This is turning into “I love Facebook” week around here (see previous post). I swear I don’t own the stock. But another reason that I love Facebook is because it’s chipped away at our isolation as parents, our feeling that no one else knows how to fail so spectacularly. These days, whenever I feel alone in my ineptitude, all I have to do is check my news feed to get a fresh hit of camaraderie.
This from a fellow camp counselor (two decades ago) just this week:
As you can see by the photo, I “liked” this very much, because I took great comfort in it. I also have a new winner for Worst Decision I Ever Made with my own two sons. Boxing gloves? Pshaw. The Worst Decision I Ever Made? Introducing my nine- and seven-year-old sons to Beavis and Butthead.
And come to think of it, it was Facebook’s fault. My friend Liz over at Peace Love Guacamole put a picture of her kid on Facebook, wearing the neck of his T-shirt up over the top of his head. As any fellow Beavis and Butthead fans out there know, that is just what Beavis did whenever he assumed his alter ego, the dark lord Cornholio (which happened whenever Beavis had large amounts of sugar or caffeine). Liz’s photo, innocently enough, reminded me of this.
And who can sit down and write when there’s cartoon footage from twenty years ago to find on YouTube? I found it, then watched it about eight times in a row, until my stomach hurt from laughing too much for me to play it again.
And then the next day? “C’mere boys,” I said. “You gotta see this.”
That was about a month ago, and after returning from a three-day “boys’ vacation” with our sons, my husband (not unkindly) informed me that showing this video to my sons was quite possibly the Worst Decision I Had Ever Made.
In my defense:
- no cuss words. Unless you count “bunghole.”
- I want my kids to have good senses of humor.
- Therefore they must know about Beavis and Butthead, the bedrock on which Regular Show (their current favorite) is built.
- “Bunghole” is definitely counted by some as a cuss word, particularly when shouted by an eight-year-old on an airplane, repeatedly and at high volume.
- Or when his four-year-old sister says it (with nightgown over her head).
- The word “tepee,” as in the Native American dwelling place, has now become in said eight-year-old’s mind “T.P.,” as in what Cornholio needs for said bunghole.
- My eight-year-old will be studying Native Americans at school this year.