Somebody somewhere, please help. For the love of God…CAN SOMEBODY FIND A WAY TO STOP THE POTTY TALK??? I’m doubtful, but at this point even a plea on a blog is worth a try.
Boys are consumed with potty talk — at least that’s what I call it. Body parts, bodily functions, whatever. Boys love it. And they can’t shut up about it. It’s the number one tool in their arsenal of weaponry against civilization and proper manners. You can have an entire minivan full of boys under complete and total submission, fully compliant with proper etiquette of road travel, peacefully watching Toy Story 3 or asking discerning questions about billboards offering legal advice…and all it takes is one boy, whispering one word.
You will never restore civil order until the next time you are able to stop the vehicle and extract all boys to allow physical exertion to reset their systems. And don’t even try, because your inevitable doom has been played out many, many times by less fortunate drivers…
You begin with the stern warning. Boy giggling lessens. You continue with the specific lecture. Boy snickering is fueled by poking elbows and wrinkled-nose smirks. And then you seal your fate with the disastrous notion of engaging in the rear view mirror stare-down.
“The potty talk will stop. There is NOTHING funny about boobies.”
Stare-down continues with leader of the potty talk boys who is now turning purple and chewing a hole in his bottom lip in attempt to refrain himself from letting the “B” sound escape his mouth even though his brothers and all other boys present are begging God to make him say it.
You stare at this inevitable detonation of boobie-powered energy and slowly realize you have waded in way over your head. Your lip quivers despite your valiant endeavor to keep a straight face, but you are a goner. One snort escapes your nose.
Total eruption of boy boobie bedlam in the minivan.
This unfortunate scene plays out thousands of times per day worldwide. And I’ve nowhere near adequate space here to address poop, pee or farting. It’s a literal war zone out there. I walked by the computer the other day and noticed some new artwork that 5-year-old Nathan had created using the “Paint” program. This is the drawing he made:
He saved it as the desktop background. Awesome. His brothers are thinking, this is the greatest boy ever. I am thinking, this kid will never obtain a wife or a career.
During a fun family night activity a few weeks ago we were laughing it up playing Charades. Then the brothers began skipping the cards they drew for “giraffe” and “jumprope” and making up their own ideas for charades. It took about 49 seconds to digress into one boy sitting on the couch making excruciating faces while both other boys yelled “POOPING!!!” which promptly spun all three boys into violent fits of laughter on the floor. End of family fun night.
Perhaps the only venue that rivals the backseat of the car or van for potty talk supremacy is the dinner table. Boys, when bored with food or threatened by items like asparagus or zucchini, will seize any opportunity for potty talk. My wife placed a lovely chicken dinner before the family recently which, as usual, produced the clamoring of competition over who gets which prized chicken part.
5-year-old Nicholas: “I get a leg!!”
5-year-old Nathan: “I get a leg!!”
3-year-old Caitlin: “I get a bone!” (she hasn’t mastered this system yet)
8-year-old Connor: “I get the butt!” (pointing to the breastbone in the center of the roasted bird)
Mommy: “Stop it. That’s not the butt.”
Connor: “Well it has a crack.”
Mommy: “Just because it has a crack doesn’t mean it’s the butt. It’s the chest. Stop the potty talk.”
Me, silently thinking: “Wow. Thank God he doesn’t know that breasts are actually boobies yet…”
Connor: “Well a chest doesn’t have a line in it……”
Me, silently: “Oh sweet Lord in the heavens, this is NOT happening.”
Connor: “WAAAAAAAAAITT A MINUTE!!!! IT’S A WOMAN CHICKEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I don’t even remember if we ate the chicken. There truly is no scientific explanation for how we indeed survived that particular meal at all. Maybe we made it purely on the faint glimmer of hope that at some point, somewhere near adulthood, potty talk may be curtailed or at least contained. But I think we all know, that is purely delusional.