concussion

All of us together laughed with that deep, hearty, from-the-gut kind of laugh. I am pretty sure my youngest didn’t know what he was laughing at and my laughter might have been extra hard due to exhaustion. But does it matter?

Laughter is good for the soul.

Let me just start by saying that after reading this some of you may think that I have terrible manners and that I am raising savages. Let me also disclaim that when living with all males I may get desensitized to a certain amount of discussion surrounding bodily functions.

Apologies in advance.

Raising three boys I have found that there are certain conveniences to the male anatomy. Particularly in the area of relieving oneself.

In the potty training process, my kids would often announce, “I HAVE TO PEE!!!” Because when a child is just learning, peeing is a desperate and immediate need.

As a parent, a certain level of panic would proceed to wash through my body accompanied by a horrifying question. Will we make it in time?

Back in the day when we were out and about in a parking lot or such where who knows where the nearest bathroom is and the need to pee was made known, I would scan for the nearest bush in hope of avoiding the dreaded accident. Advantage: boys.

And when we would be playing outside, in the comfort and safety of our own backyard and the trumpets would sound with the grand proclamation, my response was often, “Go in the calla lily.” Made life easier and less panic ridden for all of us.

Which worked very well for me until we were at someone’s backyard birthday party and my boys both relieved themselves in the nearest calla lily.

I turned fifty shades of red. I am going to need to make some clarifications about when it’s okay to pee outside. 

Fast forward to present day.

After a night out, the boys and I head to the car to go home. Earlier in the day my youngest son had clunked his head at preschool (ironically after they had a rousing discussion about concussions).

As we approach the car, my oldest son asks if he can pee in the bushes with a tone that said I can hold it if I need to but it would be really nice if you would just let me take care of this here.

No one was around. Clarification must have sunk in, good to know. I concede.

When he gets back in the car he says, “I have a confession.” Oh dear.

“I didn’t wash my hands.”

I died. I love good wit. Even infused with boy humor.

Then, as we are all laughing away, my four-year-old chimes in. “I have a concussion!” And we barely hear him confess his lack of hand washing because we were laughing so hard at his mimicked version of his brother.

This – moments like this – are what I love about family.