Perhaps you remember my very mature post about girl parts and boy parts? While it was probably my favorite blog post ever, I realize there's a level of inappropriateness in discussing such things...and at the risk of being equally as inappropriate, I have another story to share.
It starts with a child:
A perfectly innocent, sweet, four-year-old child...
This weekend, I began to realize the extreme need for bribery with Sam when it comes to keeping him in his bed at night. He just does not need a lot of sleep, that kid. And it kills me (because I DO!) So, I whipped out my trusty treasure chest and implemented bribery.
We have to do what works around here (can I get an Amen?)
The deal was, if he stayed in his bed, he got to pick something out of the treasure chest. Little toys I'd picked up to entice him to stop running all over the house at night while I'm desperately trying to blankly stare at the TV.
Well, it worked like a charm. That kid must LOVE treats because he stayed in bed and I fell in love with him all over again. (Apparently my love is conditional.)
In the morning, he picked his prize. A balloon.
Seriously? A balloon? Didn't he see all the cool stuff I bought? A Mario Kart candy toy? A Spongebob stuffed animal? And he chooses a balloon? (It's here I'm wondering why I spent the money on everything else, but it is what it is.)
Later that day, I sat upstairs watching my mom fold clothes (she's yet to master the art of sitting still. Me? I've got it down) and Ethan and Sam were downstairs playing some weird version of balloon volleyball.
And that's when it happened. The tattle-fest. Tons of giggles and then...
Ethan : Mom! Sam drew a weenie on his balloon!
Me: Ethan, I'm sure it's not a weenie. He's four.
Ethan: It IS! And he did it with a PERMANENT marker! (he runs up the stairs)
Me: Ethan, seriously. This is totally inappropriate.
Ethan stares blankly as if to say "That's why I'm telling you. Do something. You're the mom."
Me: Sam!
Sam: What?
Me: Come up here and bring your balloon.
He bounds up the stairs and walks over to me, wide-eyed. I take the balloon from him and look at it. I see nothing inappropriate, so I'm thinking I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
Me: Sam, what is this? (Thinking all along that Ethan is overreacting and there is no way Sam drew THAT on this balloon.)
Sam: (matter-of-factly) It's a weenie.
While I do not, in any way, think it's funny for my children to "tell butt jokes" (Ethan got in trouble for this at school) OR draw weenies on balloons, I cannot for the life of me tell you what came over me.
Perhaps the word "Weenie" was the culprit. It's no "giant cowboy" but darn, is it funny.
I looked at Sam, who was so up front about his artwork AND obviously VERY proud of it and I lost it.
I.could.not.stop.laughing.
Sam sort of stared at me, then seemed to shrug it off, dismissing me as a crazy lady. He grabbed the balloon and started hitting it again (paying no mind to the pain he might inflict on the balloon weenie.)
Finally, I regained my composure and started to reprimand him. I said, "Sam. This is serious..." and then I lost it again.
But, really...can you blame me:
Huh??
My mom said (through tears) "I think he needs an anatomy lesson."
Is the balloon just head and weenie? I'm confused. Where's the torso?
Somewhere along the line, I think perhaps I stopped maturing when it comes to talk of such things. I honestly could not have a straight-faced conversation with my four-year-old about weenies if my life depended on it.
The darn balloon is hilarious.
Lest you think all of my children are obsessed with inappropriate things, I'll share my video of Sophia singing at her school talent show last week. She's taken to calling herself my "only normal child."
She has a point.
Happy Tuesday!
