Sounds the Same

We try to have intelligent conversations in our house. We really do. At dinnertime, I usually talk about current events and ways a Democratic White House would make everything better. My babies’ daddy (love the way that sounds) covers all things sports while the boys 'fess up to antics at school. However, sometime between dessert and teeth-brushing, the conversation usually takes a turn for the worst:

Oldest Son: There’s a pizza covered with ants in the middle of the road. I “one” it.

Husband: I “two” it.

Youngest Son: I “three” it.

And so on until the inevitable:

Husband: I “eight” it.

Both Sons: Eww, you ate it! Gross.

All three erupt into raucous laughter. I try to look stern and show disapproval, but that only makes them laugh harder. Besides, I have no credibility anymore. For an hour yesterday, my males worked hard on a model of the solar system for a kindergarten project. Out of nowhere, my oldest said,

“Mom, your anus is looking good.”

I smiled and said,

“Thanks sweetheart! I try my best!”

Awkward pause.

“He’s talking about the planet, Katie,” my husband said, trying to look stern and show disapproval as I laughed with my tongue out for five minutes straight.

I know. Family of the year.