I'm a Sophomoric One

I think part of the reason why I'm able to build such a good rapport with my middle school students is because sandwiched between the frontal and temporal lobes of my brain there is a section labeled 15 Year Old Teenage Boy. While I think expulsion of bodily gasses is overwhelmingly disgusting and rude, there is an equal part of me that finds it ridiculously hilarious when someone accidentally busts a grumpy or trips and falls in public. The trouble with it is that now I have to balance my sophomoric slant with good parenting, lest I raise a horde of filthy-minded children who lack good home training. Take, for example, the following conversations I recently had with Jaiden and Kyra:

Jaiden: (laughingly) OUCH! MOOOOM! Bella (our golden retriever puppy) just stepped on my joystick!

me: (amused) Your joystick

He called it his "joystic," to which I immediately cracked up over. It made sense because in my mind flashed this:

The leap in the metaphoric visual imagery was not a long one to make. Logical. Sophomoric Moxie was tickled and even proud of the comic brilliance in Jaiden's terminology. 

Then the Mom brain kicked in and placed the preposition of in the middle of the compound word and joystick morphed into stick of joy. Which, y'know, also makes sense, but the words fit better coming from the mouth of Dirk Diggler instead of from my innocently goofy almost-nine-year-old son.

me: Uuuuuhhh, son? I don't really think it's too appropriate to refer to your privates as your "joystick."

Jaiden: Okay…well what about "manbits"?

me: You are definitely my child.


Conversation with Kyra

Yesterday afternoon, I burned the bejeezus out the edge of my thumb on my George Forman grill when my hand registered a few seconds too late that my brain was sending out HEY, STUPID – YOUR FINGER IS ON FIRE! distress signals. I was incapacitated for the rest of the day and couldn't get anything accomplished in the house (like I really needed the excuse). Seriously though – within in minutes the burn blistered into an angry welt under which the nerve endings blazed with scorching pain. I kept my thumb pressed against an ice pack, and within seconds of lifting my thumb away from my it my thumb was set ablaze all over again. After a few hours with no improvement in the pain, I called Frank (who was out shopping) and asked him to bring home some sort of pain relieving burn ointment, because oh my gawd, I was dying.

He made it home within the hour and brought my first aid supplies to me. One item was maximum strength Neosporin with pain relief. The other was something I had neither seen nor heard of before, and when I laid eyes on it, I immediately lost my shit:

Cots 001 Cots 002

Note the fine print: Also recommended for use with suppositories, hemorrhoidal ointments and creams.

When I was able to stop laughing long enough to catch my breath, I slathered Neosporin on my burn, selected a "cot" from the bag, and carefully unrolled it down over my thumb. I turned my thumb this way and that, and before I knew it I was once again in hysterics and without thinking loudly exclaimed, "THIS LOOKS LIKE A CONDOM WITH SPERMICIDE!"

To which Kyra asked, "Mom, what's a condom with spermicide?"

Oh, shit.

My giggles pinched off with a quickness. I took a deep breath, steeled my courage, and gave her a good answer:

"Go ask your father"

I give myself a thumbs up rating for balancing the sophomoric with the smart.

(For further reading, more condom comedies can be found here and here.)

22 thoughts on “I'm a Sophomoric One”

  1. I guess that makes me a 15 year old boy too, because my thought patterns followed yours exactly!

  2. Bwahahahahahaha…Moxie’s got a condom on her thumb.
    See, this is why I love you. You are as ridiculously sophomoric as I am.

  3. Your kids are so cool! I just realized that my previous post comment didn’t show up. What it said was that Brynn and I are currently burning feathers for you guys (just don’t tell child protective services I let her help) and Neela is lighting some candles for you. I told you I had a talented doggie!
    I love the phrase go ask your father. It is one I plan to use frequently ๐Ÿ™‚

  4. BWAHAHAHAHA!!! I recently had a conversation with my eight-year-old about balls, in which he informed me they were “not appropriate for women to discuss.” He certainly doesn’t get that kind of Victorian sensibility/misogyny from ME…damn my ex-husband…

  5. Bwahahahaha! No manbits around here. Have you ever been to a Tim Horton’s donut shop? It’s sort of the Canadian equivalent of Dunkin Donuts. They have munchkin equivalents. They’re called … Timbits. Is it just me, or does that make you think of manbits?

  6. I’m the immature mom, too! Bwahaha!
    I don’t think I could have worn that “cot” for long, because I wouldn’t be able to look at my thumb for long. I wonder what the cashier thought when Frank rang those up.

  7. LOL these could ONLY be YOUR kids girl for real. I think your balance is good, they get it all and are still funny yet respectful. I bet you are one of THE coolest moms around.

  8. Moxie, thanks for the wonderful comments you have been recently…it means a lot to me!
    I loved the way you diverted Kyra….very smart…how did Dad answer her question? ๐Ÿ™‚

  9. Cut Cut Cut!
    Moxie, thanks for the wonderful comments you have been leaving on my blog recently…it means a lot to me!

  10. Alexicographer

    LOL. Thanks, among other things, for pointing us to the “children are assholes” post. Because while I’d seen it before, let’s just say that it never hurts to have someone you respect (that would be you) gently and funnily remind you that parenting is tough. Oh yeah.
    As for the inappropriate, mostly my hubby’s in charge of that in our household, making “Go ask your dad” a dicey response — but what can you do? Anyway you cut it, someone’s got to be in charge of, well, those aspects of family life … !

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