I'm readingÂ Silly Hat, yesterday,Â andÂ there'sÂ an interesting discussion onÂ children and their "private parts," where she raises the question, "What do you call it?"
I was inspired toÂ re-publish a rather tenseÂ "old"Â This Full House post -- because I'm currently fighting the crowds andÂ exercising my babe magneticsÂ at the beach...andÂ can't link to it...never having bothered toÂ move my files from Typepad...because I am a Doofus! -- for your Hump Day reading pleasure:Â Â Â This Is My House andÂ We Don't Say The Word Penis!
"Youâ€™re a mental caseâ€¦and I canâ€™t believe I trust you to raise our four children?"
Hey now! Hold on a minute there, Bucko! Okayâ€¦I admit itâ€¦.Iâ€™m quirky and may haps just a wee bit wacky, but anyone who knows meâ€¦umâ€¦knows. Iâ€™m totally and perfectly trustworthy. I swear â€“ just go and check the bulletin board hanging in my kitchen.
You canâ€™t see it from the dozens of notes and reminders tacked to itâ€¦can you?
Ohâ€¦and hey! How about the calendar? Look at all those dates blocked off and penciled in with notes like, "Little Man needs cupcakes," and "Don't forget Thing Two's class donation,"Â or "Volunteer forÂ Thing One'sÂ class"Â andÂ "Take Dad to Lab, today."
Ask anyoneâ€¦need Liz?...andÂ I amÂ so there!
**phone rings â€“ answering machine picks up â€˜cause I screen**
"Umâ€¦yeahâ€¦hiâ€¦uhâ€¦itâ€™s *Psycho Soccer Mom* and Iâ€™m collecting $10 for coach *So-and-So* and Iâ€™d like to come by and pick up the $10 today. Please call me back atâ€¦"
Huh? Come by and pick up the ten bucks? Whatâ€™s with that? Maybe I'm being "a wee bit sensitive,"Â but Iâ€™ve collected donations many times, but never â€“ ever â€“ have I offered to "come by" or to do something "today" ever!
"Whatâ€™s the big deal?"
Feh! Husbandsâ€¦what they know from a big deal!?! The big deal is who knew there was a donation police?
I didnâ€™t call her back.
Just hold your waterâ€¦youâ€™ll get my donation thereâ€¦lady.
**phone ringing the next morning**
"Hewwoo? Hoo iz diz?"
My 3 year old smiled and excitedly paced circles in front of my desk as I motioned to the heavens in mock strangulation.
"Helloâ€¦yesâ€¦oh yes. I did get your message and Iâ€™m sorry I havenâ€™t called back. Hmmmâ€¦gift certificate sounds goodâ€¦okay, but Iâ€™m in and out all dayâ€¦so can I maybe drop it off while running errandsâ€¦or something?"
Now Iâ€™m truly annoyed and what I truly wanted to say was, "Why donâ€™t you just take the freakinâ€™ money from me at the game on Saturday? Like a normal person. And quit stalking me!"
Saturdayâ€™s game is rained out.
A day or two passes and thereâ€™s another message (no, while I was outâ€¦for real!):
"Mrs. Mental Caseâ€¦this is *Psycho Soccer Mom* and I must insist that I have your $10 by tomorrow, because that is when I would like to get the gift certificate. Iâ€™ll take my chances and be stopping by your houseâ€¦."
"Hello? No, not necessary. I will definitely drop the money off to youâ€¦hmmâ€¦okayâ€¦all rightâ€¦Iâ€™ll leave it between the screened door and the front doorâ€¦sureâ€¦uh-huhâ€¦buh-bye."
A day later (it slipped my mindâ€¦I swear!):
"Hewwoo? Hoo iz diz?"
Ughâ€¦give it to meâ€¦ giveâ€¦giveâ€¦meâ€¦the "Yes? Hooooolyâ€¦oh crap! I am totally, totally sorry. Itâ€™s just been crazy around here andâ€¦huh? Noâ€¦umâ€¦okayâ€¦how about if I just leave it in my mailbox? Okay? Okay. Buh-bye"
So, the donation police get what they wantâ€¦but it ainâ€™t gonna come easy.
Not so mental?
Wellâ€¦thatâ€™s not exactly the thing my husband was worried about.
You seeâ€¦I was already tense...umâ€¦yesterday, so I took the kids to The Dollar Tree after school andâ€¦umâ€¦likeâ€¦my 5 year old son had to go to the bathroomâ€¦and there isn't anyâ€¦umâ€¦you knowâ€¦at The Dollar Treeâ€¦and the Home Depot was way across on the other side of the parking lotâ€¦andâ€¦umâ€¦heâ€™s a boy and allâ€¦soâ€¦I asked my two oldest to cruise the toy aisle with the 3 year old (who was strapped into the carriage, relax!) while I took my son to the parking lot toâ€¦umâ€¦you know...let her (I mean, him) rip.
**opening driverâ€™s side door**
"Okay, Buddyâ€¦thereâ€™s nobody around and Iâ€™ll block you with my body. Just let-er-rip!"
"Howâ€™s it goinâ€™?"
My son whips his head around to see who Iâ€™m talking to and hisâ€¦you know...follows and starts hosing down the driverâ€™s side door.
"Whoa! Little Manâ€¦watch what youâ€™re doing!"
Now he freaks and lets go.
"Whoa Buddy! Grab it and aim for the ground!"
**shakes his hands in the air and still ripping**
"I donâ€™t know what you want me to do!"
**me shouting now**
"Just grab your penis and aim, dammit!"
**heads begin to turn**
"WHATâ€™S A PENIS?!?"
I stare at my son and realize thatâ€¦in our house, we donâ€™t say penisâ€¦we say peenie.
Not crazy, right?
**the sound of crickets**
Tell me itâ€™s funnyâ€¦dammit!