Okay, so last night was one of those crazy nights – two baseball games on opposite sides of town. The endless driving-like-a-maniac back and forth between fields already caused my blood pressure to go nuts. On top of that, our last game didn’t end until after 10 – on a school night – which led to us eating a wonderful [insert sarcasm] dinner of McDonald’s at 10:30. Ugh. So we’re sitting at the dinner table eating scarfing down our food when the following conversation causes me to have a full-blown panic attack:
Ronald: Mom, what’s ‘jacking off’ mean? A kid in my class said that today.
Me: [Completely and utterly choking on my french fries] Um, excuse me, what?
Ronald: What’s ‘jacking off’ mean?
Me: Uh, maybe you should ask your brother about that.
Brother: Uh, maybe you should ask your father figure about that.
Me: Uh, uh, uh… Hold on – I’ll be right back! [Frantically dialing “father figure’s” phone number]
Me (upon reaching “father figure”): I need your help. ASAP. [Hand phone to Ronald like it’s a hot potato searing my fingers]
Ronald (to “father figure”): What’s ‘jacking off’ mean?
Father Figure: [Without missing a beat] Well, it’s basically playing with your own winkie dinkie.
Ronald: Eww! Gross!!!
Father Figure: Yep. So next time your classmate talks about jacking off, tell him you don’t want to hear about him playing with his own winkie dinkie. But don’t say jacking off… you’ll get in trouble by your teacher for that.
Ronald: Oh. Okay. Thank you – goodnight. [Still as cool as a cucumber]
Me: [Still hyperventilating] Okay.Timeforbed.Iloveyou.Goodnight. [I then proceed to crawl in my bed, curl up in a ball, and continue to remind myself to breath in and out. In and out.]
Before I had kids, people told me that kids were expensive. I thought that only referred to diapers and stuff like that. I had no idea that it meant room and board for the loony bin I’d end up in from the endless panic attacks they would give me. Am I really cut out for raising two boys? [Sigh.]