Sometimes parenting brings a vernacular all its own.  I find it just a little bit alarming that there are times when my brain isn’t actively involved with the words being spoken.

Topping the list of phrases that I’ve recently dropped on the kids:

– (from the driver’s seat)  “No shoving each other’s faces, that’s an illegal wrestling move.”

– “Your bedazzled booty looks fantastic.”

– “Sure, I’d love to watch Good Luck, Charlie / Lemonade Mouth.  Again.”

– “Don’t bear hug the dog!  Go do that with Gracie.”

– “Teeth?  Deodorant?”  (I no longer bother with complete sentences for these.)

– “If I ever see someone perched on top of the skate ramp’s safety rail again, I swear I’ll fold that thing up myself and you won’t see it for three months.”  (Never mind that moving the 400 lb. object will land me in bed for a week.)

– “What do you mean, you moved your dresser across the room by yourself?  You’re young. You’re not invincible.”

– “I know you don’t like to come off as bossy but, well…sometimes you just have to be bossy.”

– “What was that noise?  It sounds like you’re throwing dead bodies around up there!”

– “Yes, bras are incredibly expensive.  Just wait until you get (real boobs) older.”