Well, that was really crappy of Moon? and the llama?

Peanut, apropos of absolutely nothing:  And then, he was done with what he was doing and he said he was going to do it and HE DIDN'T!
Me:  Wha, huh?
Peanut:  The llama.
Me:  The, llama?
Peanut:  Yes!  Exactly.  And he didn't.
Me:  Could you possibly stop and explain to me exactly what the hell you are talking about?
Peanut:  The llama.  Moon said he would and he finished what he was doing and he still didn't.
Me:  ???
Peanut, completely disgusted:  Nevermind.

About twenty minutes. Only slightly condensed.

There are approximately seven hours between picking the boys up from school and them passing out at night. This represents about twenty minutes. I'm not great at math, but I think that equates to this basic series of events occurring 21 times, every....fucking....day....

Peanut: Mom. They keep saying the "s" word.
Me, in the kitchen making dinner: Who?
Peanut: This song.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Don't listen to that.
Peanut: Okay.
Henny, coming downstairs: Mommy, I pee in my pants.
Me: Why did you pee your pants.
Henny: I dunno.
Me: Let's get you cleaned up. Moon, can you get some new pants for Henny?
Moon, rolling eyes: Urghhhhhh!!!!
Me: I know. Just help out, okay?
Peanut: What's for dinner?
Me: Greek salad with chicken.
Peanut: I hate that.
Henny: I heet that!
Me: You do not.
Peanut, poking and hitting Moon: Moon, play with me. Play with me! PLAY WITH ME!
Moon: Ow! Mom, he hit me!
Me: Don't hit your brother.
Peanut: He won't play with me.
Me: Of course he won't. You're hitting him.
Peanut: I want him to play with me.
Me: Nobody wants to play with someone who's hitting. Be nice.
Peanut: I don't want to be nice. I want him to play with me.
Me, bending over: He's not going to play with you if you're hitting him. Moon! Can you get some pants for Henny?!
Henny, hopping on my back: Piggy wide!
Me, falling over: No. No piggy ride. Get off of me. Moon! Get Henny some pants, please!
Moon: Urghhhhh!!!
D, calling on the phone: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Me: What, I can't hear you. You're breaking up.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I wan a talk a Dad. Lemme talk a Dad.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I need talk a Dad.
Me: I can't hear you at all.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
Me: I'm going to go.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
D: Gurgle gurgle bye.
Me: Dinner's ready. Come and eat guys.
Henny: I heet that.
Me: You don't hate that.
Peanut: I don't want any salad. I hate salad.
Me: Don't eat salad.
Henny: I don't wan chicken. I heet chicken.
Me: Don't eat chicken.
Henny: I spilled.
Me: Okay. I'll clean it up. Let me grab a napkin.
Henny: I lick it?
Me: No. Do not lick the table.
Henny: I lick it.
Me: Please stop licking the table.
Henny: I need salad. I wan scoop it.
Me: I'll scoop it for you.
Henny: I wan scoop it. I need scoop it!
Me: No. Let me do it. Here, here's a scoop of salad for you.
Henny: No. I need more. I need scoop it.
Me: If you eat all that I'll give you another scoop.
Henny: No. I wan scoop it. I can't eat all dis. It's too much.
Me: That makes no sense.
Peanut: Can I have a dessert?
Me: I do not even care.
Henny: I wan ice cream!
Me: Have ice cream. I don't care.
Henny: Can I have more ice cream?
Me: Don't care. Hey, we need to go pick up Dad from the train. It's raining.
Henny: I don't wan pick Dad.
Me: It's raining. We need to pick up Dad.
Henny: Can I bring my ice cream?
Me: No.
Henny: Why? I wan bring my ice cream.
Me: You can't take ice cream in the car.
Henny: I bring my ice cream.
Me: You're not bringing your ice cream.
D: Hi! How are you?
Me: Eh.
D: What's wrong.
Me: Just. You know. They're just.
D: Dinner smells good.
Peanut, running around corner: NAKEDSTUFF!!! NAKEDSTUFF!!!
Me: Where. are. your. clothes?!?!

He's got the fever

Moon: My throat was scratchy all day and now my stomach hurts.
Me, touching forehead: Well, you don't have a fever, so that's good.
Henny: I hab a Biebah.
Me: You have a...Bieber?
Henny: Yes. I hab a Biebah.
Me: You have a Bieber Fever?
Henny: Yes. I hab Biebah Febah.

