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My Life Between Coffee and Wine

Humor from the Home Front

EVELYN AUCOIN

Evelyn Aucoin

Religious Humor

My Monkey Butt Valentine

02/02/2018 by Evelyn Aucoin Leave a Comment

Cupids and Monkey Butts for Valentine's Day

When my boys were school age, every year before Valentine’s Day we made the requisite trip to Target for cards to share with their classmates. In 2005, after carefully selecting “Finding Nemo” themed cards, my younger son, who was in kindergarten at the time, announces he would like to select a special card.

“For whom?” I ask.

“Sara,” he replies.

I smile, Sara** is the cute girl across the street that he has known since they were toddlers.

Encouraging independence, I instruct him to select a card as I watch from the end of the aisle (mistake #1). He is about three feet tall, so his selection is limited to the bottom half of the display.

My older son is visibly annoyed by the delay, and stands next to the cart, sighing and kicking the wheel.

My younger son has an affinity for the ladies. When he was three, he took gymnastics lessons. He would get mesmerized by the girls practicing all around the gym and need to be constantly redirected by the coach back to his activity. When he was four, he had a day care teacher who was a knockout – talk, red hair and an hour-glass figure. Smoothest drop-offs we ever experienced as he bolted into her arms. Once when he was two, we were in church and he was standing up on the pew between my husband and I. When the priest directed the congregation to “share a Sign of Peace” with each other, he spun around to the well-endowed parishioner behind us, and sunk his toddler face into her cleavage. Luckily, she was mother to five boys, so nothing could phase her, including getting motorboated during mass.

It is a monkey in a diaper.

He proudly returns with a card. It has a monkey on the front, dressed like cupid, modestly wearing a diaper and holding a bow and arrow. I hold it so my second grade son can also opine on the selection (mistake #2).

It says on the front “To My Valentine – How I love your smile..”

Inside: “…and you also have a nice butt.”

I am momentarily stunned by the horny monkey my sweet boy has selected to convey his affection for our neighbor.

Although I am speechless, my older child points at his brother and yells, “You know you are not old enough for sex!”

In the middle of Target, in front of God and everyone.

(Note: My oldest son’s deficiency of an oratory filter is genetic trait.)

Spoiler alert: I didn’t buy the card.

I am doubly horrified. My little boy wants to confess to five-year-old Sara what a fine rump roast she has, and my older son thinks his younger brother is a sex addict.

Neutralizing my expression, I do not respond to either child. Remember, I am in the Deep South, and at this point, I risk getting nasty side glances from the elderly ladies thumbing through the cards with Bible verses.

Waiting until we are safely sealed inside my SUV, I debrief with the children on the incident. I ask my youngest if he understood what the card said. He quotes the front and inside of the card to me, and simply explains that he thought it was funny. I ask the older child if he knows what sex is, and he rolls his eyes and says of course he does. When pressed for evidence of his knowledge he says, “Kissing of course. What did you think I meant?”

A decade has passed since this incident.  We still refer to any slightly risqué situation as “playing the monkey card”.

Thanks Target. Could you stock cards that mention bootylicious Valentines a little higher on your displays? That would be great.

**Name changed to protect the “baby got back” innocent child.

Filed Under: humor, parenting, Religious Humor Tagged With: parenting, southern, texas, valentines day

How to Confuse a Southern Baptist Girl

02/25/2015 by Leave a Comment

To say I had quite a vivid imagination as a child would be an understatement. My six-year-old universe centered around the church where my father was the minister. Yes, I am one of the notorious “Preacher’s Kids” of which legends of wildness are often expounded. Sunday School, Sunday morning church, Sunday night church, Wednesday night church (mid-week Jesus check-in), programs, and church luncheons, and the occasional revival weekend. Both sets of grandparents were Southern Baptists as well and I attended a Baptist parochial school. Our whole religious view was that there were Southern Baptists and then there were Non-Southern Baptists. And we were right and their beliefs were questionable. Understandably, I was concerned  in 1976 when my father decided to move to the Methodist denomination.

This was a monumental shift for me. In hindsight, I can accept the reality of the situation. The Methodists paid better and provided housing, so our poverty-level family of five needed the economic benefit. I always tease and say my father being capitalist outweighed his designation as either a Baptist or Methodist. More accurately, a survivalist.

It was a big event when my Mother, my two little brothers and I were invited to officially “tour” the new church and the house where we would be living. In my mind, there was a looming crisis. I somehow knew about nuns (perhaps the Sound of Music?) and I was on high alert to figure out if we were venturing into nun territory. Living in an uber religious household, I assumed I would be expected to “marry the church,” which was how my mom had explained my earlier inquiries about nun life; outside of my Southern Baptist Bubble.

So we were dressed nicely, reminded of our manners, and showed up at the appointed time for the tour on a sunny spring day in Houston, Texas. The tour hostess from the church was a lovely, older woman, with short salt and pepper hair. As introductions are made, she introduced herself as Mary Nun. Not kidding. From that point on, I do not remember another thing she said because I assumed my life was OVER. I will never have a husband! Or children! And I will have to be a nurse or a teacher. And I won’t be able to wear cute shoes! OH MY GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME! Oh no – a vow of poverty. Are nuns allowed to have dogs? I bet not because they all live together. And so on the record of panic played in my head…

I am barely contained this internal meltdown for the couple of hours we walked around the properties.

When we finally got in the car to leave, I exploded into a crying, sobbing, hysterical mess. Snot running down my face, my poor mother assumed I was freaked out about the move itself, until I started a verbal vomit of all my worries. Well, once my gentle mother stopped laughing, she explained to me that I was not being shipped off to a convent anytime soon.

And the real punchline is that I  converted to Catholicism 20 years later. And I actually like nuns. But I am sure my shoes and I agree it was not my destiny.

Filed Under: Religious Humor

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Welcome

As the mom of two boys, I have learned that a sense of humor is one of the most important parenting skills you should master. I share my stories (including my missteps) to hopefully lighten the load of parenthood, helping other look for the humor – even if only in hindsight. Since my kids are now legally adults, I figure CPS won’t come after me as I share the reality of raising boys.

Recent Posts

  • Public Urination Is No Joke, But Sometimes Funny
  • My Monkey Butt Valentine
  • No Birds or Bees, Just Giraffes and Chickens
  • Goodbye Gatekeepers, Sayonara Senior High
  • Congrats! You Have Been Upgraded to Uncle

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