My Monkeys

I have pet names for my family. I often use the word “monkey”. This is simply a cute way of getting a kid’s attention, however it has started to backfire on me in ways that I never dreamed. I use it for everything. When David rummages in my purse I will say something like “Ok, you little purse monkey, get moving!”, or when Bobby is on a shrieking rampage through the house I will say “I’ve heard quieter chimpanzees throwing poo at the zoo!”. You get the basic idea. Well my seven year old has taken this to the next level.

I was herding my monkeys into the house from school the other day when I said “Ok, monkeys, get moving!” when Raven piped in with monkey noises. Now, you have to understand, I have two toddlers who have a proficiency for mimicry like trained Myna birds. So great is this ability that my teenager has taught them to point both fingers and one will say “Dude!”, and the other will follow up with “Sweet!”. So, Raven has just made this great new noise for them to imitate. Pretty soon I have all three of them chirping and hooting like they are about to start swinging from the trees and flinging poo. Great, just great, this ought to be really fun next time we are in Walmart! I wonder if they would give me a discount on bananas…

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