I Actually Said These Words in This Order

This morning’s installment of “Conversations I’d Previously Never Even Remotely Imagined,” alternately known as, “Sentence Constructions Never Thought Possible Until I Had Children”, began with a 7:08 AM news blast from my smirky big kid:

Big Kid:  “Hey mom,  E (little bro) came up with a name for a new baseball team, the Detroit Dildos. Hee hee hee hee hee hee.  What do you think?”

Me: “Do you have any idea what that means?” (Please read with tone of incredulity here)

Big Kid: “Uh, ummm, no, not really.”  (Less smirky now)

Me (to my little kid): “Do you know what that means?”

Little kid: “Cameron told me it had something to do with human growth and development.”

Me: (to both)  “I would suggest not using that word until you have at least passing acquaintance with its meaning.”

Little Kid (intoned as a challenge):  “Well, what do you think it means, Mom?”

And right here is where you get about two seconds, little more, to weigh every, single possible angle, point and counterpoint, truth and gradation of truth, just enough vs. too much information, and oh-shit-they’re-gonna-tell-their-friends-as-soon-as-they-hit-the-playground. . .  But you’re a parent who believes in facts over vaguery with just enough science sprinkled on top.  So you say:  “You really want to know?”

Big and Little Kid (loudly, in unison, eyes agog):  “Yeeeaaaah.”

Me:  “It’s a large, plastic or rubber replica of a penis.”

Little Kid: “What?  Who would want that?  What do you do with that?”

Me:  “Right?”  (Sometimes adding little means adding exactly enough to propel the conversation.)

Little Kid:  “I know that girls have different private parts than boys do because girls don’t have penises.”

Me:  “That is true.”

Little Kid:  “Yeah, girls also have these (waving his hand over his chest), and sometimes they’re super big, but sometimes they’re not, like yours.”

Me:  “Thanks for noticing.” (Really, my tone here was Oscar-worthy)

Little Kid:  “I know what girl private parts are called.  But I’ll get in trouble for saying it. But I won’t name my baseball team for it.”

Me:  “Solid choice there, Elvis.  You won’t get in trouble for saying it.  It’s not a naughty word, it’s a body word, it’s science, but sometimes kids feel weird talking about it, so they make stuff up and giggle a lot.”  PS–Elvis is not his real name, just a nickname.  I’m a music girl, but yeah, no.

Little Kid:  Bwaaaaaahahahahahaha

Me:  “You want to say it?”

Little Kid:  Bwaaaaaaaahahahahaha

Me:  “Are you having cold lunch today?”

I’m not quite sure this goes in the win column, but this morning’s outing sure doesn’t count as a loss either, people.  I feel like I packed in a full day’s work before I even applied mascara.  This life actually happens to me, and not infrequently.  Sometimes being the only girl in a houseful of boys is lonely, and sometimes it’s deliriously funny.  It’s almost always exhausting.  And joyful.  And heartbreaking.  And euphoric.  And perfectly imperfect.  No matter what, you keep your shit together though because you’re the only one who can–you’re the mom!

Upon further review, ending the conversation abruptly with the day’s lunch options might not have been an optimal closing, given how we started.  I would have loved to crawl back into bed, snuggle up with my goofball for either a serious mother-son talk about well-chosen, scholarly vocab choices vs. potty-talk (he doesn’t know what sex is, so I wouldn’t mess him up for life with sexual euphemisms quite yet, I mean he’s in fourth grade with a lexicon bursting with fart and burp references) or a semi-to-not-very-serious “let’s come up with other more appropriate inappropriate team names” giggle-fest.  I hear the Burlington Buttcracks have a real up-and-comer ace reliever in their bullpen.

#hindsight