This is a story about a boy.
A boy who closely resembles no one in our family. Who marches to the beat of his own drum with more volume than an entire percussionist section.
A boy who sings when he goes to the bathroom. Hits inanimate objects when he gets frustrated and cries for the sole purpose of getting his older siblings in trouble. {I'm onto you, sucka.}
Last night, I was getting Sam changed from his play clothes {read: pajamas} into his pajamas {read: clean pajamas} when he struck up the most interesting conversation...
He said, "Mom, you don't have a weenie, do you?"
I think I stifled a laugh and then sort of frowned but when I met his eyes I saw he truly wanted to know. And let's face it. It's a legitimate question...though not one I had any intention of answering in any sort of detail.
Oh. Okay, we're going there, are we?
Me: Uh...no. I don't have a weenie, Sam. Can we get your jams on?
Sam: And Sophia doesn't have a weenie, right?"
Me: No, Sam, Sophia and Mommy are girls.
Sam: And girls don't have weenies.
Now you're catching on...
Bear in mind I NEVER had this conversation with Ethan. Methinks his older siblings have some 'splainin' to do.
Me: No, Sam, girls don't have weenies.
Then he gets this look on his face, a lot like this:
And says, "Can I see?"
Me: Huh?
Sam: Can I see that you don't have a weenie?
Me: Uh, no. You're going to have to take my word for it.
I thought the conversation was over, and while I honestly felt horribly uncomfortable with this line of questioning, at least he asked me and didn't go looking for someone else to prove to him that girls don't have weenies.
Then, today, out of literally the clear blue ever-lovin' nowhere, he says to me, "Mom, so if you don't have a weenie, what do you have?"
I can't take it anymore.
Again, I looked at him and I'm totally flabbergasted because darn it, he wants to understand. And I'm sure some smart person will tell me I should've responded differently and without the laughter of an eight-year-old boy but apparently I'm just not mature enough to handle such tasks.
You would think that after the Giant Cowboy AND the first weenie heart-to-heart AND that other candid weenie talk we had recently...I would've gotten this down, but alas...
His big old eyes wanted...needed...and explanation. What was I supposed to say?
Like every intelligent thirty-six year old mother of three, I said, "Let's talk about that some other day."
Then I literally snickered my way out of the room. But when I reached the doorway, I heard his little sing songy voice behind me... "If you don't have a weenie...what do you have? Just a hole?"
And that, my friends, is just a little smidge of what I'm dealing with around here.