Oh, sorry

Laying in bed at night with Henny:
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mommy has penis?
Me, shaking head no.
Henny: Mommy has boob?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me: Yes. Daddy has a penis, and Moon has a penis, and Peanut has a penis, and Molly has a tail, and Mommy has a boob.
Henny, whispering: Shh...quiet. I seeping, Mommy.

Really? Dad and I just call that "Tuesday"

Moon: Can I have a sleepover this weekend?
Me: No. But you can have one in two weeks.
Moon: Ok. Because I haven't had a sleepover since summer.
Me: That's not true.
Moon: Well, I've had K over twice, but I mean, I haven't had a GOOD sleepover. Where I go to someone else's house.
Me: So, you're saying it's not a good sleepover if it's at our house? I'm mildly offended by that.
Moon: Sorry, but it's not a good sleepover at our house.
Me: And why is that?
Peanut: Because I always annoy him.
Me: That's not a good reason.
Moon: Mom! He took off his pants, put on a mask, and ran into my room yelling "NAKED NINJA!" I don't call that a "good" sleepover.

I didn't feenk so

Henny (aka Toddler ): I see San-a!
Me: Ooh, I see Santa, too. Hi Santa!
Henny: Hi San-a! San-a gon bing Henny a pesent.
Me: Santa is going to bring Henny a present because Henny is such a good boy.
Henny: Ess. Henny good boy.
Me: Is Santa going to bring Moon a present?
Henny: Ess.
Me: Is Santa going to bring Peanut a present?
Henny: NO!
Me: I didn't think so.
Henny: I didn't feenk so, too.

I hate age 11

Me: Hey, I have an idea. How about we go to the barber shop this afternoon and you can all get haircuts.
Moon: I don't like my hair short.
Me: I know. But you really need it cut.
Moon: I don't want it cut.
Me: Even though you wrestle with it every morning in the bathroom?
Moon: I just put that spray conditioner on and it's fine.
Me: Have you seen a mirror lately?
Moon: I want my hair long.
Me: Moon, I am trying so hard to let you express yourself. I know it's your hair and you should have a say in how it looks. But, ohmygod I hate your hair!
Moon: You just think boys should have short hair.
Me: Not boys. Just you.
Moon: I'm not getting a hair cut.
Me: It looks like you have a dead animal on your head.
Moon: I like it.
Me: You look like Phil Spector.
Moon: I don't want a haircut.
Me: I hate your hair.
Moon: I like it.
Me: Go get me a Q-Tip.
Moon: Why?
Me: So I can clean the wax out of your ears.
Moon: That's not fair.
Me: I don't care. I'm not having the kid with the poofy hair and the dirty ears.

I have homework? That's bullshit!

First week of school.  The boys' homework consisted of bringing home a massive, crap-ton of forms for me to fill out and sign in duplicate.  The same damn forms I filled out and signed last year.  The same damn forms I filled out online so I wouldn't have to fill out the paper version.  Which, apparently, I had to do anyway.  Schools need to cut some budget?  Here's an idea.  Stop with the damn forms already!  But, as per usual, I digress....

In addition to all of the forms, one of Moon's teachers sent home an actual homework assignment for us to do.  A freaking essay.  I kid you not.  The assignment was to tell him about our kid in "A Million Words or Less."  I was tempted to just send him my url and say "have at it," but I didn't want to get called in to the principal's office.  So, here's my essay.  Moon, in far, far less than a million words.

Our son, Moon, needs a haircut.  He has this crazy, curly, wholly unkempt set of locks that makes his already oversized head look six inches larger in diameter than it actually is.  I’ve been insisting on a haircut for well over a month now; each mention met with a shrug of the shoulders and an utterance of, “but I don’t want a haircut.”  It seems Moon likes his hair long.  And curly.  And crazy.  Short, tidy hair isn’t cool.  It doesn’t fit with Moon’s idea of who he is.  And at age 11, Moon is all about figuring out who he is.

Until recently, Moon was happy to just be our kid.  The one that we made and shaped.  He was fine with believing whatever we believed.  Thinking what we thought.  Liking what we liked.  Just going with the flow.  Now, he’s happy to go with the flow, so long as the flow doesn’t get in the way of any of the super-cool stuff he wants to do with his super-cool friends.  If he were awake, he’d be rolling his eyes at us right now.  We are SO not cool.

