Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Sets and more sets

Lucian came barreling out of his room this morning wearing a tank top and very heavy fleece pants. This was his plan for school. I immediately was skeptical.

"Luca, you're going to sweat your gonads off in those things. Don't you have gym class today?"
It was very difficulty not to laugh at his little pipe cleaner arms as he puffed up his chest and scrunched up his eyes into his "man face" expression.

"Huh. Mom, can I really sweat my nuts OFF?"
I sighed. I guess I should've flinched that my six-year-old uses terms like "nuts," "gonads," and "balls" on a regular basis. I didn't flinch. In fact, given that it was 5:30 in the morning and I was just taking my first swig of coffee (after having extracted the Kleenex from my nose, see previous post for explanation) I don't think I even noticed the language.
"Yeah," I said, grinning. "They can sweat right off and then you'll have to shake them out of your pant leg."
Fortunately, my son has a very sharp, Dupontian sense of humor. He started laughing, almost to the point of choking, as big blobs of muffin fell out of his mouth. Anna had entered the kitchen at this point. And, of course, had to give her two cents.
"Well, Mom, you haven't been sweating too much then. You still have your nuts."
Wow. I thanked her. What else could I do? She watched me ice my face, pack my nose, and pour peroxide on open wounds all of last night. Not to mention downing an entire bottle of Alleve while making dinner and wincing in pain every time I spoke or smiled.
Yes, Anna, I do still have my nuts. And thanks for noticing.
My little philosopher.
To all of you who now have to gather the remains of your jaw from the floor, please, try not to judge. I am just so pleased that my kids GET me and laugh with me and are so smart when it comes to communication, that I forget that perhaps there are social rules which have fallen shamelessly to the wayside. Part of the problem is that I am lacking perspective. There is no voice of the "judger" that pops up to remind me that taking my kids to the ink shop (for instance) might not be the most appropriate venue. Or that having Lucian slather moisturizer on my tattoo is most likely going to send him into therapy by next year.
We do things differently around here. We are honest, if somewhat rough around the edges. But I like the edges so much. They tell the best story, the nicks and dings and gashes are like wood scars on a ship. You can see, plain as day, what waters the thing has sailed and how high the waves were.

No comments:

Post a Comment