Friday, January 17, 2014

Educating the spawn

(a.k.a.  Doing my part to warp the next generation.)

I'd like to think that my boys will look back fondly at their childhoods and remember things Mom taught them like how to read, how to plant and raise veggies in the garden, and the importance of a healthy lifestyle. 

I look back on lessons my parents taught me and my mind goes to the importance of eating dinner together every night, manners, and being kind.

My fear is that my kids will one day be adults and only reflect on the really important stuff I have taught them.  Things like...

How to effectively ninja fart in your brother's face.

How to armpit fart.

How to armpit fart using the backs of your knees.

How to crop dust vs. atom bomb fart. When each are appropriate.

(You'll note a theme here.  Clearly, I have all boys.)

How to beatbox. (Boots and cats, y'all.  Boots and cats.)

The lyrics to Double Dutch Bus and Ice, Ice Baby.

Why Double Dutch Bus is acceptable to sing in public and Ice, Ice Baby, not so much.

How to booty pop.

Burping the song "Mahna Manah"  (Because burping the alphabet is soooo juvenile.)

Why Beastie Boys and 2 Live Crew were trailblazers in rap...and to that vein, Why 80's rap is the only rap.

How to half-ass load the dishwasher...and leave the pots to soak indefinitely in the sink.

So far, I have raised one out of three....and that kid is working at a homeless shelter, going to college for Psychology, and wants to work with at-risk kids.  So far so good.

And he can do a mean knee fart.