The way we tell it, Moon is wicked smart, incredibly handsome, funny, completely disorganized,  a little cautious (and thank goodness for that, because his brothers are totally bananas), prone to anxiety, mature beyond his years, and occasionally mouthy.  At his core, Moon is a sweet, gentle, kind soul.  He doesn’t pick fights, he doesn’t play rough, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

But, if you were to ask Moon who he is, he might paint a little different picture.  He would tell you that he’s an awesome gamer, a real life guitar-hero, and he can p3wn you on the basketball court.  He might also tell you, “oh snap, you got served.”  Even though you probably didn’t get served.  He seems to have a little trouble with the proper context for “servage.”

Moon has been having a massive growth spurt lately.  Needing new shoes every month.  Wearing jeans that are three sizes too big in the waist, just so they’ll be long enough to touch his ankles.  There are a lot of complaints of growing pains.  Sore legs.  Sore knees.  Sore feet.  What we all need to remember is that the growing pains aren’t just physical.  Every roll of the eyes, every sigh of exasperation, every utterance of, “but, you don’t understand,” is just another form of growing pain.  A little bump in the road on Moon’s journey through adolescence.  If we don’t mess up too badly, he’ll come to the other side of that journey a thoughtful, warm-hearted, intelligent adult.  And hopefully, somewhere along that road, he’ll stop off at the barber shop for a haircut.

They'll probably find this even funnier when they learn what "cock" means....

In the back yard with all three boys.  Neighbors are home.  There is a little league baseball game going on across the street.  Lots of local families within hearing range.

Me:  Come on, let me use the swing.
Moon:  No!
Me:  Come on.
Moon, laughing:  No!
Me:  Ick.  When is the last time you brushed your teeth?
Moon:  Mmm.....I dunno.  Probably this morning.
Me:  You have chocolate cake all over your top teeth.  Gross.
Moon, laughing:  I have chocolate cahk?
Me:  Cake.  I said cake.
Moon:  Chocolate cahk!
Me:  Stop it.  I said cake.
Peanut, laughing:  Chocolate cahk!
Moon:  I need to brush my chocolate cahk!
Peanut:  You have chocolate cahk!
Me:  Ok.  Can we please stop yelling chocolate cahk?
Moon:  You said it!  Listen I have a song.....

Honestly, I don't even remember how the song went.  But it had a lot of chocolate cahk in it.  And I totally will understand if the entire community bans their children from playing at my house.  But, the cahk was delicious.

Sadly, he takes after me

Me, looking out the window: Ooh, it's getting windy.
Moon: Where?
Me: Uh, outside.
Moon: Oh, phew.

G's up, Ho's down

Me: That is it! The next person in this house who insults someone else is banned from electronics for a week!
D: Here, Peanut. Put away the milk.
Peanut, whining: I can't!
D: You can too.
Peanut, still whining: It's too heavy.
D: If that's too heavy then you need to get down in the basement and lift some weights. Wimp.
Me: No electronics for a week!
D: What? That doesn't apply to me. You said the kids.
Me: No, I said the next person to insult someone. That includes you.
Moon: She did. She said person.
D: Come on. I said, "pimp." That's a good thing. The kid's a pimp.
Peanut: What's a pimp?
Me, hanging my head and muttering: oh. my. god.
Peanut: Hey Moon, you're a pimp.
Moon: No, you're a pimp.
Peanut, laughing: Pimp.
Moon, laughing: Pimp.
Me, still muttering: oh. my. god. What am I going to tell the school when they call?

I'm sure there's an audience for that

Moon: Blogging is easy. I could probably start a blog if I wanted to.
Me: Oh? What would your blog be about?
Peanut: My wiener. YEAAAAH!
Me: A blog about your wiener? Huh.
Moon: Day one...wiener lookin' good.

Nice try

Me: You know you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: You know why you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: Why are you in trouble?
Moon: Well...because...wait! First tell me what Peanut told you.

