I have taught him well

I heard a story about Jackson today - a story I was apparently the last one to hear - and was told I should blog about it. Because a story is just not a story until I put my spin on it. But first let me start with how this story was brought to me because that's almost as entertaining as the story itself.

Picking up Jackson from school yesterday afternoon a mom of one of Jackson's classmates approached. Earlier that week her son had informed me that the baby his mom is expecting is a girl. Since she already has two boys I thought I'd congratulate her on finally getting it right this time.

"I heard it's a girl."

"Yeah, now I know what 'v' stands for."

"What?"

"Vagina" This was followed by, what seemed at the moment, inappropriate laughter. But this mom marches to the beat of her own violin, if you know what I mean (Hi Erika!), so I just tried to go with it.

"Or.... 'v' for .... victory," I offered.

"Oh, yeah, that's good, too... but 'v' for vagina. Get it" More laughter.

Now I get that the word vagina begins with 'v'. And the word loony begins with 'l' but I didn't feel the need to share that at the moment.

"No, I'm not sure...."

"Oh, you haven't heard?!"

Now the conversations seems to be gaining some direction which might end in an explanation. I'm feeling some relief at this because her son and Jackson play together at school and I didn't want to have to put an end to that.

The story is that Jackson's teacher was asking his first grade class which words begin with the letter 'v'. You see where this is going, right? Do I really need to explain how my child unabashedly offered up the word vagina? And how he wrote it in his class book as part of the assignment so that we may embarrass him with it when he's a teenager? His teacher handled it very gracefully asking that the children not use private parts. I'm really hoping I don't have to explain that in this family, where Jackson has been a part of both of his siblings births in some manner and at the tender age of 2 jumped off his father's lap in the exam room so he could "see the baby" while the midwife was examining me with my legs up in stirrups, the vagina is not necessarily a private part.

It was pointed out that this little incident was far better to happen on a day with the letter 'v' than with the letter 'c'. And, interestingly, penis was never mentioned by any of the children on 'p' day. I guess vaginas simply hold more prominence. And this secretly makes me happy.

Because we still make each other laugh

I've been thinking about our huge yard that we're going to have in North Carolina and how we're going to take care of it. I'm one of those weirdos who has a problem pouring poison anywhere in or around a home my children and I reside in. I know. It can't be explained. I'm just kooky that way. So I heard that molasses not only helps grass grow but keeps the ants away. I hadn't told David about this marvelous use for molasses when we started a conversation about gardening in North Carolina. They have fire ants there and, as you may know, fire ants are vile creatures that hate the human race and search us out to destroy us. Anyway, I was in the middle of painting an idyllic picture for David of how I will tend our little garden while Jackson helps and Clara and Sam enjoy our magnificent yard, when David quickly utters,"Fire ants!"
To which I reply with equal quickness, "Molasses!"
"Chicken wire!" he shouts back because he has no idea what I'm talking about and so why not chicken wire.
And the obvious answer to this was, "Ben Gay!"

This is where the conversation ends because David and I are both laughing uncontrollably.

And this, my loyal readers, is the secret to our long lasting marriage.