Moldy Hot Dog

Yesterday, I am sitting on the bleachers, watching the longest baseball practice in history. I'm thinking, "What the hell? These boys are eight. It isn't the World Series."So, I might as well make the best of it.I strike up a conversation with another mother that is sitting there.And if you know me well enough, I can make a friend with a brick wall.We start talking about motherhood and how hard it is.Are we doing things right?How will our decisions today, effect them tomorrow?As mother's we work ourselves in a frenzy and sometimes we work on guilt because we want to do the best job for our children.It is so hard to just live in the moment with our kids because we worry about way too much. So, we finally get home and now it is bedtime. For the past couple of months, I have been dreading.... THE TALK. Good Ol' Puberty.I bought a book awhile ago and have just been waiting for the right moment.And as it turns out - last night was it. My eight year old son and I start reading the book together and then as we turn the page, here comes. . .the damn illustrations!And I'm thinking, here we go! The book is explaining peach fuzz on your privates and shows a drawing of how pubic hair grows. Just as it starts getting strangley uncomfortable, Brandon say, " That looks like a hot dog with moldy hair on it" What a way to break into laughter and forget the uncomfortable feeling that was looming. I thought to myself, this is it. This is where you don't know if what you said was right or wrong. Or how this conversation will play out in years to come - But my son and I just lived in the moment of laughter.And Brandon?Never tell a girl you have a moldy hot dog - that's call gonnerhea!