Oh, Really??

 So, last night at supper, Stinky dropped a term that totally had Dad and I in stitches.

After swallowing his bite of roast beast, he turns to me and says (with no preamble): “I know what we’ll do! We’ll tea-bag it!”

At which point I spurt diet coke out my nose. Daddy looked at me in accusation: what was I teaching the heir??

See, a number of years ago, I had a co-worker who introduced me to all the latest slang. Much of it was not fit for polite company. One day, he came in complaining about his kid’s chemistry teacher… or maybe it was English. Anyhow, this b-word would not accept Junior’s assignment because of some completely ludicrous reasoning. My co-worker said, and I quote, “I told V he should just tea-bag the bitch.”

I, of course, had to ask what this term meant, and it’s left a rather graphic yet somehow humorous image in my mind.

It seems that Sean’s making a “colonial journal”. He has to make it look authentic.

Even though Monday and Tuesday are dad homework nights (I take wed and thu), Sean approached me about this project he has for school. Apparently, although I haven’t a creative bone in my body and John’s an artist, I help more with these projects. So, I’m the go to parent.

He wanted to print up his journal entry (which I had him type before dinner, but had tuned out what he needed the typing for), crumple it a bit, STAIN THE PAPER WITH A TEA BAG, and burn the edges, which is something we had done for a project for him a few years ago.

I really don’t need the image of my baby Sean knowing what teabagging is. Really.

So I guess I’m not the worst mom in the world. Today’s candidate for that award is the woman who, in 1995, named her kid John Holmes. That is just cruelty beyond belief. Talk about unreasonable expectations!