kiwords

Ok, so first of all. Um…yesterday’s snarly rant? Well, that may have been more about PMS and less righteous indignation than I thought. Heh, heh. Sorry. We now return you to your regularly scheduled Kira.
So this morning I was out in the back yard. Raphael was wandering around out there, naked. See, that’s phase one of potty training for me. Naked kid pees in the grass, notices he’s peeing, starts to consider having some sort of control over the issue. Well, that’s the theory anyhow. To be honest, although I’ve potty-trained two boys already, I couldn’t tell you how it’s done. A total mystery to me.
Anyhow, Raphael was toddling about, all drool-spangled belly and white butt, and announces that he’s going to go pee. Actually, he positioned himself in front of a potted plant and announced his plans. “Ah go pee,” is what he said. “No, honey, go pee in the grass,” I suggested helpfully. A better mom would have run for the potty. But I was in the middle of something, the grass was right there, and sadly, I’m not a better mom. But he DID. He walked right over to the lawn, and watered it. He looked at me proudly, and we both stood and admired his sparkly skill for a moment. “Ah pee,” he said, and I concurred happily, “Yes, look at that, you are peeing.”
As the last dribble passed away he leaned over, so as to glimpse his equipment there below the curve of his stomach. Then, to my surprise, he smacked it with his open hand. Not hard, but I didn’t think guys liked to be hit…there. “Pop!” he shouted. And then he wandered off to the sandbox.
I watched him walk away in the morning light, and again the thought came to me as it has so often in my sons’ lives, What planet are you from?