My family is very verbal and we are quite  irreverent in our humor. We possess the cloven and razor sharp tongues of the Devil Serpent and therefore do a lot of crap talking and butt kicking amongst ourselves. Alas, even the youngest of our clan wield words like the weapons of the most feared warriors. 

We are works in progress. 

Wherever they all developed this derisive and wicked sense of humor I daresay I emphatically do not know. I do know that the competitive and ruthless UFC fighter in each of their cruel little hearts came directly from their Dad. Let’s blame him. 

This little problem has amplified since the matching set of Razorbacks joined our ranks. If you’ve ever tried to argue about the boyness of the boy and its ramifications on our culture, your argument is lost when you reproduce multiple males of identical DNA. They are likely an entirely different species altogether. 

They fight and fart and fume and fertilize and ferment and every other nasty verb there is. So, hitting, kicking, punching, nunchuck use, brass knuckles, swords, baseball bats, cast iron skillets, rock throwing, dirt and senseless screeching have all dramatically increased and spread like a contagion. If you’re wondering what I’m doing here, I’m blaming my twins for all my parenting woes. 

We’ve recently had to up our parenting game and completely outlaw abusive language such as butthole, a-hole, jerk, fartknocker, wiener, crapface and other such insults they hurl as well as physical assaults with or without weaponry. Phrases like “I’m trippin’ balls!” and “I’m totally groundhoggin’ it!” have also been prohibited.  

There is zero tolerance and these offenses all carry hefty consequences such as losing one’s phone for an entire day, sitting on the extra tall naughty barstool for one minute per year of age or going to bed “with the babies”. 

Incidentally, we also simultaneously created the socialist, yet magical rule of: “All clothes belong to everyone. If a person is not actively wearing a piece of raiment upon their body, it is fair game for any other family member to clothe their nakedness.” 

*Except Mom and Dad’s clothes. These are off limits. The pin pad lock on their door proves this theory. It also prevents unauthorized sexy-time entry by underage victims, but that’s a story for another time. 

I realize this clothing legislation goes against every Libertarian position I hold dear, but fortunately for parents, child rearing is by and large a dictatorship, not a democracy. Sorry, guys. My pediatrician told me that 15 years ago. It has become my truth. 

I digress. 

I am proud to announce that our familial peace and satisfaction numbers in the surveys have dramatically increased. It’s been hard for Mom, the Devil Serpent Queen herself to tone down her general substandard use of the English language with all its libel, slander and dirty words. But…it’s working. 

We’ve tried to instill a general sense of self-possession and autonomy in our children. We want them to be confident with themselves and their proprietorship over their bodies and ideas. 

Thus, as part of the initiative to lower violence and defamation within the population, we introduced the term “encroachment” to be used to delineate when someone is overstepping their bounds physically with regard to their body such as, but not limited to;

 •touching one’s shoulder

•dipping one’s toe in someone else’s soda

•looking upon another’s face without permission

•punching another’s throat

•poking one’s butthole

•viciously ripping the shirt off another person’s back 

•stepping on another’s head 

•taking illegal possession of another’s cracker and depositing it into one’s own butt crack

So…guess what I hear all day, everyday since the new “Constitution of No Insults, Physical Breaches or Clothing Withholding” has been enacted? 

Well…I walked by the four year old twins’ bedroom while they were at “rest time”which is really just a daily period of time when they are locked in their padded room to do fecal art and beat the snot out of one another and what doth mine ears perceive? 

Hayden in a loud and firm voice: “Encroachment!”

Hudson: “I sorry Hayden. I don’t encroachment no more.” 

*silence* 

It’s moments like these where I’m just spellbound. Magical moments where my inferior parenting skills are forgotten and I realize I might have actually done something right. I mean, I could really make it to Heaven after all. 

I think what I’m saying is hang in there, fellow Devil Serpent Queens and Kings and keep on swimming. Keep trying and researching and reading and toiling away to invest more of the most precious resource you have into your offspring -TIME. Time is the currency which will make all the difference in their life. 

Take it day by day and keep on struggling to not say the Eff word and to only utter “nice words” so everyone can absorb your example of clean language and respect for personal boundaries even if it is like learning a foreign language. It does make a difference. Even when you Eff up and go unhinged because someone wasted another cup of $7 a gallon raw milk or rubbed a booger on the light switch. 

Get up and dust off the dirt and glitter and orthodontic rubber bands and try again. 

It doesn’t matter how fallible or horrible or mean you think you are or all the times you’ve messed up. You can start again. Tomorrow is a new and beautiful dawn for attempting not to jack up your kids. Teach the word “encroachment” and watch the dominoes fall.

 You got it, Moms and Dads. You got it.