I’m not politically correct on my good days. And on my bad days and medicated days I tend to let anything and everything fall out of my mouth. Especially to my son. Even without cursing, he says I’m the crudest person he knows. I don’t think I’m as bad as he feels…I’m sure other parents have these kind of conversations right?.
Monster Teen: *walks into living room after spending a day being a lazy teen. His afro that he recently started growing is completely flat and matted from where he’s been laying. Also, he’s wearing a grungy t-shirt and shorts and his skin is crying out “moisturize me!” (Doctor Who reference there 😉
Me: Sooooo, I take it your name is not Toby today. Looking more like Kunta Kinte (Roots reference here). *sips tea*
M-T: * looks at me appallingly* Are you serious? That’s just racist Mom!
Me: Not my fault you come out looking like a runaway slave.
I think I’m to the point of my son threatening to tell me I’m going to hell.
I’m more of the mindset that if I’m not crude and up front with my monster, who will be? So I tell him that not washing his long johns will give him a stank crotch. Or let him know that if he fails 9th grade and continues to have a gpa below at least a 2, I’m legally changing his name to Taekwondus Aloewicious Jones and then kicking him out my house.
Monster Teen: Taekwondus?
Me: Yeah, you’ll need a proper flipping burgers name.
Me: and you’re from Bah-more now. Forget that you’re from *******. You have to learn to talk like you’re from Merr-lin!
MT: *walks out of living room to my cackles.*
Well, I’m having some oral surgery this week, and I know he’s happy about not having to hear embarrass him while he’s on the phone about his room smelling of armpit and teenage spunk.
That’s ok. Nothing wrong with my hands and my access to his FB page.