This is why I don't even ask questions anymore

Peanut, standing naked in front of the toilet: Hey, Mom, I know how to do "squishies."
Me: I don't know what that is.
Peanut: Oh, it's from Captain Underpants. It's where you take two packets of ketchup and put them under the toilet seat. Then when somebody sits down....
Me, lightbulb clicking on: Ah! So that explains why there was a packet of hot sauce in the toilet this morning.
Peanut, eyes wide: Wah? Huh? No there wasn't. How did that get there?
Me, giving him the eye: Peanut.
Peanut, eyes wider, shaking his head in disbelief: No-o.
Me, staring and silent.
Peanut, looking down and pulling on his penis: Heh, heh, penis.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Moon did it.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Ok, I do not know how that got there. I mean, I put a packet of hot sauce under the toilet seat, but I took it out and put it in the trash.
Me, shouting into the next room: Moon, how did a packet of hot sauce get under the toilet seat?
Moon, shouting back: Exactly how you think it did.
Me: So, you're saying you knew about it?
Moon: Oh.

Gratitude

At the beginning of a spontaneous road trip to a super fun indoor water park:

Me: Who's the best Mom in the whole world?
Moon: I dunno.
Peanut: Not you.
Me: What in the heck are you talking about? I'm taking you to a super fun indoor water park for no reason at all. Who's the best Mom in the world?
Peanut: Not you.
Me: Who's a better Mom than me? Name one person!
Peanut: Grandma Mouse.
Me: Ha! Hardly. Do you know what Grandma Mouse used to give me for dinner?
Peanut: What?
Me: Shit on a stick. Try again. Who's a better Mom than me?
Peanut: Well, I know it's not Dad's Mom, because she tried to hit him with a frying pan when he was a kid.
Moon: Dad says that story's not true.
Me: Oh, no. Totally true. Grandma is definitely not a better Mom than me, either. Try again.
Peanut: Bobby's* Mom is better than you. She hardly ever yells.
Me: What?! Bobby's Mom is batshit crazy! I mean, truly, certifiably, insane. She's not a better Mom than me. Try again.
Peanut: I don't know who the best Mom in the world is. The only thing I do know is that it's not you!

Probably

Sitting in the ER with Peanut because Moon got angry and kicked Peanut in the hand. It looks like Peanut's finger may be broken. People in front of us include a man who cut his hand with a power tool, a man who got hit by an opening car door while riding his bike, and two women in labor:

Peanut: Mom, why aren't they calling us back yet?
Me: We have to wait our turn.
Peanut: But why are all these people in front of us?
Me: Because they're all injured.
Peanut: But Mom, I need to go in front of them. My injury hurts!

Sitting in a room in the ER, waiting for X-Ray results:
Me: I spy, with my little eye, something wiggly and small.
Peanut: My penis?

Upon learning that his finger is actually broken:
Peanut: Ooh, Moon is DEAD! Mom, what are you going to do to him?

Getting his finger splinted:
Me: Why are you crying? It's not that bad.
Peanut: This is terrible!
Me: What?
Peanut: Now I can't thumb wrestle!

Waiting for discharge papers, admiring his splint:
Peanut: Mom, when my finger is all healed, do I have to give this splint back?
Me: No, you get to keep it.
Peanut: Mom, I don't know this for sure, but when someone gets out of jail, I think they get to keep the handcuffs.
Me: No they don't.
Peanut: Have you ever been to jail?
Me: No.
Peanut: Then you don't know that for a fact.

Later, at dinner, for some reason discussing porcupine penises:
Me: Who has a bigger penis, Peanut, you or a porcupine?
Peanut: Moon!

In the car on the way home from dinner:
Peanut: When I grow up, I'm probably going to be a retard.
Me: Why do you say that?
Peanut: Well, because when I was, like, six and five and four, I was retarded. So, I'll probably be a retard when I grow up, too.

What? Puerto Ricans can't just buy them at the pharmacy like the rest of us?

Sign outside of store in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico:

Peanut: Mom, what's Condom World?
Me: A store.
Peanut: What do they sell?
Me: Stuff you don't need to know about.
Peanut: Like what?
Me: Just stuff.
Peanut: Tell me, Mom. What is it? What do they sell?
Me: Umm....underwear.
Peanut: No they don't. What do they sell at Condom World.
D: Condoms. They sell condoms. You know, like ketchup, mustard, mayo.....
Moon: No, that's condiments.
Peanut: Mom. Tell me! What do they sell?
Me: Dad's right. They sell stuff to put on your hotdog.

So, when do they start liking girls? Because I don't know how much longer I can take the B.O.

