Pushing the Gosh Ham Limits


My son Jacob is eleven. He started middle school this year. Not long ago, friends with older boys warned me this would be the year of hormone fluctuation, anxiety resulting from big changes at school and boundary-pushing. I have wise friends. Over the past six months he has refused to get his hair cut, his grades have dropped to the basement a few times and boundary-pushing is in full-swing.

There have been times when his bursts of independence have resulted in grounding, like the time I found out he was getting a D in Science stemming from three missing assignments. When I asked why he hadn’t completed them he performed an exaggerated shoulder-shrug and said, “I guess I just wasn’t feelin’ it.” BUZZER! Wrong answer, mister man.

Since he’s my firstborn, I’m often left wondering, “Well, how the hell do I handle these shenanigans?” I usually call my mother. Then go with my gut. Then call my mother again. Not knowing how tight to pull the apron strings is a constant internal struggle for me.

Then there are times when his offbeat humor catches me completely off-guard and I’m left wondering whether I should laugh or say, “Jacob that’s inappropriate.” I have a fairly juvenile sense of humor so even though I feel it’s my duty. . . *snicker*. . . I said doody. . . sorry.

So even though I feel it’s my du–responsibility to react in the proper parental way, sometimes my child just cracks me up and I lose all resolve.

Yesterday is a prime example. This is an actual conversation from the drive home from school:


Who can say "no" to a ham?

Jacob: “Well, Ham-it. I forgot my gosh ham homework.”

Me: “What is this with the ham? What are we doing here?” *swirly hand motions*

Jacob: “I’m cussing but with meat. It’s meat humor.”

Me: “I feel like this should be outlawed but I’m not sure.”

Jacob: “Let me know when you make up your ham mind.”

END SCENE

For the record, I compromised.

I told him he could HAM it up all the way home but then he had to knock it the HAM off and watch his HAM mouth.

I couldn’t resist.

Dear Sweet Baby Jesus in your warm footy pajamas, I’m trying, really I am.
This originally appeared on Dani Stone.

More About Dani:

I’m a wife and mama from the great flat state of Kansas. I’ve been married to my Dougie for 14 + years and we have two adorable and precocious children. I’d rather have a steamy mug of coffee than the most expensive glass of wine and I have a sugar wafer addiction I really must get control of.

I’m a published author, freelance writer and editor, juggling assignments like a circus performer in sparkly red shoes.
I’m proud to be founder of VOGM Parents.org, created after my daughter, Katie, battled and won a rare brain disorder, Vein of Galen Malformation.

When I’m not writing for work or world peace, I’m embarrassing my family by sharing our personal lives here – Dani Stone.net

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