Sarah Bellum's Tales of Wit and Charm

Last year my nephew, Carter, mastered the art of ‘your mom’ jokes. It was a little rough at first, but he eventually caught on. This year it’s his sister, Hannah’s, turn. We started last night.

“Hannah you’re a pug licker.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, Hannah, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“NO! You’re supposed to say your mom is a pug licker.”

“Well that’s just ridiculous. No one licks pugs and I was being polite.”

“Hannah, you don’t really have to lick pugs. It’s a hypothetical.”

“Grandma said you’re not allowed to teach me those anymore.”

“Well Grandma is fired. If I don’t teach you how to make dirty jokes and play the hypothetical game who will?”

“Your mom.”

DAMMIT. The six-year-old wins again.

I got a little stir crazy at a family party this weekend and decided to tattoo my nephew.

He pondered the display of love for a moment,

but ended up taking matters into his own hands.

He just looks so smug.

Apparently he forgot I know the garage code…

AND where his dad keeps the permanent markers. Vengeance be mine.

As far as I’m concerned it’s my job, as an auntie, to lie and torture my niece and nephew. Lying is a wholesome family activity. What? It was either that or teaching them how to play beer pong.

A few months ago my niece, Hannah, asked me how old I was. I lied and said I was 21-years-old. I’d forgotten all about it until Hannah called me at work last Friday in a fit that her brother, Carter, told her I was really 35-years-old.

I don’t know why he’s out to get me. First he calls me a cougar and now this?

Hannah’s defense was that I never lie to her… um, yeah.

I calmed her down and explained to her that her brother was the big, fat liar and that I was, indeed, 21-years-old.

“But Aunt Sarah, you’re older than my daddy.”

“Sweetie it’s all about the emotional age. Your daddy is much, much older than I am. Don’t I look younger than your daddy?”

“Yes.”

Whew. It’s like she knew all future Christmas and birthday presents were riding on that one answer. Carter later decided I must be younger than his dad because I was much smaller.

I’m pretending he called me skinny.

P.S. I’m totally lying on the beer pong thing, by the way. I suck way too much at the game to attempt to teach anyone.

After having the below conversation with my nephew, I decided being an aunt is the hardest job in the world. Parents have the right to beat their children. Aunts don’t. You tell me which is the easier way to deal with kids?

Yeah… I rest my case.

“Aunt Sarah, do you remember when you wore your yellow alligator underwear at my house?”

“I do Buddy, but why do you? That was three years ago.”

“I just really didn’t like them. I don’t think girls should wear boy underwear.”

“Carter they were boxers I wore to bed. Not all day underwear.”

“Well I don’t care. I’m buying you real underwear for your birthday, and they are going to be blue with cougars all over them.”

“Why are cougars OK, but alligators aren’t?”

“Because, Aunt Sarah, you are a cougar.”

“CARTER! I’m not a cougar. Who even told you that?”

“Nobody. I just know things.”

“You’re such a brat. Do you even know what that means?”

“Duh. It means you love BYU.”

I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t. I’m not a BYU fan, nor am I a cougar, but some things aren’t worth explaining to a six-year-old. It’s much better to spend that time thinking of ways to get even. There’s going to be a very painful wedgie in his immediate future.

My beloved niece and nephew have a new addition to their home:

You know what word is practically impossible to screw up? PUG! They should get one.