Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Short One Tells the World...
Kids talk. They talk a lot. I can't remember the exact day my son started repeating everything I said or the exact day he started speaking in a volume far above the rest of the world, but I do remember THIS day...the day he made an announcement to the women in the restroom at Wal-Mart. You see, we were shopping together. Just the two of us. Just The Short One and...mom (me). Usually, believe it or not, my son is a pretty good kid when it comes to using the restroom, but on this particular day...he had to go potty...and he had to go BAD. So, off we go - to the Women's Restroom. As I'm going back and forth with my sweet, sweet son about why we MUST go to the women's restroom, even though he is a "man", we finally make our way into the stall. My little short one stands, potties...all done. So easy for them, eh? Then, I decide...better go ahead and go myself while we're there. So, I squat. That's what we do, right? My restroom motto is this...never, ever touch ANYTHING. Sometimes I even make The Short One hold his hands on his hips or above his head - just to keep him from touching "the germs". On this day, as I squat...I see my son peek around behind me. And he yells, for all of Wal-Mart to hear, something I could have done without ANYONE knowing. Not because I'm ashamed, not because it's a secret, but because...there are just things you don't share with the world...TMI, you know? Until my son takes it upon himself to share and share loudly.
My mistake. To use the restroom. Why did I do that? I should have known better. No potty with The Short One...lol. Regardless, I decide to "tinkle" as we call it in our house. I'm a female. I don't want to touch anything. I squat. The Short One scoots around to the side/behind me and in his oh-so-quite, but not really voice says, "Momma! I see your tattoo!"...at this point I'm shush, shush, shushing until my face has turned all shades of blue from blowing all the wind out that I can possibly muster. SHHHHHHHHHH!!!! All the while, my son continues to get louder, "Momma, I see your tattoo. How did it get there? Does it NEVER go away? How do they DO that? Can I have a tattoo? My tattoos wash off. Why doesn't your tattoo wash off? It's on your faaaaaaaaaan----nnneeeee"....and so goes our day at Wal-Mart. As I come out of the stall with my son and my "tattoo" which I consider to be on the upper part of my hip (okay, it's high on my fanny), I am getting all kinds of sideways glances from the hand-washers of Wal-Mart.
Me. My son. My soft-spoken elementary school teacher voice. My "I'm really just a quite librarian" look. And my now well-known about tattoo. You might say I don't "look" like your typical "tattoo-ed" lady. I mean, what does a tattoo-ed lady look like anyway? It was college. It was a spur of the moment thing, I'm on my own, I can do whatever I want (12 years ago) kind of thing. It's inconspicuous. No one knows unless I tell them. "I" even forget that it's there. But believe me, the women of Wal-Mart that day...will not. Since The Short One has told the world...I figure...so can I.
To my Short One...Thanks, love. You make my life meaningful and memorable...love always...Momma.