Significant Mother Puns

She's my significant other mother.

I was describing to my family a weed I'd found in the garden, which had a "strong herbal smell." My daughter (3), who loves to joke about words, grinned and said, "Turtle smell?"

My mother, to engage with her, said, "How does a turtle smell?"

My father and I answered in perfect unison: "With its nose!"

It felt like a significant moment in my growth as a dad.

Hey guys. As I'm sure most of you know, it's currently Thanksgiving in Canada. This time of year for me has, in the past, caused a lot of issues in my life.

To give a little bit of background on me, I'm usually an extremely healthy and fit guy, as I play high-level sports and have a physically demanding job. However, for much of my life, my willpower began to crumble around this time of year.

I first started taking my diet seriously when I was about 12 years old. I had some kind of realization where like, I dunno, I started looking at how jacked these movie stars were and was all, "wow, I want to be that cool too." Judging by the bowl cut I had when I was 12, my perception of cool may have been a little skewed, but I digress.

Anyhow, it was my first Thanksgiving where everything started falling apart. One of my relative's families ended up no-showing for dinner, so we were left with a load of Thanksgiving leftovers. For the next week, every single meal or snack I had was Thanksgiving themed. Sandwich? Turkey sandwich. Breakfast? Let's dollop some cranberry sauce on that bad boy. By the next week, my BGC (blood gravy content) was probably at like 1.0%.

You'd think I'd be sick of holiday food after that. But no. I loved it.

The tradition of refrigerated Thanksgiving snacks continued throughout the rest of my teen years. Like clockwork, the numbers on the scale would significantly jump upwards in October, with Halloween candy adding an extra layer of calories on top. By the time I reached 17, my waist had begun noticeably ballooning, and I realized it was all due to Thanksgiving turkey. Sure, I had some at Christmas and sometimes at Easter, but never like that. My mother would encourage this habit, making more food each year to be stuffed into our packed refrigerator.

The movie star bod I wanted for so much at the age of 12 was slipping a way. I needed to put an end to this.

Flash forward to October 2015, age 18. I had made a vow: I never again would place such putrid poultry onto my tastebuds. And ever since that fateful week of 2014, my vow had held true.

Each Thanksgiving, I can feel that craving for chilled turkey knocking on the refrigerator door of my fragile ego. For three years, I've held strong. But when will the garrison fall? When will that soft, biting flesh of the big bird smash it's way back into my life.

But so far, I've quit cold turkey.

When I was four years old, my dad and I got into an argument over who should get the remote control. Because I was significantly smaller and younger, my dad won the argument. I was angry, so I walked my little four year old behind to my grandma's house that was across the street. Grandma wasn't home, but the door was never locked, so I made myself a poptart and proceeded to watch nickelodeon until my mom got home from church. Once I had my fill of fruity pastry and child entertainment I walked back to my house where my mom was screaming at my father. "How could you let a four year old just go like that? Unsupervised!". My dad was silent. My mother continued, " it's like you don't care at all about me or our children!" Still nothing from dad. "Well this is the last straw!" my mom shouted, "I'm leaving you! Do you have anything to say for yourself?" My dad spoke softly, "hi leaving you, I'm dad."