Dinner time is still wallowing in a mire of ‘poo face’, ‘bum bum’, fart jokes and ‘look at my penis’ type rambling.
The four year old thinks it is the funniest conversation ever, and is one of those people who will continue on the same path in the vain hope that someone, at some point, will laugh. Kind of like dads and their jokes; if no one laughs the first time, they’ll keep repeating it until someone does. That it gets less funny with each telling is not the point.
The ten year old, too, thinks its pretty funny. Mostly because he knows who much we’re over hearing it, so he keeps it up because a) he is ten and b) because we want him to shut the fuck up about it.
And the twelve year old?
Well, he never really got into it as much as the other two seem to have, but he was never immune to the hilarity of the odd ‘bum face’ or ‘poo poo head’. He has, however, reached a new point in this vein of humour. A milestone.
It’s inevitable, I guess, I just wasn’t really prepared for it. It happened seemingly overnight.
Yes, we are now at the stage where everything