Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Conversations in the soccer mom-mobile

Some of the most fascinating conversations I've ever had occur in the soccer mom-mobile with my kids.

Sometimes they're sweet, like this:

"Mommy, I have a girlfriend, and her name is Kinzie Farmer, and she has yellow hair. I drew her a picture of a flower, because she loves flowers, and I thought it would make her day. But we can't get married, because we're only 6."

Sometimes they're menacing:

"If you don't stop and get me ice-cream, I'll tell daddy you pushed me down and took my hot wheels... forever."

Sometimes they're completely annoying:

"And ohmygosh, Mommy! Today, in tech ed, this guy, I think he likes me, he like... looked into my eyes when I asked him a question. He's totally not my type, but I can tell he likes me, because his locker is next to mine and back in third grade he gave me a piece of gum and THEN he watched me chew it. OH! And..."

You get the picture.

But today... today was a different sort of conversation with my 5 year-old. He's an interesting child. He loves attention and is incredibly vain.

When he was three, he insisted on styling his own hair and wearing Hugo Boss cologne before ordering everyone he encountered to "smell my neck." It was cute and endearing. However, I realized a monster had been created when he nodded at his appearance in the mirror and muttered to himself, "Lookin' gooooood."

So today in the mom-mobile, he announces, "Mommy. My wiener is getting bigger and bigger everyday. Josh's is shorter than mine."

"Excuse me?" I ask just to clarify that he did, in fact, strike-up a conversation about the size of his... thing. Randomly. Comparing it to the size of his brother's. At the age of FIVE.

"My wiener. It grows ALL the days."

"Does it?"


And then he promptly retreats from the conversation, so he can return to admiring his own smiling reflection in the window, nodding at his muchness, reeking of Hugo Boss, and reflecting on the size of his "wiener."

And so the question is finally answered... the male preoccupation with size really does start at a very young age.

I'm doomed.

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