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And now that you have all been assigned your mission, sit back and read on: the tales of the “Family Who Eats Together, Talks about Genitalia Together.”
The other day, I wrote this in my post:
Just this morning, her 13 year old asked her what a “scrub” was.
Since the princess knew the boy was obsessed with his genitalia, she assumed it was part of his anatomy.
She thought for a few minutes, and said, “I think a “scrub” is the piece of skin that connects your testicles to your anus.”
The boy said, “No! That’s called a gooch”
“A gooch? You’re sure about that?” the princess asked.
“Yes,” the boy replied. “So what’s a scrub?” he persisted.
“I don’t know,” the princess answered. “Does it have anything to do with sex? Is it something you heard at school?”
The boy did not know, which led the princess to realize that she would have to monitor the boy more closely when he went on the computer because “scrub” was probably some funky new term for tea-bagging or something else highly inappropriate for a teenager.
So tonight at supper, I say to my son, “I found out what a scrub is. It’s:
* a man with no class
* an annoying person
* an inferior competitor
* to embarass oneself by making a physical mistake,” ~directly quoted from Nicky‘s comment, author of We Work for Cheese~
Then I say, “By the way, none of my blog readers knew what a “gooch” was. I was informed that the piece of skin between the testicles and the anus is a “taint.” Ever hear of that?”
The 13 year old shakes his head no.
I look to the almost 15 year old. “How ’bout you? Did you know that?”
He says, “Nope. A taint is a butt.”
“It is not a butt,” I say. “It’s the flap of skin between the testicles and the anus.”
Of course I could stop repeating this sentence over and over again, but I like the way my 13 year old’s eyes light up with glee when we engage in these deep philosophical discussions.
I then look up and say to my 11 year old daughter, who is listening intently to the conversation, “You are going to be the most well-versed girl when it comes to male genitalia.”
She nods sagely.
Oh, sure, I know I could be discussing more appropriate topics with my kids: world peace, global warming, anti-bullying campaigns.
But remember the post about ball clacking?
The family had hours of entertainment over this particular topic.
Even after I wrote about it, and the kid knew I had written about it, he continued practicing the maneuver incesssantly.
We finally had to ban the activity during meal times, or as Wayne said, “Get your hands out of your pants and eat your food!”
Thing is though, my 13 year old isn’t exactly deep and worldly.
His life revolves around video games and sexual organs.
So I work with what I got, and if that means keeping the lines of communication open by taking part in discussions about the flap of skin that connects the testicles to the anus, then I will.
So as we were discussing exactly what a taint was, Jackson says, “Did you blog about this Mom?”
“I’m famous on your blog, aren’t I?” he said proudly.
“Do you think I could start reading your blog?”
“Because it’s not appropriate. I say the ‘F’ word.”
All the children roll their eyes.
Wyatt interjects, “Yeah, ’cause we’ve never heard that come out of your mouth.”
Jackson then says, “Well, I’ve read inappropriate blogs before. One day you had left the computer open to a post called “Princess P and the Bitch.” It wasn’t appropriate.”
“What do you mean Princess P?” I asked. “As in P-E-A?”
“No. As in P-E-E. That comes out of the vagina.”
Ok, in most homes this conversation may have taken on an entirely different direction.
In my home, however, I say, “Pee does not come out of the vagina. It comes out of the urethra.”
As is frequently the case at my dinner table, the discussion went from “Princess Pee” to an anatomical description of the female urethra versus the male urethra.
Needless to say, Princess Pee quickly took a backseat to a discussion featuring the words “wiping front to back will avoid moving bacteria from anus to vagina.”
…I wonder if Dr. Ruth is retiring soon.
I’m pretty sure I could rock that gig.