am I the Mom on Fire?

COME ON. That TOTALLY looks like a Mocking jay. See the flames on the heart.

Emma and I went to dinner just the two of us awhile back. For some reason we were texting each other at the table. I know- how pathetic- but we were being funny. So she was talking about boobs- who knows why, just go with it- and she typed (*)(*) and I said that I could do better. So I typed (o)(o). And she agreed that my text boobs beat her text boobs. Then she went further and typed 8==> and I was like, holy cow!! She did NOT just do that!

She just went to a dance at school. Middle school. She’s only in 6th grade. School dances don’t bother me. They are heavily chaperoned. With mostly parents I know or am familiar with since my involvement in PTA and the community, I’m pretty confident Emma is going to behave herself. So she steps out of the minivan and says, ‘don’t worry mom, safe sex, I know’. GOOD LORD CHILD!!! NO SEX!!! Then she winks, laughs and gives me that finger point like ‘gotcha’.

Owen playing Nerf swords with me, (one of my LEAST favorite things as a mom) got me square in the crotch. He says, “Sorry about your china”. And then he says, “I know it’s really called a <<whispers>> v a g i n a, but I used to say ‘china’. I prefer that word instead. Also, I would rather just call everything ‘penis’.” Really? You are such a boy!

The kids had standardized state testing at school recently. I asked Owen how it went, he said, “it was easy, the answers are already on the page, with wrong ones too, you just need to pick the right one”. Genius! SATs here we come!

The dog was barking outside at something one night. I told Owen to go let her in. He opens the back door and yells, “HEY BEYOTCH, get in here already!”.

Well, there you go. Was it funny? And before you get all judgey about all the inappropriateness of my children, SIMMER DOWN. Get a sense of humor and lighten up. This only happens at home, with us. They don’t cuss at school, talk back to grown ups (except me of course) and only use potty talk for their peers. See? They’re totally normal. Whatever normal is.

I would like to think they get all their funny genetics from me. I mean, let’s be honest. I’m funny. Not just funny looking, or funny weird, but funny ha-ha, right? Okay, don’t answer that.