I'd like to say that dinner was typical last night, and I guess it was--just not typical in your Leave It to Beaver kind of way. No, the conversation was pretty much typical Doyle which is more PG 13 than G. Caroline had been talking about walking through the lingerie section of Dillards--of course she calls it the boobie department. In an effort to be a semi grownup, I suggested we call body parts by their correct names. So then we had to listen to a litany of body parts--scrotum, sac, well you get the picture.
I thought the conversation was moving in the more mature direction when Christopher mentioned that his moles had gone away. He's been very concerned about them and the possibility of cancer. While I have complete empathy for this fear, I have also been trying to down play it. Me, "Well that's good, I guess it means they weren't cancer." Christopher, "No Mama, it means the cancer has gone into my skin. You're going to be so sorry if something happens to me." Chris, "You don't have cancer." Christopher, "Keep telling yourself that when you're lowering the casket." So I respond, "Christopher I'll make an appointment, or we can do it at your next check up."
Caroline, "Don't you mean his next puberty check?"
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