ONE likes to tell jokes. Most of them don’t make sense, but every once in awhile he’ll come up with a gem.

ONE: Mommy? 

Me: Yes?

ONE: Do you want some new BOOBIES?? 

Me:Um …

ONE: From the BOOBIE STORE??? Hahahahaha!!! Is that funny?!

Me: Actually, yes. Well … no. It’s not really funny. In fact, don’t repeat it again.


Me: Stop it.
ONE: Why isn’t it a funny joke?

Me: Because it’s a fact. And facts aren’t funny.

I guess my kid either heard me telling Husband I want new boobies, or he’s got psychic powers. Either way, I think I’m going to have to start watching what I say around my sons or just accept that they are going to start telling “jokes” at my expense.


Everyone in our house makes fun of themselves and each other. I think it’s how we cope. I simply don’t know how else to handle certain situations, like when the baby is painting himself with diaper cream and the other one has water running in the bathroom and refuses to answer me when I ask what he’s doing.

This is when I just have to laugh: at myself, at my kids, at LIFE. It might be a maniacal laugh, but it’s better than nothing.

This morning Husband was hugging me goodbye and with a totally straight face he said, “the time I spent at home with you and our children was the most relaxing time of my life.” 

And when I gasped with horror and called him a liar, he started laughing hysterically and left for work. Asshole. But actually, I have giggled every time I’ve thought about that since he left. 

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