Me: What is that smell? Something smells like poop in here.
Moon: I dunno. I don't really smell anything.
Me: Come here. Let me smell you. When is the last time you showered?
Moon: Last night.
Me: You did not.
Moon: I mean the night before that.
Me: No you didn't. We got home late and you went to bed.
Moon: Well, it was definitely the day before that.
Me: That's gross. You need to start bathing or you're going to be the stinky kid.
Moon: Meh.
Me: Do you think you're going to like girls someday?
Moon: Mo-o-om...I don't know.
Me: Well, girls don't like boys with bad hygiene. Start bathing. Stinky.
Moon: Mom, when I start liking girls I'll worry about showering. But that day is not today.

The real question is, "Why is he peeing in the pool?"

Peanut: Mom will probably just tell us she's having another baby for her April Fool's joke.
Me: That's not even funny. Besides, we can't have any more babies.
Moon: Yeah. Remember? Dad had that ball surgery.
Me: What does a ball surgery have to do with having babies?
Moon: Remember, he just had a part taken out from his balls so now he can't have any more babies.
Me: Right. But do you know what balls have to do with having babies?
Moon: No idea.
Me: Do you want me to tell you about it?
Moon: I dunno.
Peanut: Yes, mom! How do you get babies?
Me: Moon, you really have no idea where babies come from?
Moon: No idea.
Peanut: Tell us, Mom!
Me: Have you ever heard of sex?
Peanut: No. What is it?
Moon, sheepish: Well, sort of.
Me: So, what do you think sex is?
Moon: I don't want to tell you.
Me: It's perfectly fine. We're having a conversation about it, there's nothing wrong with it, let's just talk.
Peanut: Mom, what is it?
Me: Moon, what do you think sex is?
Moon: Well, it's when a mom and a dad get naked and lay down in a bed together.
Me: And then?
Moon: I don't know.
Me: They're naked together and then the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina.
Peanut: I am NOT getting married!
Moon: Ew! Ew!
Me: It's not ew, and it's not only married people who have sex. Some people believe you shouldn't have sex until you're married, but I think it's okay when you are mature enough to handle it. Like when you go away to college and you're, I dunno, like 18, 19, 20 ish. In my opinion that's a good age to start having sex if you have a girlfriend and she is someone you love.
Moon: You still didn't explain about the balls.
Me: Oh, yeah. So, anyway, the woman has these little eggs inside her body, and once every 28 days she releases an egg and it's ready to be fertilized. So, in order to fertilize it, the man puts his penis in her vagina and this stuff called semen comes out of the hole in the tip of his penis.
Peanut: Really? The peehole?
Me: Yes. Same hole, different tube.
Peanut: Can I see a picture of semen?
Me, instantly terrified by the thought of Googling "semen" : No. It looks like snot, ok?
Boys in unison: Ew!
Me: So, this snotty stuff called semen is full of these tiny little things that look like tadpoles. They have long tails and they swim up the woman's reproductive tract looking for an egg to fertilize. If there's no egg, then no baby is made. But if there is an egg and a sperm swims into it, then a baby starts growing inside the mom's body.
Moon: That's disgusting.
Me: Yeah, well, guess what, buddy! There's more. When you get to be a little bit older, you might start having something called "nocturnal emissions," or "wet dreams." If you have too much semen in your testicles, it will need to come out, so sometimes it will come out while you're sleeping. That's why they call it a "wet dream." It doesn't mean you peed the bed. So, if this happens to you, you can just take the sheets off your bed and tell me they need to be washed. I won't ask you any questions, ok?
Moon: Ok. Hey mom, I had a wet dream once.
Me: What?
Moon, laughing: This one time, I had a dream that I was in a pool and I peed, and then I woke up and I had wet the bed.
Me: Not a wet dream. If there's no semen, you just peed the bed.
Peanut: Can we stop talking about this?
Me: Sure. Do you have any questions about anything else?
Peanut: Where does chocolate come from?

The "ee-er, ee-er"

Me, shoving a magazine article about teenage hormones toward D.: When you have a minute you really should read this. We need to be talking.
D, panicked by hearing the words "We need to talk": About us?
Me, pointing to the title of the article: No. With Moon. It says we should have already talked to him about....
D: Oh...(making a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, then moving it up and down over the pointer finger of his right hand)...about the ee-er, ee-er?
Me: And about the..."special" dreams.
D: Ahh.

Based on the quality of that conversation, I'd say our sex/hormones/masturbation/nocturnal emissions talk with Moon should go off without a hitch.