Boys

There are things about boys I will never understand. Potty humor is just one of them. I guess it's cause I'm a girl. I grew up with a brother but nothing could really prepare me for the obsession of poop, pee, penises, etc.

We recently signed up the 3 oldest guys for baseball. Little did I realize that I would be eating, sleeping, dreaming, and breathing baseball for the next few months. It seems, though, that is the case. That is neither here nor there. It is what it is. (But Saturday we have 3 practices at 3 different times. Should be interesting.)

Anyway, the point is the kids have to wear a cup to all practices and games. Picture me wandering the aisles of the sporting goods store, hoping against hope that I could just find the cups so that I didn't have to ask somebody where they were. I did, and then wondered if the sizes I got were okay, and if they really needed it at their age.

Yikes. Then came the task of explaining to my children what exactly a cup was and why they needed one.

Tonight was Eric's first practice, and beforehand I showed him how it worked and stuff.

Any guesses what the first thing that happened was.

Mark: Hey, can I punch you in the privates?
Me: Noooo let's not do that!
Eric: Okay
Me: Guys! No!
Mark: does it anyway.
Eric: (laughing hysterically) That didn't even hurt.

On our camping trip Eric got some bites in some inconvenient places. On the way to practice he says to me "hey Mom, at least I can't scratch my bites now. That's good!"

I don't even know what to say, except OY. I still have so much to learn about boys.