As my boys enter adolescence, dinner conversations go awry. Humor has shifted from goofy giggles over burps and farts to socially aware but unacceptable quips.
One night at dinner, don’t ask me how we got there, but… somehow we were talking about two kids in the same family with different mothers. No one we know personally. Just the concept.
“He’s my brother of another mother.” Lots of laughs.
I glared at them. “Where did you hear that?”
“Everywhere,” said my sixth grader.
My husband, happily joining the fray, pointed out that “my sister from a different father” doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so melodically.
“How about ‘sister from a different mister?!’”
High fives from the teenagers.
Frankly, I prefer burps and farts. And last night, no one even laughed when the seventh grader burped loudly after tacos.
jennswondering 