Breaking Penis Rule #2

Yesterday we went swimming as usual when it gets to be 106.  (Ok, usually it’s 101, but it’s still crazy hot.)  After we got out, the boys ran around air-drying themselves.  I took off Tornado S’s swimsuit because he has a habit of peeing right after he gets out of the pool.

Tornado E came over to inspect Tornado S’s penis.  He reached out and messed with it.  This was much more disturbing to my baby brother than for me.

Uncle M: Tornado E!  Stop playing with your brother’s penis!

Thanks, M.  I think the neighborhood heard you.

Tornado E: But Uncle M, I like playing with it!

Just the excuse we needed to hear.  I intervened before my brother could throw his two cents in about this turn of events.  Is that the sound of Papi trying not to laugh?

Me: Tornado E, Penis Rule #2 states we do NOT play with other people’s penises.  Next time you’ll be going into time out.

The Penis Rules

  1. You can only play with your penis when you are alone in your room.
  2. You are not allowed to play with someone else’s penis.
  3. You must have pants on to go out front.
  4. When in public, including the front yard, you may not take your penis out to show any one.

Everything else is blue . . .

We’ve learned to strip Tornado S of his swimsuit immediately after he swims.  Or else he walks over to the grass and pees in his swim trunks.   Tornado S stood on the pool decking, naked, shivering in the wind, waiting for Uncle M to climb out of the pool after he fetched all the diving toys the boys let drop in the deep end.  My brother looked at Tornado S and then at me.

Uncle M: Hey, Fae! I can tell when Tornado S’s cold.

Me: From his shivering?

Uncle M: No.

Me: From the bright blue color of the scar on his lip.

Uncle M: Nope.  His penis is totally blue.

Me: What?!

Who doesn’t rush over to see a blue penis?

Papi: Well, we now know he’s pick up line in college.  Girls, have you ever seen a blue penis?

Me: (groan)

Papi: Or.  Some guys get blue balls, but I get a blue penis.

Me: (roll of eyes and groan) You know this is going to go in the blog.

Papi: Or. Gu-

Uncle M: Tornado E! No!  We don’t touch people’s penises.

Tornado E: But I want to see it!

Me: Tornado E, we don’t touch some one else’s penis.  Even if we want to look at it.  Here, Tornado S.  (I wrapped Tornado S in a towel and carried him in the house.)

Papi: Ok, how about this one? –

I slammed the back door shut.

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Learning Bathroom Etiquette

Last week as I set out a breakfast of pancakes for the boys, I called for Tornado E and Tornado S to come get breakfast.

Tornado E: (from the master bedroom) In a minute, Mommy!  I need to watch Daddy pee first!

Lucky Daddy.

Then the other day we were hanging out with my baby brother.  Like the great uncle he is, my baby brother played with the boys, wrestling, sword fighting, tickling, playing cars.  Finally my brother had to excuse himself to use the restroom.  Knowing Tornado E and being modest, my brother locked the bathroom door.  Tornado E walked right in to the door, and then he started knocking to get in.  My brother only knocked back.  Tornado E gave up.

Tornado E: Mommy, why did Uncle M lock the door?

Me: Because he’s going potty and he doesn’t want you in there.

Tornado E: Uncle M doesn’t want me to see his penis.

Me: (thinking for a second) Yes.

Tornado E: Daddy doesn’t mind me seeing his penis.

Me: That’s because Daddy is teaching you to pee.

Tornado E: Why is he doing that?

Me: Because one day you’re going to pee standing up.

Tornado E: Why?

Me: Because that’s what big boys and men do.

Tornado E: Why?

Me: Because it’s easier.

Tornado E: Why? – Oh, Uncle M!  Let’s play ball!

Saved by my baby brother.

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The Why Phase

I was so excited about the Why Phase.  Honestly, how much fun would that be?  I’m a fountain of useless knowledge.  I love learning useless knowledge.  I love learning period.  In high school drama, the award I was given was The Most Likely To Know Everything (Or She’ll Find it Out).  In college, I had a roommate that loved to torture me with random years, asking me what happened in that year.  I would go ballistic racking my brain, pulling out facts, until I turned on the computer and listed rulers, wars, and all kinds of facts.

