January 03, 2013

Banned Blogging

As a person who has no filter, years ago my husband put a couple of guidelines in place for things that I was not allowed to blog about.  The first ban on his list was about our sex life.  The second was that I'm not allowed to say anything bad about our marriage- because we get along 100% of the time and I never ever ever get sick of watching political/financial news and I love when he leaves wet towels on the bed (oh wait, that's me who leaves wet towels on the bed).

The third is that I was never ever allowed to mention the "weenie touch".  Except that I just did.  But it's been years since we got the weenie touch, so I'm now deeming it okay to share.

Remember when Diary of a Wimpy Kid came out and that kid got the "cheese touch" when he picked up a moldy, gross piece of cheese?  Well, it's kind of like that.  But with body parts.  Noah is 6 now, but when he was four, he thought that it would be hilarious to run into the living room totally nekkid.  He said, "You better run or you're gonna get the weenie touch!" Everyone took off running.  We put a stop to it, put clothes on the four year old and no one's weenie did anything. Crisis averted.  No big deal, right? 

Except that it was a big deal because our kids talked for months about "that one night that they almost got the weenie touch".  Once they even said, "Daddy!  Give Mommy the weenie touch!"  Really they just wanted him to chase me around the house, but the way they phrased it nearly made me wet my pants from laughing.  And everyone knows that if you laugh at your kids once, they will repeat what they just said over and over and over again. 

We were mortified.  We were totally convinced that they were going to go to school and tell their teachers that they had the weenie touch and they would take it all wrong and launch an investigation and take all our kids away and it would be front page news in our small town. There were many nights when I would lie in bed and worry about the "weenie touch". (You can take that how you want.)

Since there are social workers always in and out of our house, we would always say a silent little prayer that no kids would suddenly show up nekkid and try to give one of the workers the weenie touch.  The whole thing was ridiculous.  And hilarious.

After the unfortunate incident of the nekkid 4 year old running into the living room, immediately upon putting said child in a pull-up and some PJ's, the husband's first words were, "You can NOT blog about this."

Ooops.  So back to what I was saying.  There are three things that I can't blog about: sex, marriage, and the weenie touch.  However, if the mister had the foresight to envision what happened yesterday, I'm sure he would have included a ban on talking about adult body hair as well.  (Yes, I know what it's called.  However, if I write the word public hair without the "l"- all of our friends that work at UPS will be up in arms when HR bans this blog from their work computers again.  You are welcome, UPS- now bring Sadie's mail order caterpillars quickly and we'll call it even)  Now, back to what I was saying... again. 

The kids bust in on me in the bathroom all the time.  I try to cover up ( a well placed wash cloth goes a long way) but I felt for certain that they'd gotten glimpses over the years- especially because I'm cheap and our washcloths are old and holey.  As an aside- when I was 6, I once saw my dad naked on accident.  He didn't realize we were home and didn't put on a towel and I was scarred for life.

So I always tried to not make nudity a big deal in our home.  Kamron is a prude, but I want my kids to feel comfortable with their own bodies so I have no problem if the kids walk in and I'm in my Spanx underwear and bra (they see worse on the beach, right?)  Anyway- Noah bolted in my room after I got out of the shower.  My towel was on the floor and my undies were only pulled up as high as my knees.  He stopped abruptly, looked at me and said, "WOAH!" and then bolted right back out the door. 

I heard him running (like his life depended on it)  "SADIE!  SADIE!" he was shouting.  "What?" she sighed with all the 9 year old exasperation she could muster.

"Did you know that grown-ups have, ummm, errrr, ummm hair on their body!?!?!!??"

She talks like a tiny adult. "Yes," she responded. "And it will happen to you pretty soon, too.  AND TRUST ME- YOU'LL BE HAPPY ABOUT IT." 

What?  You'll be happy about it?  What planet does that girl live on?  That American Girl book we gave her about body changes must make it out to be a big, freakin' party down there.

There's no good way to wrap this one up.  I just wanted to record it for posterity before a body hair blogging ban happened in my house.  (And we wonder why the state hasn't sent us any foster kids?!)

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