As a parent, there are any number of occasions when I am required to answer questions. Some make sense, even if they are difficult to answer. I've explained how babies are born, what sex is, why Viagra is necessary, the uses of deodorant. I've attempted to explain things about the world that I still find inexplicable: homelessness, poverty among children, the cost of healthcare, the difference between a curveball and a knuckleball. Over and over, especially when someone has angered or disappointed him, JT and I have discussed the Golden Rule, the one moral code I try to live by……..Really, the list here is endless.
And then there are the questions where the answer is obvious: No, I don't want to hear you burp; I don't want to smell that fart; neither do I wish to smell your armpits; and I have no need to inspect the lint you've just extracted from your belly button. Even so, I will admit that I did pause on Tuesday evening when JT asked, "Mama, do you want to watch me scratch my booty like a monkey?"
I was a little tempted to say yes because it's not a skill I've seen often. But I demurred, knowing that this was the just the tip of the iceberg. If I'd said yes, it would only be a matter of time before I was invited to knit the fuzz between his toes into a sweater or some other ridiculous notion. And, hard though it is to believe, I do have standards.