You might be a Redneck if...
If you've been reading my wildly entertaining and witty little blog for very long (please know that statement is drenched in sarcasm), then you know I come from....how should I put this....a long line of Hillbillies. Trailer Park dwellers. Country Folk. Good 'ole Boys.
You get the picture.
As mightily as I've tried to instill The Ways of the Suburban Yuppie into my children, giving them nary a glimpse of living in the sticks, only having neighbors with 5 teeth, and having a driveway consisting of dirt and potholes (that you should NOT drive down after a rain storm if you plan to leave again before the ground dries), somehow they have still managed to show off their hillbilly roots.
Kale more blatantly than anyone, what with his constant urges to drop trow on our front porch and pee into the yard. While traffic drives by. Did I mention our house is at the end of a cul-de-sac that butts up to the main road in our neighborhood? Or that we live directly next door to the school? And that he does this while he waits for Jacob to get home? And that all of the super-uptight moms that actually walk to the school to pick up their kids instead of stay home and watch t.v. see him and almost pass flat out behind their double jogging strollers and land on their velvet-jogging suit-clad behinds?
What was I saying? Oh yes... My Jeff Foxworthy-aspiring son.
The other night as I stood in my kitchen
Anywho, he was playing in the backyard, I was cooking, and The Two Jakes were at wrestling practice. After they got home, I called Kale in for dinner.
During dinner, the following conversation ensued:
Kale (excitement oozing out of every fiber in his body): "Guess what!?"
Me: "You want to grow up to be a bazillionaire and buy your mom and dad a house in Italy and support my shopping hobby for the remainder of my years." (Hey. A girl can dream, can't she? I have an undying love for Italian shoes like any self-respecting fashionista.)
Kale (with a VERY proud grin plastered across his face): "I pooped in the back yard!"
(I swear I'm not making this up)
Jake and I in unison: "You did WHAT!?"
Jake (with me laughing uncontrollably under the table while he glared at me in disdain because he blames me for our boys' love of bathroom humor.) (Come on, it's FUNNY!!!!): "Well did you clean it up?"
Me (still snickering and giggling like the mature adult I am): "Dude. It's dark outside. Besides - how are we supposed to decipher dog poop from kid poop?"
Kale: "That's okay. The dogs ate it anyway." Followed by a big, satisfying belly laugh.
Yes, people. That's right. Hillbilly IS genetic. No matter how hard you try to keep it from rearing it's toothless, mullet-laden head, there's no use in fighting it.
I'm pretty sure it's just a matter of time for him to clear out the sink before he pees in it.
And what a proud Momma I'll be on that day. Because it will mean he is not doing it on the front lawn.