Boys, unfiltered...

Today I present the most recent collection of "My Sons' Goofy Behavior". (To be honest, silliness is kind of the standard around here, but these are just the latest incidents that stand out. I'm not sure what that says about our family...except that as the only female in the house, I get away with ascribing most nonsense to the y-chromosome. This actually gets me off the hook for quite a lot--gross references, impolite bodily functions, vulgar expressions--NONE of this is ever my fault! Ah, it's good to be the Queen...

Anyway, our first event occurred, as these things so often do in our house, over dinner one day. Everyone was chatting, preparing to dig into their food, when Husband asked if anyone hadn't yet gotten a drink to go with their meal. "Yeah, does anyone need to wet their whistle?" I cheerfully inquired. (Do not ask me where I had that stored away, or why such an outdated expression suddenly popped out of my mouth. Sometimes these things just happen...) There was silence for a few seconds. Then Riley, a quizzical and confused expression on his face, blurted out, "Wet your...weasel?" Clearly he'd taken a beat to try to figure out the puzzling statement in his head before requesting clarification. But the rest of us were utterly useless, as we had dissolved into hysterical giggles already. When Derek recovered enough to both breathe and talk, he still didn't help, as he immediately launched into a discussion of how, even if it was a good idea to moisten a weasel, they probably wouldn't appreciate having chocolate milk dumped all over them. (Yeah, 'cuz that's the real issue here. Thanks, Big Brother. But the serious explanation wasn't half as interesting, so it seemed a good idea to just let it go...)

Next, we have one of those myriad "don't blame me" moments. (Which also, it should be noted, I wasn't even present for--but evidently it caused such amusement that it required reporting...for what purpose, I couldn't speculate...unless it was to earn a coveted Mom Glare?) Derek was at soccer practice, kicking a ball around, warming up with his teammates. Coach was ready to gather the troops and run some drills, so he called out for all the players to "grab their balls and meet me in front of the goal". Can you just picture what Derek did, in response to this? Yes, that's right, he went the literal route...earning him a big snort of laughter from one of the other Dads helping out. (Great, reward him for his obnoxiousness...this will only encourage him to continue!) When the story was relayed to me by Husband later that evening, Derek's only (completely unabashed, unrepentant) comment was, "What? I'm a guy!" (I have an apprehensive feeling I'll be hearing that excuse more and more in the coming years...sigh.)

Finally, as proof that Derek has not yet reached the pinnacle of his potential goofball-ness...we have last night's after-dinner scene. Having cleaned his plate (per usual), he wanted to know, "What's for dessert...my homey?" Even funnier--it didn't even faze me the slightest bit to hear this emanate from my 12-year old son's mouth. I simply replied, "I. Am. NOT. Your. Homey." He readily concurred, "Yeah, right...you're my Mommy." He allowed the slightest of pauses before adding, "But 'what's for dessert, my Mommy' doesn't have the same ring to it...I might lose my Street Cred!" Okay, that did it: now, I was incredulous. "I'm sorry, your WHAT?" I sputtered, as he just stood there grinning hugely at me with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. Um, I hate to break it to you, my little rebel, but if you take a long, hard look around, you'll notice that your 'mean streets'...are the sidewalks of suburbia! So good luck with that Street Cred...in the Middle School jungle. Now finish your ice cream sandwich and go do your homework! (Because Mommy needs some quality testosterone-free time!)