Ever since getting my son when he was five, I’ve always dreaded that day. You know what day I am talking about. The day when you realize your son has discovered his penis. Boys are SO much different than girls, and I was good at raising girls. Learning to raise a boy has had a STEEP learning curve, and I draw the line at the stash of happy socks.
Let me back up a bit. When we were moving from Indiana to Minnesota, we were packing up my son’s room. Not known to be the cleanest child on the planet, I was already wondering whether I should don a haz mat suit to survive the experience. We were breaking down his bed, and there it was! A jar filed to the brim with crunchy, nasty, dirty socks. Since it seemed to be a “secret” stash my mind already imagined the worst.
Mr. Crunchy was totally not any help. He was swearing we had finally found our son’s “happy sock” stash. Being a girl, and having only raised girls most of my parenting life, I had to ask what the heck he meant. I quickly regretted that decision. For those of you that don’t know, I guess it’s a thing among guys when they discover their special part to use socks to have fun with it. E W W W W W W . This was my little boy he was talking about. I can’t be old enough to have a son that’s doing THAT already.
Though thoroughly disgusted, I wanted to do the proper thing and talk to my son about it. Carrying the stash of socks, we plopped them down in front of him and I took a deep breath. Our talk kinda went like this
Me: “Son you are going to find out real soon, if you haven’t already, that your penis is fun.”
Me: “It’s nothing to be embarassed about, but let’s lay down the law now. What you do with your penis is your business in the privacy of your room. I don’t want to find conditioner missing in the bathroom, or finding a jar of crunchy socks in your bedroom. Do your business, and put it in the wash. Got it?”
Son: “I think I am going to die!!! I can’t believe you just said that.”
Me: “Well, I did, and I can’t believe I just found a stash of crusty socks in a jar in your bedroom. Don’t be embarrased, just don’t let me know about it and do your own damned laundry.”
Son: “Can we stop talking about my penis?”
I think that talk went well, don’t you?! Well, at least I haven’t found anymore collections of crusty socks in my son’s bedroom. Though I have to admit he’s still going through an abnormally large quantity of socks still. I guess buying the extra socks is worth it, if I don’t have to do the laundry.
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