you’ve never heard any of them pee with the door closed.
none of them own a pair of sweatpants that either doesn’t already have a hole in the knee or are just about to develop a hole in the knee.
their room doubles as a hoarding cave (Pokemon, sports card, dirty socks, small knick-knack toys that are useful for nothing)
you’ve ever found a can of tuna underneath one of their beds…fortunately it was unopened.
anything can be turned into a projectile to hit the nearest, most fragile object around.
you are asked at least once a week if you want to “go fight?”
you’ve ever blamed one child’s entire identity on your spouse.
poop and pee jokes become normal family banter.
you worry about the first odor that will greet guests as they walk into your home.
all make believe scenarios involve a weapon of some sort, spying, rescuing or all of the above.
if they’re young enough, sexual innuendos abound when mom is in earshot, just to get the eye roll or the very rare but very worth it jaw-drop in astonishment.
if it has wheels, they’ll race it; if it can be thrown, they’ll throw it; if it can be destroyed, they’ll destroy it; if it makes sense, they won’t do it.
at least one time, the following phrase will be said in angry exhaustion: “This is why your mother and I drink.”
if there’s more than one, the following phrase has definitely been issued: “Go play with your brother. This is why we had more than one of you.”
