I have a morbid sense of humor. My children, who know me better than anyone in the world, would be the first to admit it. They are picking up their mom’s silly quirks. I feel for their future spouses. It wasn’t my fault. I blame it on all those scary movies I watched as a kid and the magnetism of cop and crime shows (trying not to single out Law & Order… but I have been known to do a marathon on streaming Netflix every now and then).
We don’t have “TV” like normal families and my kids have NEVER watched a scary movie (well, other than Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean). I blame THAT on Daddy… but can’t say that I don’t love trilogies now. So when you read the below dialogue (which I wondered for a brief moment if I should post), please don’t call CPS. I can’t help but find my childrens’ brilliant off-the-cuff morbid responses funny… in a strange, twisted kind of way that only I can probably relate to.
So here’s today’s lunch conversation:
Mom, searching for her soup spoon: “If you don’t stop putting the small spoons in the big spoon slot, I will kill you.” Campbell’s Chicken and Stars, saltine crackers and empty threats – a balanced nutritional lunch.
Morgan’s eyebrows raise behind my back (I know this because I’m a mother and we all have eyes behind our heads): “How will you do it, with a serving spoon?”
“No, with a straw.” I always say ‘with a straw’ unless I say ‘with a wet noodle’.
“Ewwww!” Both of the kids say in unison, slurping soup.
“And then she’ll bury us in the yard.” Kaden expands on the threat.
“No, no. That could come back to haunt me. If I just hung you on a wind chime, people would think you were Indian deer bones or something.” I gross myself out.
“Or you could get a sandbox and shrink us.” He’s read too many DK encyclopedias. I should never have done the South American Indian study in elementary school with them. Stuff like that isn’t easy to forget like most history facts.
“Yeah, and say that I bought you on a vacation to Peru.” See? This is turning in to a geography lesson. Homeschooling rocks.
“CPS, my mom is trying to shrink my head in the sand box.” Morgan nearly spits out her soup laughing at herself.
I smile at her and sit down to eat lunch, finally having found a spoon.
“Well, you better hurry up and do it then, before we run away.” She says.
Somehow I doubt that they are running away just like they doubt I know how to kill them with a straw.
I know. I’m such a good mother.