Luke-isms: Twerking

After a few hours of fishing yesterday Brantley, Lucas and I headed home tired and dirty. Our first order of business was, as always- a tick check. Lucas was used to the drill and readied himself by starting the process without even having to be told.

Strip down. Arms up. Turn around. Spread your cheeks.

However, when we got to the last part Lucas turned back and said with hesitation, “Mom, you said twerking was against the law. I don’t want to go to jail.”

I know what you’re thinking. Hang on. I can explain.

Flashback to three days earlier when Lucas walked into the kitchen and announced, “Dad just showed me how to twerk.”

“Excuse me?”

Brantley spoke up, “No. No. See. No. That’s not how it happened. He thought he knew what twerking was and in an effort to educate him, I showed him a video on YouTube of someone properly twerking.”

“Properly? That’s not ok,” I said. “What on earth? What kind of video did you let him watch?”

“It was just an instructional video. They were wearing pants. I swear. It was totally wholesome and I guarantee it was more benign than what he thought twerking really was.”

I was intrigued. “What did he think it was?”

Brantley rubbed his face. “It’s hard to describe. Lucas, show your Mom what you thought twerking was.”

I immediately regretted my question.

“Ok. Stop! That’s worse! That’s WAY worse! Lucas, where on earth? Never mind. Listen, don’t ever do that again, ok?.”

I could tell the wheels were turning in his seven-year-old brain. “Don’t do which one? The one in the video, or the other one?”

“Don’t do either. Ok. Got it?”

“Why, Mom?”

“Becaaaaause it is against the law.”

“What about if I do it in private?” he asked.

“Still illegal in most states.”

Luke-isms Twerking

Lawd, help me.

Where Have I Been? Kindergarten.


I’ve been a naughty, absent blogger for the last couple of months and for that I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve had some big changes in our household that have forced us into a new routine.

I had planned on working more outside the home when Luke started school. In my mind these two things would happen almost effortlessly, but I was in for a rude awakening. Kindergarten is hard, yo!  And I’m not even the one taking classes.

I did NOT expect there to be homework so early on. Now, everyday I dread unzipping Luke’s little backpack and finding our to-do list. What’s it going to be tonight, Teach?

“Instructions: Put two rhyming items into this ziplock baggie and return it in your child’s backpack tomorrow.”

Are you freaking kidding me?! Is this kindergarten or Harvard? 

Luke’s headfirst dive into the shallow end of kindergarten has been less than traumatic. However, I think once his teacher gets to know him she will have a better appreciation for what his previous teacher referred to as “his lovable quirks.”

One day last week he got off the bus and met me with a frown. My mind went immediately to the worst case scenario- three things that rhyme in a ziplock baggie. “Well,” he sighed. “I’ve got terrible news. I’m not allowed to tell jokes in school anymore.”

“Okay. Well, there’s probably a better time and place for telling jokes,” I said as I shook his backpack and listened for the sound of a ziplock baggie. No baggie. Sweet!

“Well, I’m not happy about it, Mom. I’m also not happy because I gotta go to the vet.”

“Why do you need to go to the vet?”

He flexed his bicep and lisped through his gappy grin.

“Because my pythons are sssss-thick.”

Luke-isms: An Unwelcome Tub-side Chat

Here is your latest installment of Luke-isms, as promised.


It had been a particularly trying day as I attempted to get housework, writing, and Luke business taken care of. It was the kind of day that Brantley received a text message from me saying, “Have fun at the gym after work because when you get home, he’s all YOURS.”

Brantley got home that evening and I headed upstairs to take a bath.

“I just need ten minutes to myself,” I told him.

The tub had no sooner filled and I turned off the water to relax when I heard the door open. A familiar sound followed. It was the sound of Luke dragging his stool slowly across the bathroom floor. He parked it right next to the tub and sat down.

“WHAT are you doing? And where is your Dad? I’m trying to take a bath, Lucas. I just want some privacy.”

“It’s ok, Mom. I’ll just sit here and watch you quietly.”

“No. No. No! Brantley, where are you?” I shouted.

Brantley popped his head in the door. “Luke, leave Mom alone. She’s trying to take a bath.”

“Ok.” Luke said as he hopped off his stool. Then, he stopped. “Oh Mom, just one more fing. I know we’ve talked about this before, but I forgot. What happened to your penis, again?”

“Lucas Payne Wescott, girls don’t have penises…”

He interrupted, “Oh, that’s right. Baginas. Baginas. You have baginas.”

I wished for someone to hold my head under the water until I stopped struggling.

I wasn’t asking for the world. I just wanted ten minutes alone. With my baginas.

Stay tuned for the next installment of Luke-isms where Luke spanks himself as he shouts, “Don’t ask any questions, Mom. Just trust me. I deserve this.”