A Rabbi and a Priest Walk Into a Bar...

...and that is where I stopped the enthusiastic joke-teller dead in his tracks. Young James expressed surprise that I would not let his ten-year-old mouth continue on its path of certain destruction, but something about that opening line gave me pause. When I warned him that I thought the joke might end in a punchline that teetered on the edge of appropriateness for a kid, he assured me it would be alright. The joke was told to him by a reliable source: an uncle they call "Sharps" (because he likes to collect knives) at James' tenth birthday party...at Hooters.

I never did hear the end of that joke.

Here are some more examples of why parents should remove that unused v-chip from the televisions and install it in their children:

I'm late for school because my six-year-old brother bit my mom on the nipple
Of course, the first thought that comes to mind is why her nipple would be in biting range of a six-year-old? He's not still breastfeeding, is he? The second thought that comes to mind is, "I hope he just nipped like a playful pup and didn't clamp down like a crocodile on a water buffalo." Finally, reality forced me to realize that "Holy Craaap, that must have hurt! Did she smack is ass for that one?" I ask none of these questions though, because frankly I'm a little afraid of the answers. I already know too much.

I express sympathy for her mother's discomfort and wish her a speedy recovery. Little Natalie assures me that her mother will be fine. She put a Bratz bandaide across her wound (please note the irony of that one) and she's not wearing her bra in an effort prevent chaffing. The mental image alone was hard enough to recover from, but then I realized that little chomper had broken the skin! More importantly, this very rotund mother of four would be walking around all day with her "girls" swinging around like a pair of ski jumps fashioned from old waterbeds. I just prayed that Natalie's older brother would be picking her up from school that day because I could offer no guarantees that I could keep my eyes on her mother's face.

And this is a picture of my parents wrestling
I think we all know they were not wrestling. Don't tell Michael that though. That's their story and their stickin' to it! He had caught them the night before, (I don't know how and I don't want to know) and recorded the events in his daily journal the next morning.

After hearing their explanation for their activities, he reminded them of the hard and fast rule they had imposed on he and his cousins: No Wrestling in the House! If they want to do that, they need to take it outside (now there's a mental image.) He even questioned me on the fairness of the rule. "Don't you think they should follow the house rules too, Ms. Lee? It's only fair." Here is where I stare at him...for a long time...looking calm and nodding my head...but inside I'M FREAKING OUT! What do I do with this one? I finally settled on the old, "They're the parents, so they get to make the rules" standby answer. I also reminded him of the importance of knocking before entering someone else's room.