Perils of Reproduction: January 2008 Archives

So Friday I chaperoned a First Grade field trip to see the play "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie."  I survived, is all I'm saying.

And at least no one ended up with a bruised penis, so hey!  Win-win.

So last night as I was preparing to get The Boy off to bed, the following conversation ensued:

"Son, stop dancing around the bathroom and let's go - it's bedtime."

"Blow me, mommy!"

"..."

"Uh, WHAT did you say?!"

"Blow me!  Like this! (Puffs out cheeks and blows air through mouth) I can't fly unless you blow me there!"

"Uh."

"MOMMY! COME ON!"

"Okay.  (Puffs air in Boy's general direction)"

"Here I go! (Boy leaps into bed)"

"Great.  Son, how about we don't say 'blow me' anymore, okay?"

"Why not, mommy?"

(Mommy thinks through and discards several replies involving social shunning and possibly social services)

"Well, because some people think that's an ugly phrase - they don't know what you mean."

"But I ask my friends to blow me when we're on the playground, and they don't think it's ugly."

(Mommy refrains, through sheer force of will, from running from the room screaming - visions of sexual harassment-related school expulsion running through her head.)

"What do you say?"

"Blow me so I can go to California!"

(This is not better.  Not even remotely.  Mommy forces visions of Hollywood Boulevard and its shadier denizens from her head.)

"Perhaps you can just ask them to help make wind?"

(At least the inevitable fart jokes won't get him arrested for soliciting, right? Please just get me out of this conversation.)

"Blow me all the way to California?"

(Now images of illicit Greyhound bus trips are indelibly burned into my head.  I hate my life.)

"How about we just fly under our own power, okay?  You don't need wind to fly."

"Okay, mommy."

"Okay."

(Not enough red wine in America to help me with this one, people.)