A few posts ago, I wrote about how summer break goes: June is lovely, July is when the boredom kicks in and then August is filled with hatred and homicidal thoughts for all involved. Yep. Right on schedule.

I recently asked a friend who has two daughters, “Do your girls always talk about their vaginas? Because my boys are CONSTANTLY talking about their private parts — penises, balls, junk, butts, buttholes (and even anuses if they’re being all classy about it) … and poop. Oh the poop references. I basically live in a preadolescent frat house. Except for the lack of beer drinking, the smell, filth and mentality are right there.

Here are a few examples of things you’d hear them screaming at our house on any given day:

“If you don’t knock it off, I’m going to punch you in your penis!!”

“Your face looks like a butt crack and your breath smells like a butthole!”

“Hey anus face! I’ve got something for you!” Then FBMC sticks his butt at YS and farts. (He performed this trick on me one day. It did not end well for him. At all.)

“Balls! Balls! Balls! Balls!”

“Hey, FBMC! What does this look like?? POOP!!!” followed by gales and gales of laughter and rolling around the floor while covering his junk. (What’s worse is when my husband stifles a snort of laughter and tries to frown away a smile — this is pure crack for them and then I’m done for.)

If they are being extra creative, it gets set to music like this one sung to the tune of “Do Your Ears Hang Low”

Doooooo your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder
Like a continental soldier?
Do your Balls. Hang. Low?

At that point I close my eyes, rub my temples and sing quietly to myself while trying not to cry,

Yes Jesus loves me,
Yes Jesus loves me.
Yes Jesus loves me,
for the Bible tells me so.

Some days I try to ignore it. Other days if I’m feeling all Glenda the Good Mommy, I come up with positive reinforcements like, “The person who can last the longest today without saying potty words gets a popsicle.” They can hold out for about 15 seconds until one can’t hold it any longer and a whopper comes flying out. The “winner” goes and gets a popsicle, followed by the “loser” snatching one too (because clearly it was going to be a tie,) and then they run outside with their “rewards” yelling more potty words. At least they’re out of the house at this point. Score one for Glenda. To my neighbors, I tried. I’m sorry.

Other days I send them each to their room (this is one of my favorites because I get a little peace and quiet.) When it gets really bad, I threaten to take away electronics. This however, is a slippery slope fraught with danger. If they keep at it, they lose electronics, which in all actuality means I am the one on the losing end. At least if they’re using electronics, they are not tormenting each other and hurling insults.

I think I’m going to implement a new strategy, sort of like a curse jar. Every time they use potty words, they have to pay $1. I figure by the end of the week they should have their freshman year of college about covered, so I consider this a big win for me. And speaking of college, I hope they get into good ones. I’m guessing one will be a proctologist and the other a urologist based on their current obsessions. This will also end well for me because they’ll be able to put me in a really nice nursing home later on.

So yeah. I’m totally ready for school to start. In case you were wondering, here’s the latest countdown:

Be strong, fellow mamas. The bus will be here soon! If they don’t kill me by then.