The question my kids asked the most was “But, Mom, can I have this?” My answer was “I’m not Butt Mom.” The full reply was, “If we all got what we wanted, I’d be on a beach in Fiji right now. And don’t call me Butt Mom.”
They never asked where Fiji was. I didn’t even know where it was at the time. It just sounded exotic, far away from housework, and I must have read somewhere that they had nice beaches. They didn’t laugh either, not once, not ever. They grew up during the reign of Captain Underpants so I know they got the joke.
I thought it was very funny. I still do. Then again, Kay points out regularly that I have the sense of humor of an 8-year-old. I have to work so hard not to respond to that with, “I know you are, but what am I?”
I wasn’t always so childish. These silly jokes relieved the occasional boredom and frustration of being a parent. Now it’s just a habit that still makes me laugh. So there.
I prefer to think they did like my jokes and chose not to laugh on principle. They just didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of knowing I was funny. If that was true, then they were more childish than I was. After all, they were the children. Right? That should be the natural order of things.
I admit I wasn’t always the best parent. It was my job to teach them to be nice and gracious, but at times, I wasn’t up for it. So, I’d say my funny line, giggle at my own joke, and pretend that I was a better parent than Butt Mom. Because I’m not Butt Mom, I’m actually Supermom. I just hide it really well.