I'm pretty much a "tell it like it is" kind of mom when it comes to teaching kids what their body parts are called. A butt is a butt, a penis is a penis and if you get kicked and it hurts, it's because you got kicked in the nuts. Recently, Zoe found a Victoria's Secret catalog sitting on the kitchen counter (Note to Doug: please remember to put the catalog away next time). While I know some women that have clearly won the boob lottery, I happen to be stuck with the equivalent of a basket-full of pull tab losers. So when Zoe looked through the catalog she instantly pointed to one of the swimsuit models and said, "Wow! Look at her boobs!" and I was like uh huh, I'm familiar with boobs because I see them a lot. On other people. She then grabbed the catalog and started following Charlie around the house saying "Hey Charlie! Look at these boobs! And these! Wow. Boobs!" and Charlie couldn't run away fast enough because the only thing worse for an 11-year-old boy than hearing the word "boobs" is having to actually look at them.
Last summer while Zoe was outside playing with some neighbor girls, she farted. This of course made her beam with pride, fall down laughing and then exclaim "I farted! A fart came out of my butt! Did you hear that?" Another mom, who I won't identify by name but will say that she lives very, very close to us said "Wow. Such a mouth. We don't use language like that. My girls say "toot" and "bottom." Seriously lady (whose house I can see if I look out a certain large window), it's not like Zoe said wow that was a close one, I almost shit my pants. She said fart and butt. I wanted to call this woman a certain name, but she probably would have said "Oh, we don't use that word in our house. We say 'female dog.'"
By far my favorite thing is how five-year-old boys refer to their penis, or more specifically, how moms want their boys to refer to their penis before they discover that it's there for a reason other than peeing. Between ding-a-ling, Jimmy, the li'l fireman, Willy, ding-dong, wee-wee and doinker, it's a non-stop laugh factory. With so many different names, it's easy to forget about the most basic name of all, but fortunately my friend's six-year-old was kind enough to remind me:
Gotta love the name weiner. Or in Liam's case, the weener.