23 June 2016

The Joy of Boys 12

The boys are now 9 and nearly 11. With age they they have reached certain level of maturity, there are less poop jokes and more corny pun jokes. They embrace their new found self confidence. Good for them but this only means they listen to me less and are even more headstrong ever. And the best bit so far, they are enjoying being more independent.  I can now boss them around and have them do things for me while I sit around basking in one of the perks of parenthood. Like my mother I tell them they will get the chance to do the same when they have their own children. It's a vicious and terrible cycle, isn't it?  

Being of the male species however, age has come with it's share of degeneracy for the two spawns. Anyone who has had a brother, a boyfriend or a husband will know exactly what I mean. It is a hell of a lot more repulsive than never their used clothes in the actual clothes hamper. It comes pretty close of the horrific scene of smelling your own stinky feet. It specifically comes in the state we know as gas. A mere three letter word that can cause the destruction of civility in any social gathering. They don't seem to grasp how I could be offended by any form of belching and farting that to them is utterly and shamelessly hilarious. If they could they would give themselves badges of honor for the longest, the loudest, the stinkiest  and the vilest.

I would have been horrified if I involuntarily farted in front of anyone when I was 5, 10, or 15 let will myself to do it with pride. Never have I ever yelled "Fire In The Hole" and let one rip. Not once did I shove my butt on my sister's face so she could smell it. At no time did I disappoint myself when it wasn't loud enough to be heard by someone only 2 feet away subsequently inducing them to gag.  By no means did I ever try to burp the alphabet and feel a sense of achievement if I got to the letter J.

I can't do enough eye rolls and dagger looks to get them to cut it out.