Every parenting book talked about how important the Why Phase was, how it was a sign of intelligence and inquisitiveness.  I worried as Tornado E out grew the months it was suppose to be in.  I wondered if my son actually cared to learn about the world around him.  I wondered if I was raising a day laborer, fast food restaurant cashier or a politician.  I waited and prepared.  I was well prepared for questions like:

Why’s the sky blue?

Why’s the grass green?

Why’s that an “E”?

Why is Papi bald?

Why do we go to church?

Why does Daddy make Daddy noise when he sleeps?

When the Why Phase started, did I get any of those questions?  No.  I got questions like these:

Why do I have to go to bed?

Why am I tired?

Why are you tired?

Why am I whiney?

Why is my bed so high?

Why did you do that?

Why can’t I have candy in my bed?

Why am I hungry for candy right now?

Why can’t I have juice?

Why will it leak?

Why do I have to have water?

Why is Tornado S trying to sleep?

Why can’t I sleep in Tornado S’s bed?

Why will he wake up?

Why can’t I sleep with you?

Why do I have to sleep in my own bed?

Why do I have to go to bed?

Why can’t I stay up?

Why am I tired?

Why do I have to put my underwear on?

Yeah, it’s not cute and inquisitive.  It’s not a sign that my kid is smart, trying to figure out the logic of the world.  It’s not a sign of intelligence.  It’s a sign of hidden rebellion.  It’s a sign of anarchy.  It’s a sign that my kid wants the rules to bend to his understanding.  He’s trying to be subversive.  He’s trying to break down the penis rules through his interpretation of logic.

Why do I have to wipe my bottom?

Why will I get diaper rash?

Why will it hurt?

Why do I have to wear underwear?

Why can’t I go naked?

Why do I have to wear clothes in the car?

Why do I have to wear clothes at Grandma’s and Papi’s house?

Why can’t I play with my penis here?

Why can’t I play with my penis in your room?

Does Daddy play with his penis in your room?

Why are you quiet?

Why didn’t you say anything?

Mommy!  Did you hear me?

Why do I have to put my underwear on?

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The Rocket Man

Yesterday we went to a 50’s diner, and on the way out, my dad put the boys in a coin-operator rocket, circa God only knows.  As the rocket bounced around like a mechanical bull, I watched the boys, wondering if the fries, chicken nuggets, and chocolate milk shake were about to make a reappearance.  Tornado E looked especially sick as he was already running a mild fever.

When the boys were hauled out, poor Tornado E held his crotch.  My mother looked at him with concern.

Grandma: Tornado E, sweetheart, are you ok?

Tornado E: Grandma, it hurts!

Grandma: Where?

Tornado E: Here.  (He pointed to his crotch.)

Papi: Want to ride again?

Grandma: I think he hurt his testes.

Tornado E: I hurt my testes, Papi!  Let’s ride again!

At this time, I was doubled over in laughter to my mother’s disgust as she shot me dirty looks over Tornado E’s head.  I got control of myself, straightened up, and wiped the tears out of my eyes.

Me: Tornado E, love, we’ll come back it do it another time.


This morning.  My BFF (How cool does that sound?  And a million teenagers roll their eyes.) had taken pictures of the rocket ride and was showing Tornado E the pictures on her camera.

Tornado E: And there’s the yellow rocket where I hurt my testes!

Nod if you think Tornado E will say that every time we visit that diner.

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Confusing Biology

As I sat peeing, Tornado E came in to see me.

Tornado E: Oh, I have to pee too!

Tornado E sat on his potty and started peeing.

Tornado E: Mommy, are you peeing from your bottom?

I see that our biology is a little weak.  But do I want to explain what a urethra is?  Should I keep it simple, allowing for years of misinformation and misunderstanding of the female body.  Forgive me, future biology teachers, I’ll correct it my mistake before he comes to you.

Me: No.  Girls have a vagina.  That’s where they pee.

Tornado E: Oh.  Mommy, where is your gina?

Me: (standing up and pulling my underwear and pants on.  I point to my crotch.)  Here.

Tornado E: Can I see your gina?

Excuse me?  You can see one in sex ed when you’re older.  You’re can see a real one when you’re in college and in love.

Me: No.  It’s private.

A few hours later, I was washing some dishes, when I heard my husband peeing with the door open. Tornado E heard him too and joined him.

Tornado E: Daddy, do you have a gina?

My husband: No!

Ok, we’re still having issues with human biology.

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Shake it, baby, shake it.

