I don't often speak of my husband on this blog. Though I realize when I do it's generally to reference whatever example of residual knuckledragging behavior imbued upon him by his Y chromosome and a stint in the Marine Corps.


I should have known there would be issues when dialogue about our children's sexual orientation went like this:

Me: Oh you'd love them no matter who they were attracted to, come on.

Him: Sure I would. But he's not.

Me: But I'm just saying you know, if it were to be the case, you'd accept it.

Him: Well yeah--But he's not.

I should have known when I came home from errands one day and all male members of the family were squatting around a pot of macaroni on the living room floor clutching spoons and dressed in their tighty whiteys. Hey! No laundry, no dishes, Hubs explained.

I should have known when I walked into a very dark room to find a line of multiple size high and tights illuminated in the blue light of a computer monitor and overheard one little awestruck voice chirping, "Oooooooo, blow him up again, Daddy," being contradicted by still another angelic voice making his own plea, "Nooooo, Daaaaad...catch him on fire instead! It lasts longer!"



I should have know by now.

I should have known
I
never
had
a
chance.

Even after we managed a girl child, it was clear unless I was willing to have children well into my fifties, the chances of the estrogen counterbalancing the testosterone levels in this house was a virtual impossibility.

Still, these displays of male inappropriateness continue to drop my jaw.

Hubs just walked in awhile ago from the store to find the four year old bent over at the knees with his Lightning McQueen's down around his ankles, hands firmly planted on either lily white cheek admonishing me to look at his butt.
"Mom!
Mooooooooom!
Lookit!
There's an owie dare!
See?!
Right. daaaare!
See it?"

I looked for the source of these muffled exhortations and was met instead by Four Year Old ass.
"I hurt," he said from the carpet grazing location of his head down around his ankles.
"What is dat?"he went on.

"You're bottom is just sore from antibiotics, baby. It'll go away."


"Get it out," he demanded.
"Get the 'botics' out!!!" he continued to shout while trying to follow me out of the room. I couldn't help, but be impressed with the coordination it took to walk head down, butt up and cheeks spread, simultaneously. Like a car wreck you really couldn't look away.

But I only lingered on that aspect of the situation for a moment before I redirected my thoughts to Hubs, now visibly mirthful at the physical comedy of it all.

Four Year Old would have none of it.
Exasperated he whined,"Somebody look at my butt!"

Hubs trying to maintain some sort of parental resolve and dignity and failing miserably, choked out,"Boy, I am not looking at your ass!"

"(Hubs)!"

Hubs tried to force his chin into his neck from the self restraint it was taking to not start convulsing with laughter or maybe just to survive my withering look.

Littlest Guy continued to waggle his hiney at anyone willing to pay it some attention.

"Quit. picking. your. butt!!" Hubs said with voice and resolve cracking. The man was clearly running out of runway. You could almost hear his own internal dialogue: Pull up. PULL UP!!

"Whah??? Hubs!! You. can't. tell. him. that.
He'll go to school and share it with 18 3 and 4 year olds who love dropping dimes on each other and their parents. Cut it out! Will ya?!"

"Well, he needs to cut that out," Hubs says gesturing to his youngest, still standing in our midst doing his best imitation of baboon.

"He's going to call it his ass though, honey. Or start using the term butt picking. Knock it off!"

"Ahhh, no he isn't," said the Hubs.

Littlest Guy is enjoying the hubbub in the meantime and still doing his ass walk, clearly red with what was ailing him, and intent on someone mitigating the situation...

"Boy, I said quit--!!"

"Picking my butt?" Still head upside down and staring mischieviously back at us from between his own legs, the kid now had the room and his howling sibs in it and he knew it.

OMG.

There was much spousal apology, but Hubs face couldn't quite maintain any modicum of composure between the visual he was getting from the youngest fruit of his loins still stubbornly seeking relief from a raw butt and the the other genetically related hams now crowing on the couch and waiting to see just how bad Dad was going to get it.

It was a first though here in one way.
Today was the first time in this household where one person's ass literally got another person's ass in trouble.