Contamination in the Gene Pool

There are definitely traits you sometimes see in your children, that you know COULDN’T have come from you, that sneak up and shock you so badly that you’re too busy wondering “WHAT the…” to even correct them on what they’re doing.

Confused? Ever had your child suddenly run down the hallway – for no reason whatsoever and without any provocation – and run smack into the opposite wall, ON PURPOSE? Then, as if that wasn’t enough, they pick themselves out of the floor giggling, and run back to do it again. THEN, to add insult to injury, they proclaim loud and clear – usually to a house full of visitors – “HEY!!! WATCH ME!”

*Run, zoom, SMACK!*

*giggle*

Then they sit in the floor gazing at their audience as though they’re awaiting applause for their obvious need for a helmet.

You might as well wipe that perplexed look off your face, you’re not fooling anyone. Every parent has had this – or something like this – type of scenario with their children. The type of scenario that has you online after your kids go to bed looking up your family tree to make sure your grandparents weren’t cousins and there were no documented cases of botched lobotomies or mental illness.

Don’t try to point out that a botched lobotomy would have been a surgical procedure and therefore incapable of being hereditary, I’m fully aware of this fact. I’m not referring to the procedure itself, I’m referring to the fact that a lobotomy is the removal of parts of the brain – and people do really, really dumb stuff when their brain isn’t fully functional. Like mate with the first medical experiment reject they come across, or drink the water in Mexico. Hand someone a few beers if you don’t believe me.

At any rate, I’ll spare you the gory details of my own children’s’ “der der der” moments (save the smacking into a wall thing), but I will say that I seriously hope all that wall smacking knocks something back into place, because if my 6 year old tells me one more time the exact number of bubbles in her head, I’m going to scream.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


× 9 = twenty seven