Puttin' Out the Family Business

I have clearly failed in two areas: 1) permanently removing the possibility that my children will announce private family matters in very public situations, and 2) solidifying that they indeed know and practice the difference between “outside voices” and “inside voices,” particularly when announcing aforementioned private family matters.

Loudly proclaiming private family matters have come in two categories: those that shame the heck out of me, and those that should (but don’t) shame the heck out of them. There is the time that my now-13-year old announced to the woman who had not yet become my girlfriend (and thank goodness she ignores children or she might not have) that I had been a drug addict. True, but he neglected to mention that I had been clean for over 15 years at that point. There is the time that, at a party, when asked where I was, that same child loudly announced that I was pooping in the bathroom. Thankfully, aforementioned not-yet-my girlfriend wasn’t at that party. Besides the usual vociferous burping and farting (and peals of hilarious laughter afterwards), my 8-year-old seems to specialize in loudly proclaiming his family business. Recently, on a vacation at the beach and after a tumble in the waves, he came back out to the water to join his brother and me, screaming “I’m back! And no more rocks in my testicles!” The young couple right behind him probably ran for the nearest Rite-Aid to stock up on condoms.

My 8-year-old also has some strange habits that verge on exposing family business. He has developed a fondness for the smell of Gillette Clear Gel Deodorant and often sticks his nose in my armpits to smell them. In public. He has a love for texture, and is particularly fond of waffle weave shirts. He will rub his cheek on them and moan “waffle weeeeeeave…” In public. Since toddlerhood, he has “marked his people” by rubbing his cheek on the inside of your upper arm. While it seems cute in theory, his death grip on your arm makes the whole experience feel more like being in a gulag than a special moment. Oh, and he does this in public.

I used to tell myself that my children were free spirits, that I had helped them escape Society’s squashing of their true selves. But now I know the truth: my kids are weird and have no censor, and it is totally my fault.

PS. I just told my 8-year-old about this blog entry and he said “you should do a blog about this messy house.” It never ends.