Friday, January 20, 2012

I want to start off by saying that testicles freak me out a little.  Maybe it's the amount of them I see every day, for incredibly long periods of time.  Perhaps it's the constant adjusting of said body part.  Perhaps it's the constant discussion of adjusting them.  I have no idea, but with three boys (I really need to include Frank in there, so let's just say 4 boys from now on, k?) I'm up to my...chin in balls. (You guys are disgusting, really)

What I don't understand is the necessity to work them into every single conversation we have.  A couple of days ago I overheard the big Baby C exclaim “Ohhhhh! I just got hit in the nuts!” “Son”, I admonished, “the correct word is 'testicles'. Please refer to them by their correct name. And furthermore, that ball was nowhere near your testicles.” Long Pause. “Hey guys- mom just said BALLS and then she said we had to call them tentacles instead of nuts! TENTACLES!” This was followed by maniacal laughter.

The very next morning, I had to explain in great deal why the babiest Baby C could not, in fact kick me in the nuts for not getting him a Popsicle for breakfast.  I told him "I don't have nuts.  It would do you absolutely no good to kick me there.  Most useless threat ever."  Of course then, he became obsessed with where my nuts had gone and what had I done with them. I told him that when I was his age,  I had threatened to kick my own mother in the testicles and then mine just... fell off. 

Sometimes folks, you just gotta live in the moment and then stash away a little extra money for their inevitable therapy.