Dad jokes get way too much credit. Because I feel like I pretty effectively deliver mom jokes that absolutely SHUT. KIDS. DOWN.
Like, in a nice way. Of course. But when I say I shut them down, I mean I offer the joke with the focused purpose of receiving “the look,” and I get it, 100 percent of the time.
Mostly about injuries. Because with this many kids, injuries – or perceived injuries that “hurt soooooooo bad” – are plentiful. We actually receive a daily injury report. And we call it that.
Kids actually retrieve band-aids at our place for “injuries” they incurred days before when they weren’t with us. They head straight for the anti-itch cream upon arrival to stave off the incessant itching from mosquito bites they’ve gotten. And they point out all the scrapes and bruises they’ve gotten while away – like normal ones, from being kids and playing and falling and bumping things.
But the funny thing is everything “hurts SOOOOOO bad.”
So we do the obvious thing and suggest removing the injured appendage all together. And then ordering a new one on Amazon. Because, we offer, it’s probably on sale.
Or when they step on something or go to town on an itchy, unidentified bug bite, we let them know it’s probably a “death something.” As in, it’s probably just a “death bite,” that’s all. Or a “death splinter.”
There’s almost always a “weird bump,” too. We get that one a lot, for the tiniest little absolutely normal skin bump that is somehow “weird.”
“It probably means the end is near.”
They love our compassion.
My favorite is when their eye hurts for some reason. I always tell them I know exactly how to fix it.
“You should probably close it. For eight hours or so. While laying down.”
I mean, we look at it after. And get ice packs and band-aids and Neosporin if we have to. But we have to offer worst case scenario. It lightens the mood.
And then they’re so annoyed with me that they forget that the thing they’re complaining about hurts “sooooo bad.”