If I had a penny for every time I heard some variation of the words “penis” or “butt” throughout the day, I’d be rich beyond my means. Because, that’s what life is like with two boys in the house, ages 4 and 6. Everything is all about their penis, penis, penis — with the occasional butt crack joke thrown out in between. It’s all super funny to them.
If someone isn’t stretching out their nut sack like bat wings, then they’re surely shooting each other in the crotch during nerf gun wars, or sitting on each other’s heads for no good reason other than to be annoying, and screaming for the other one to stop being such a penis-head.
Most days I am used to it, and other days, I’m over it. One particular day, I was over it. And announced a new house rule (which I knew wouldn’t stick for long). I told everyone that I didn’t want to hear about anyone’s body parts for the rest of the damn day (or ever) unless they actually had to use the bathroom, or it was about to fall off, so help me!
Later that evening, our oldest son approached my husband and me about getting himself a snack. But, he wouldn’t tell us what he wanted, which was odd. It was like a game of charades we didn’t sign up to play. At first, we thought maybe he couldn’t decide. And then we figured he didn’t want to ask because he knew it was too close to dinnertime. But, no and no. He confirmed it wasn’t either of those things.
He said he knew exactly what he wanted, and it was something small, which meant he would still be able to eat dinner afterward. But that he just couldn’t say the words out loud because he didn’t want to get in trouble for them.
In trouble? For a snack? Why, what was it? Spit it out, already is what I probably said. And he agreed to — but only after we promised he wouldn’t get yelled at for saying the words.
Okay. We promised.
Finally, he asked for it.
It was a pear.
Je-sus! All that for a pear? Why would we be mad about a pear?
Then he followed it up with, “But, it’s the pear with…you know… the butt-crack. And I didn’t want to get in trouble for saying it had a butt-crack. But come look! It really does have one! I’m not playing!”
That’s it. My 4 year-old lost it in laughter. A pear with a butt-crack? It was too much for him to hear.
A butt-crack? I was the one who bought all of the pears and put them on the fruit rack earlier in the week. Surely, I’d notice if one had a butt sitting on it. But now we were all curious. So we ran over to the rack to see what he was going on about, and lo behold: The pear really did have a butt-crack.
Because, of course it did.
So, new house rule: No more saying the word butt-crack unless you’re in the bathroom, it’s falling off, OR… it’s on a pear.