Knocking off the long-reigning “Whatever!” from its top spot on my “Obnoxious Adolescent Expressions” list is the newly inducted, passive-aggressive, “Just kidding!” Right now, a Merriam-Webster American Slang editor is monitoring its usage in anticipation of adding “jk” (text message shorthand) someplace between the equally profound “jive turkey” and “Just Say No.”
    Are you or aren’t you kidding? Because what usually precedes the annoying phrase isn’t funny at all! “I missed the application date ... jk!” “You look like a dork ... jk!” And, just kidding as opposed to kidding and let’s say, scuba diving … or kidding and yodeling? Furthermore, if you have to announce what you’re doing, then you’re not kidding anybody!
    The irritating saying has even infiltrated my 8-year-old niece’s dialogue. Which spotlights a fundamental problem with the phrase, other than it’s just dumb: The “jk phenomenon” runs counter to certain populations — first-time parents, particularly.
First-timers have low kidding tolerances, so kidders beware. Newbies are all-business, antiseptic sharp-shooters, sanitizing anything that’s dropped, spilled or flung; they quote child specialists du jour and “tsk, tsk” all things not organic. Just as polar bears evolved white fur to survive in the arctic, future generations of parents would adapt “Go-Go-Gadget Arms” and eyes in the backs of their heads if the glacial seriousness of this preliminary phase didn’t eventually thaw.
    Parental humor kicks in when child #2’s acid reflux coincides with child #1’s potty training and when the dog has worms; it peaks when our kids have kids … nk (not kidding!)! With child #2, clean “binkies” and “blankies” are still necessary, however, our neuroses are not. Fear that the galloping crud may claim your cherub is replaced with, “Every child eats a little dirt.” After changing countless room-clearing diapers, wrestling car seat straps and enduring “kids say the darndest things” in checkout lines (times two!), humor becomes a lifeline to sanity.
    Having three or more children is a whole different comedy stratosphere. Once my .5 put me over the 2.5 children “American ideal,” I could headline at Zanies. A mother of many better lighten up because she knows what’s coming: another gazillion, enthusiastic renditions of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” years more of “DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING!” in public restrooms, and additional rounds of the “Food Comes, Baby Wakes” restaurant diet. Only an experienced mom could find humor in August-triggered flashbacks of endlessly searching for three long lists of school supplies. If I write my motherhood memoir, it will be titled Chasing Pocket Folders with Brads.
    Older, wiser and more exhausted, I’ve earned my maternal humor. And, with yet another school year beginning, wit will come in handy. In fact, humor is what sustained me during round three of, well, everything! When my youngest started preschool, six pounds of familiar paperwork arrived home. AGAIN, I answered questions like: “Any complications with pregnancy?” “Does she know her colors?” “What age was he when ... ?” A pooped yet practiced form-filler, I wondered if teachers read everything about every child.
    “Does he have any talents/special skills?” Taught himself transcendental meditation in utero … oh, and Portuguese. “Any fears?” Yes, of forms like these. “Any goals you and your child hope to attain during his preschool experience?” Avoiding people who call nursery school a “preschool experience.” I didn’t do it, but I was really tempted. While chronically waiting for one child or another, I’ve entertained myself with veteran (and slightly warped) soccer mom fantasies. Like answering “allergic to vinyl floor tiles and #2 pencils” on medical forms. Or, sending my third to school by taxi. Imagine the looks on other moms’ faces seeing a cab in carpool lane and watching a kindergartner step out.
Hey, I can play the “just kidding” game, too. “I bought you a pony ... jk!” “You don’t have to go to summer school ... jk!” Dollars to Krispy Kreme doughnuts my kids wouldn’t like the kidding. But, can’t we kid our kids if our kids kid us? (Where’s my jump rope?)
     There was this time my daughter invited me to speak to her 8th grade homeroom on Career Day; I was honored. My umpteenth Career Day and the 21st parent to speak that particular day, I energetically introduced myself and my business: “My company is called NotEinstein.com. We write your term papers while you play “Guitar Hero.’” Just kidding!