This is not one of my favorite moments of being a parent. Okay, maybe it is. Today. The day it happened I was not amused, nor the day after. Now, however, this is grade-A "remember when you were little and you....." story following by pee-your-pants laughter. Only in this day of modern technology and constant photography, this incident is forever captured, long after the paper has been thrown away. Also, time has permitted the perspective that the artistic abilities my children display in a moving vehicle is not without merit.
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A Literal Sh!tstorm
This is a post about how what we put our parents through when we were little comes back to haunt us when we are trying to raise children of our own. I was nearly perfect, but obviously with the spawn of Corey Allbritton, we have a long road ahead of us.
Actually, this one may be my bad. See, when I was in the fourth grade, my mom taught at the school I went to, though she did not teach my grade. In the mornings, I would hang out in her classroom instead of socializing outside. I hated the heat more than I loved my friends. If you were a girl in grade school, you remember that you had rotation of best friends and fell out with other girls your age all the time. So in one round of falling out with a particular friend, I wrote that she was an asshole on the chalkboard in my mother's classroom. Then the bell rang, and I left and forgot to erase it. Then my mom's students came in to read my declaration. And my mom followed. And I got in big trouble. Big. Huge.
Tonight, Corey called me to tell me that the boys had drawn a picture on the bus that they were fairly proud of, and eager to show him when he got home. And the babysitter before he got home. I'll share it with you now. You'll be proud for me.
It's good, right? Let me zoom in a little so you can see the important little details.
Wait, I just want to make sure you do not miss the one spectacular detail that appears seven times on the front of the page, and one time on the back.
That's right, internet. My little angels spent a thirty minute bus ride peppering a drawing of people dying in war with exclamations of "sh*t." My husband will attest to the accuracy and frequency of that word's use in battle, but my children a) have never been in battle and 2) are not allowed to use that word.
That sentence is a nod to my seester, who has watched "Home Alone" 812 times, and loves when Buzz uses a, 2 and d in a sequence.
Yesterday their dad told them that they needed to be sitting together on the bus, because Landen is getting picked on by two older kids. So today, they apparently did what they were told. And found a way to creatively entertain themselves through the pen-and-paper medium. It was Jake's idea to spice up the drawing with a curse word. It was Landen who decided to make a theme. Repetition is important in getting your point across, my communications professors always told me. This fits with the broader theme of giving Landen an inch and having him run off with your whole entire tape measure, which is something we battle daily.
I'll spare you the lecture they got or the punishment we levied and leave you to laugh/be glad you're not me/dread when your boys are my boys' age/nod with the knowledge that this is what we can expect when we curse in front of our children. That last part you can keep to your f*#king self.
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