I knew this day was coming.
But time just flew by, the kids were all content, and I let it slip my mind. (Yes, yes, my theme this month - the slipping mind.)
Clearly there has been rampant over-use of the all-encompassing term "bottom" in this house. As in sit on your bottom, wipe your bottom, you have a little rash on your bottom, I'm gonna whoop your bottom... the entire area in totality. Simple. Uncomplicated. Ineffective!
Ineffective, how? you might ask. And I will tell you. Ineffective in that the omission of names for girlie parts led two little 3 year-old girlies to believe they had humble boy parts. Really? Oh really!
The day of awakening went something like this. The dynamic duo were playing as usual, all over the house, here there and everywhere. I happened to be near the bathroom when they stopped in, and heard the following chant: "I have a tiny weenie! I have a tiny weenie! I have a tiny WEENIE! Watch me, I can pee-pee standing up, like Cole!"
Uh-oh. And that's how you know when you've left the subject alone too long. Not only is a correction now involved, as well as the slight disappointment to the girls at being told they do not, in fact, have a weenie... (Oh, the disappointment. They idolize Cole.) There is also the open airing of brand new words and ideas ringing loudly around the house for a while.
Comfortingly, they get it wrong often enough to be funny. As in Isabella yelling "Cole! Stop it! You kicked me in my Aretha!" And that is so flippin' funny to me, I cannot correct it. I can only giggle and smile, and think of a song.
So here we go, yet again, with anatomical misnomers... I'm so sorry, Ms. Franklin...