We went to story time at our local library today.  They did all kinds of songs and games between stories to keep the kids enthused and aware.  One of those games was with a bean bag, which all the kids got one to do the game and sing the song.  Later when we were home, Tornado E found some rattles and handed me one to play the bean bag game, but he called it baggy game.


Tornado E: Shake it by your head!


I shake.


Tornado E: Now shake it by your toes!


I shake.


Tornado E: Now shake it by your elbow!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by your wrist!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by your shoulder!


I shake.


Tornado E: Now shake it by your knee!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it . . . by . . . the chair!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by the car!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by Tornado S!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it at the green chair!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by the toys!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by the baby dragon!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by the faery!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by the blue chair!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by your head!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by your back!


I shake.


Tornado E: Shake it by your belly!


I shake.


Tornado E: Now shake it by your penis!


I’m laughing rolling on the floor trying to shake the rattle.


Tornado E: (giving me that tilted-like-a-dog-confused-by-a-human look) Mommy, you don’t have a penis.  You have a ‘gina!  Shake it by your ‘gina!


I laugh harder, but I am pleased that after two dozen discussions over what girls have and what boys have, it finally sunk in.

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An Anatomy Lesson by a Three-year-old

To minimize the risks of accidents I make Tornado E try when I need to go, so I was a little indisposed when this little gem dropped out of his mouth.  Tornado E played with his Spidermen from McDonald’s as he sat on the potty, pretending to do his business.


Tornado E: Look, Mommy!  My Spidermen don’t have penises!  They have butts, though!  They can’t pee!  They can only poop!  But I have a bottom AND a penis!  So I can poop and pee!  Mommy!  You can poop and pee, too!


Is it too early to start making room for that medical diploma?

When it’s Appropriate . . .

I was cleaning up the countertop as Tornado E went potty on his seat.  I turned to find Tornado E was not concentrating at all on the task at hand, but he was learning that his penis made a great substitute for a joystick.

Me: Tornado E, stop playing with your penis.  Go potty.  You only play with your penis alone in your room.

Tornado E: Sure, I do!  I play with my penis with my friends!

Me: (One eyebrow raised) No, you don’t.  Go potty.

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That deserves a round of applause

To My Husband: You might not want to read this post as it includes to things you complain about from my blog: you and penises.  I’m sorry you make an easy mark (and I mean that in the nicest way; you’re easy to set up and we love you for it.); it’s one of the reasons my father didn’t kill you when he learned how much older you were than me.  You know my family; we’re jokesters.  As for the penises, I did well enough the other day without mentioning them, so this isn’t about ratings.  By the way, I’m not slowly turning my blog into a hard porn blog; people would noticed. (Brownie points for those who got that last allusion. J )




My husband: (Walking back into the family room from using the restroom) Fae?  Have you noticed Tornado S following me into the bathroom lately?  (Sean toddles into the room.)


Me: Why, actually, I have.  (I pick up Tornado S who has run to me.)  Tornado E, get out of the almonds.  If you want a snack, you have to ask.  No almonds.  Mommy needs those.


My husband: He’s watching me pee.


Me: I figured.  You’re just curious, aren’t you, big guy?  Tee.  He’s learning; I think he’ll train earlier and easier than Tornado E.  (sigh) That would be cool.  Tornado E, I said no almonds.  Or pecans.


My husband: He claps when I finish.


Both my sons learned at an early age to clap when they did something special like throw the ball, somersault, roll a car, jump, dance, sing, basically anything to be proud of.  From there, it is only a month or so development to clap for other people’s achievements.  At eighteen months, Tornado E clapped enthusiastically when my great-aunt caught a ball he threw to her.  Tornado S, at fourteen months, would clap enthusiastically for Tornado E’s singing attempts.


Me: Well, you did a good job.  You never drip.  He’s proud of you.  All right, Tornado E.  No marshmallows.  Come on, Tornado S.  Let’s get you and your brother a snack before your brother climbs in there and gets the suckers.  Too late.


Being curious of all developments in the house, I snuck a peek at this performance next time my husband went to the bathroom.  Tornado S toddled in after his Daddy and stood in rapture as his father peed.  Then when my husband was finish, Tornado S, beaming from ear to ear, clapped with excitement.  You’d think that he was at The Bellagio.  Or maybe Tornado S thought his Daddy was being left out of the cheering Tornado E receives when he uses the bathroom.

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