Whoa Mama

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

ill equipped

Perhaps this has been mentioned, but I may have been ill-prepared for mothering boys. My sister is a Boy Mommy; my brother, well, is a boy. If you asked anyone who knew me 10 years ago, I definitely had all the makings of a mother of girls, perhaps a boy or two. Not mutually exclusive but certainly leaning towards girls.

Apparently I checked the wrong box. And I got Sam. The boy who was obviously meant to be ours. In my glee, I the next time I accidentally checked the "2" box.

So here I am the mother of 3 boys who are 2 years apart. A whole bunch of dirty years and so much chaos and then the fun really kicked in. Now I'm having to tussle with burgeoning big-boyhood.

Aidan: Mommy, Fletcher says when he gets hit during recess 'ow my nuts'. Do you know what he's talking about? (he clearly did)

Me: yes

Aidan: what?

I'm formulating a response, when he delivers (with strategic use of the dramatic whisper)

Aidan: he's talking about his critch. That rhymes with nitch. I can say 'son of a nitch' in german. The veteran who came to talk to us on Veteran's Day taught us.

I don't even mind the 'nitch' largely because he doesn't know what he's saying or is he saying it correctly. Nor am I especially worried about an old vet teaching them foreign curses. It is the 'nuts' and 'critch' that I'm hung up on. I have a hard enough time with the actual biology, but can rise to the occasion when necessary. At the risk of future embarrassment, I just cannot see how I need to expand their vocabulary for more words to cover their junk.

Daddy may have to address the rude awakening when some son of a nitch aimed right at the critch and got him in the nuts!


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