I’ve been feeling guilty lately for having trouble giving my first born, Maverick, my full attention. When he comes home after school he wants to talk to me and tell stories about his day, and we are constantly interrupted because I have two other children who are always trying to eat bugs when my back is turned.

So last night after I got the younger two to bed, I turned off the TV and said “Maverick, I want to spend some time talking to you tonight! I put my phone away, and you have my full attention for the next 20 minutes. I’ll read to you or we can talk about whatever you want. If you just want to sit here with me in silence, we can do that.”

He thought for a moment and then he said “Okay!” and pulled down his pants. “What’s this line going down the middle of my balls?”

And without changing my tone or expression I said I wasn’t sure, but I would be happy to look it up if he really wanted to know.  He was like, “No mommy. You need to SEE IT. DO YOU SEE IT?” And I was like … “I have seen it, yes. Pull your pants up now.“

It’s called the perineal raphe. 

At some point my son will come to realize that it’s virtually impossible to shock his mother … but I have a feeling he’s going to make it his life’s work to try. Which means I’ll never, ever run out of stories to tell.

Maverick’s book report on The Cat In The Hat.