…we have dance parties in the kitchen. They happen often and usually without any warning or preparation. One of my kids will start to shimmy, and then ask either me or my wife to dance, and then we turn the music up and it’s game on. When it is time for the parties to end and for the kids to go to bed they usually beg us to keep dancing, saying things like “but we need to get our energies out!” We let them dance for a few more minutes.
…we use profanity like it’s in short supply. We frown on our children using such common language, but also can’t help but laugh when they actually pull it off and string together a real zinger of a phrase. They test out new combinations of body parts and swear words, and every once in a while they strike comic gold. Just the other day my daughter let slip the words “butt fucker” without even knowing what it means… but my belly-heaving laughter gave away that it was a keeper. She saves that one for when her mother is not around.
…we try our best to be the parents we want our children to believe we are, but we are imperfect. I drink too much and avoid the chaos, leaving my wife to deal with the majority of it. Those are habits I need to address. I guess in our house we are imperfect, but always trying to improve.
…we express our love through trash talking. My son calls me a douchebag and I call him a turd, then we hug and kiss and go about our business.
…we are addicted to Zillow. We bought a new home and will be moving soon, but still feel strangely compelled to check out all of the other homes on the market. Before we took the plunge and seriously started looking for a new house, every mention of the prospect of moving invited a daily deluge of no fewer than ten home listings sent straight to my cell phone. That text stream of homes we will never buy has stopped for now, but for how long no one really knows.
…we find ourselves saying things we never thought we’d have to say, like “popsicles don’t go in butts”, “they sell boiled peanuts, not boiled penis”, and “what did I say about popsicles and butts?”
…we live, laugh, and love, but I will allow myself to be shot in the face before I ever allow that to be written on a chunk of wood and hung from a wall anywhere I might ever have to see it in my home.
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